Beach Etiquette and the Death of Common Courtesy
The mercury’s climbing, and the beaches are packed. Nothing beats cooling off at Port Melbourne or Brighton Beach on a scorching summer day. Well, almost nothing - except for that one person who thinks everyone within a 50-meter radius wants to hear their specially curated summer playlist blasting from a speaker the size of a small suitcase.
This peculiar breed of beachgoer seems to be multiplying faster than bin chickens at Federation Square. They arrive armed with portable speakers that could probably be heard from space, apparently operating under the delusion that they’re the designated DJs for the entire beach.
The other day, while trying to enjoy some quiet time with my kindle at Brighton Beach, I witnessed this modern tragedy unfold. Three different groups, each with their own massive speakers, created a cacophony that would make a construction site sound melodious. One was blasting electronic dance music, another what appeared to be local hip-hop, and the third… well, I’m still not quite sure what that was.
What fascinates me most about this phenomenon is how it reflects a broader shift in social behavior. The same people who blast music at the beach are often the ones who play their music on public transport, take speakerphone calls in quiet cafes, or rev their jet skis unnecessarily close to swimmers. It’s part of a larger pattern where personal entertainment seems to trump common courtesy.
The issue isn’t really about the music itself - though let’s be honest, it’s rarely something that would make Triple J’s Hottest 100. It’s about the steady erosion of consideration for shared spaces. When did we collectively decide that it was acceptable to impose our personal soundtrack on hundreds of strangers?
Some argue that beaches are public spaces meant for fun and that everyone should just “lighten up.” But public spaces work precisely because of unwritten social contracts. We don’t dig holes next to other people’s towels, we don’t shake our sandy towels onto neighboring beachgoers, and traditionally, we didn’t force everyone within earshot to endure our playlist.
Looking at council regulations, there’s surprisingly little that can be done about this behavior unless the volume reaches specific decibel levels. Perhaps it’s time for local councils to consider some reasonable restrictions, similar to how they manage other aspects of beach behavior.
Until then, we’re left with the age-old Melbourne passive-aggressive response - exchanging knowing looks with other beachgoers and silently judging while pretending to be deeply engrossed in our books or phones. Though sometimes I dream of a vigilante lifeguard armed with a super-soaker filled with saltwater, targeting particularly offensive speakers.
Perhaps the solution lies in fostering a renewed sense of community mindfulness. The beach belongs to everyone, and that means being conscious of how our actions affect others. Maybe next time you’re headed to the beach, pack some headphones instead of that massive speaker. Your fellow beachgoers will thank you - silently, of course, because we’re Melbourne people after all.
Oh, and if you’re wondering about those three competing speakers from Brighton Beach? A sudden summer shower sent everyone packing. Nature, it seems, has its own way of restoring peace and quiet.