I despise the new Paddys

ranting about Paddys markets renovation

It’s a wet winter morning in Chinatown, the year is 2016. I hunch over my phone, shielding it from the downpour, desperate to stop the raindrops from frying the screen and somehow sending gibberish to my former boss. I duck and weave from the rain, trying to dodge nature’s phone hijacking and soggy cardboard boxes from the fruit market across the road. I find myself taking refuge under the awnings of a Chinese restaurant—warmth seeps through the glass, fogged at the edges, where rows of roasted ducks hang by their necks.

“R u here yet? I’m just down the street from Noodle House,” I text my friend.

I survey the street, seeing if I can find my mate before he finds me. The plethora of characters in Chinatown on a Saturday distracts me.

A bewildered family, clearly from the country, judging by the dad’s vintage Holden merch and his refusal to wear a raincoat, dazed and unprepared for the rain and the culture shock of Haymarket. They pass a trio of middle-aged Chinese men squatting together on their short ciggie break. Their plastic aprons are still on, and their heavy-duty gumboots plant them firmly on the soggy pavement. Wisps of cigarette smoke curl around them as they gossip in low murmurs, passively turning their heads as they observe this stressed family of five on a rare trip to Sydney complain about the crowds and untrustworthy individuals in their proximity.

I’m snapped out of my intense people-watching session by a sudden vibration in my pocket.

“I’m inside already. Meet me at the rude hat stall,” I read.

I wince in pain at the thought of trying to locate my friend in the hardest place to locate a friend in all of Sydney—Paddy’s Market, on a rainy day, on a Saturday.

I quickly cross the road and head directly into the belly of the beast. Teenagers are being told off by 120-year-old Chinese ladies as they take photos of each other wearing YOLO hats, packs of tourists are shopping for 100% legit and authentic Aboriginal art wallets sourced from the most isolated towns in the Northern Territory that are amazingly only going for $3, bikie-affiliated men are getting full-body massages in the open, and my friend is going through an assortment of gimmicky “Female Body Inspector” shirts and hats that say “Ipood” with the Apple logo.

I found him. We can now complete our only real task for the day—to source the most half-hearted costume for a dress-up party of someone we only half-know.

We are both very fond of this mission, knowing what should be a 15-minute task can be drawn out to 90 minutes as we explore this hodgepodge of jet lighters, massage machines, Bob Marley merch and balaclavas—eating up time as the teenage anticipation for a house party in Balmain makes killing six hours in the rain seem like an impossible task.

Like the generations before and after me, I take comfort in knowing that in a city famous for its beaches, there will always be at least one rainy-day activity that’s affordable for a teenager.

Paddy’s, a giant hall that still carries the name from its days as a marketplace for Irish-Australians selling fresh produce, has become a symbol of Sydney’s Chinatown.

Somehow, this seemingly un-gentrifiable spot has escaped the fate of its neighbouring areas, remaining a haven for locals. Here, you’ll find beloved noodle joints passed down through generations, cheap cigarettes, and melt-in-your-mouth pork buns—an oasis and an increasingly rare escape from QR codes and franchise chains.

For many Sydneysiders my age, it is a rare fossil of an era of Sydney we only got to enjoy through the memories of older friends and family who would talk of the party days of the Cross, the jungle of Redfern, and the colourful world of Oxford Street.

Chinatown is a beloved brand of our city, and Paddy’s Market is its marketing department.

I think that’s why so many of us were absolutely rocked by the news that about 50% of Paddy’s has been replaced by the most artificial, gentrified, Instagrammable, overpriced, over-decorated and overrated food “market” that they are labelling “Hay St Market”.

This new glorified food court has been unanimously praised online by publications like Broadsheet and The Daily Telegraph—celebrating its opening as a food-lover’s heaven, perfect for their 37-year-old-accountant-from-Ryde readership.

We asked, and they listened, guys! Finally, a place to get a good meal in Chinatown! (Not.)

Once again, Sydney has taken another long step further into the cultureless trenches of corporate-friendly gentrification.

We aren’t getting it back either, don’t kid yourself. Nothing that quirky, beloved, and iconic has ever come back to Sydney once it was extinguished.

This new overpriced doughnut fan’s paradise has been curated by some cool Millennial Pommy dude with heaps of tattoos and a medium Instagram following. I don’t know if he’s a chef, or a marketer, his bio says he’s a curator and a passionate conversation starter so I’m sure he will appreciate this conversation I’m starting as a fellow passionate conversation starter.

I only point out his Pommyness to highlight that no Sydney local would ever take on the burden (shame) of being involved in the renovating (vandalising) of one of the city’s most beloved locations.

This is no diss to the guy, who’s not from here and shouldn’t be expected to understand the cultural weight that Paddy’s holds, nor is this an attack on 37-year-old accountants from Ryde who enjoy this kind of dining experience—who will defend the renovations by claiming that they still kept half of the original Paddy’s. (Like we are actually going to believe that this is the only thing they are going to do to Paddy’s and that we haven’t seen this pattern about 15 times with other extinct Sydney icons.)

It’s funny because the exact reasons they will give for why they wanted to renovate Paddy’s are the exact reasons why we liked it—we are seemingly on two different planets.

But we both know how the story ends.

Paddy’s gets its exciting new rebrand, the corporate gentrifiers win, and we lose another quirky, misfit Sydney location and another small part of our city’s character.

The new Hay Street Markets boasts some big name chefs, many of whom I assume would have a deeper understanding of Chinatown cuisine than me, what they don’t seem to understand is that in such an overly gentrified city, something like Paddys markets actually stands out and isn’t the eye-sore they think it is.

We are not lacking in good authentic food in that area.

We are lacking in fun and cheap stores that have something for everyone.

We are lacking in those kind of places that people from Melbourne or Brisbane visiting return home to tell their friends:

“Oh my god in Sydney there’s this weird place right in the middle of the city where you can buy the most random stuff for cheap, it was so fun”

This post-gentrification phenomenon is nothing new and is happening throughout the world, but my god, it’s exhausting.

I get that the markets might have been a little too tacky for modern Sydney, but there are so many other things they could have done with it other than this millennial-friendly Instagramabble food court with bizarre replica cut-outs of Paris boulangerie storefronts.

I know I’m being an absolute idiot for suggesting something that isn’t seeking maximum profits before all else, but maybe we could keep some of the things that make us stand out from other Australian cities?

Even if they had just made it a food court similar to Sussex Centre’s top-level food court or the old Dixon food court (RIP), people from all walks of life flocked to these places for authentic Chinese food.

Or they could have turned it into a flea market like Glebe Markets, which would have supported local small businesses and creatives.

Or—crazy idea—don’t change it at all.

Because when I go to Paddy’s on the weekend, it isn’t starving for customers, and I’ve never once heard in my life that someone wished the place was actually an expensive food court that had zero connection to Chinatown.

While I’m thankful that there’s still a piece of the old Paddy’s left, I know deep down that this is just the beginning. We’ve seen this happen before, and we know how it ends.

Below is a video of our Paddys from 1975 which I found on the NSFA youtube channel and found really cool.