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It’s that most wonderful time of the year.
No it’s not Christmas, the first week of summer or even my birthday (although I wish those would slow down a little). The second week in May ushers in the acrid smell of hairspray, blinding lasers and more cheesy gimmicks than you can poke a stick at.
All signs point to one thing; Eurovision has arrived.
It’s taken me a while to warm to the song contest craze. Eurovision is like Crocs, you either love it and own four pairs or hate it and create funny memes about it. However, I’ve also realised it’s a bit like Kingfish ceviche. You hated it at first but now that it’s trendy you have a complex ranking spreadsheet from surrounding restaurants and eat it three times a week.
I can’t exactly pinpoint what I love about Eurovision. The blatantly political voting, shirtless backup dancers with metre long pigtails or the 70kgs of sequins? Most likely, a heady combination of all three lured me in a few years ago and now I‘m hooked.
If you live under a rock or haven’t seen the 56 SBS advertisements, Australia will be competing for the third year, lead by 2016 X Factor winner Isaiah Firebrace. Last year our campaign was spearheaded by the serious pipes of Dami Im, who was robbed of the title by this year’s host Ukraine. Did they deliberately do this to avoid hosting Eurovision in a country that can’t pronounce Herzegovina and think Kyiv is a chicken dish? Probably. Does Eurovision apologise for that? Hells-to-the-no.
There are many who criticise Eurovision’s decision to create a permanent spot on the bill for Australia.
“Australia isn’t in Europe!”“They’re not part of the original tradition that is Eurovision”
“They’re not part of the original tradition that is Eurovision!”
“Will they just send Kylie Minogue every year?”
To the haters I say, will y’all get over it already? The fact ripped jeans took off in the face of criticism from every grandma in Australia is evidence enough that once a real trend is here it is nigh impossible to stop.
In an age where children’s nursery rhymes aren’t safe from the political correctness police, Eurovision bares all and flips the bird in defiance: we are what we are and we refuse to change. Even after your 633 angry Facebook comments.
Eurovision celebrate the outsiders. The people who wear Birkenstocks with socks, go to Sydney without visiting Bondi and use all of the Le Snack cheese dip with the first biscuit. Eurovision represents an alternative universe where all obstacles can be overcome.
It’s the Dora The Explorer for adults, psychedelic AND educational.
Eurovision represents real people unapologetically living their dreams. Half naked. With a pyrotechnic waterfall. And a dancing Mexican jumping bean. Because the act of dream chasing would be a lot less fun without those things.
For those yet to jump on the Eurovision bandwagon, I encourage you to give it a chance. At the very least you’ll improve your European geography. And the parties are pretty cray cray.
And if you, like me, are already indoctrinated into the hallowed halls of power ballads and songs in foreign languages you don’t understand, I salute you. Come the Grand Final on Sunday; I’ll be awake at 5am, three cups of coffee down, belting out every song.
Apologies to my neighbours in advance but also #sorrynotsorry.
Eurovision is calling and I volunteer as tribute.
Feature image: facebook.com/pg/isaiahmusicofficial