The Ghosts of Brand Names Past: Why Safeway Lives On in Melbourne's Memory
The supermarket down on High Street has been branded as Woolworths for well over a decade now, but my mind still automatically says “Safeway” whenever I’m planning my grocery run. It’s fascinating how these old brand names stick in our collective consciousness, becoming part of our cultural DNA long after the signs have changed.
The other day, I overheard something that stopped me in my tracks - teenagers using the term “Safeway” despite never having set foot in one during its heyday. It’s like some kind of linguistic time capsule, passed down through generations of Victorians. These kids were probably born around the time the last Safeway signs were being taken down, yet here they are, carrying on this peculiar piece of Melbourne vernacular.
This phenomenon isn’t unique to Safeway, of course. Southern Cross Station still feels like Spencer Street to many of us, and don’t get me started on the old Coles New World or Franklins No Frills. These names are more than just corporate branding - they’re markers of time, little threads that connect us to different chapters of our city’s story.
The history behind the Safeway name is particularly interesting. The “safe way” originally referred to their cash-only policy, preventing customers from falling into credit debt. It’s ironic how times have changed - now we tap our phones to pay for groceries, and the concept of store credit seems as dated as the Safeway name itself.
Walking through the automatic doors of my local Woolworths yesterday, I noticed an elderly couple ahead of me, and the woman distinctly said, “Let’s grab a trolley from Safeways.” Her partner didn’t bat an eye - no correction, no confusion. It made me think about how these linguistic holdovers become part of our shared vocabulary, resistant to corporate rebranding efforts.
The persistence of these old names speaks to something deeper than mere habit or nostalgia. They’re part of how we navigate and make sense of our changing urban landscape. Every time we use these outdated names, we’re subtly asserting our connection to place and time, maintaining our local identity in the face of corporate homogenisation.
Looking ahead, I wonder which of today’s brand names will persist in Melbourne’s vocabulary decades from now. Will future generations still reference Dan Murphy’s long after it’s gone, or will Bunnings become some mysterious historical reference that puzzles our grandchildren’s generation?
Maybe that’s why we hold onto these old names so tightly. In a world where everything seems to change at breakneck speed, these linguistic fossils give us a sense of continuity, a way to keep our personal and collective histories alive. And if that means I’ll be calling it Safeway until the day I retire, well, I’m perfectly fine with that.