Everyone’s favourite new reality TV show FBOY Island Australia has gone and said what everyone was already thinking: Coogee Pavilion is where you should go to discover a living, breathing wanker.
Yes, Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs might make us feel fugly and poor, but it also helps us detect fuckboys thanks to the ungodly amount of borderline-humans dominating the esplanades.
While I sadly must admit I have been to Coogee Pav and may even go again in future, I am not basing this assumption of fuckboy central on my own experiences alone — and let me tell you, my personal recollections absolutely put proof in that pudding — but no, it seems this experience is as universal as a Sydney outing can possibly be.
On the most recent episode of FBOY Island Australia, one contestant named Joshy raised red flags when several photos of him at the Coogee Pav were found on his Instagram.
Red flags from other contestants included black eyes and being on a Bali holiday with an ex — if that gives you an indication of the territory this venue is playing in.
“Apparently the Coogee Pav is where all the FBOYs go to pick up chicks,” Sophie, one of FBOY Island Australia‘s leading ladies, explained, describing it as “the FBOY hunting ground”.
I have never howled at a relatable moment in reality television like this one. Where’s the damn lie?
It’s literally where the contestants from Married At First Sight flock to once they become relevant and recognisable enough, including but not limited to Dan “Ocean-Fucker” Hunjas who doesn’t even live in New South Wales.
It felt like every Daily Mail Australia story had Coogee Pav in the headline throughout this MAFS season:
Harrison takes his new girlfriend out for dinner in Northface jacket at Coogee Pav!
Josh debuts glow-up while telling blonde about Disneyland at Coogee Pav!
Dan tries not to fuck the ocean while staring at it at Coogee Pav!
(Or something like that).
While downstairs of the beachside institution can be unsuspecting thanks to its family-friendly features, take one step up the winding staircase and you’ll smell all the horny heterosexuals with shit values and a fear of commitment a mile off.
It might not have the dire sales and accounting conversations of other Merivale fuckeries like The Ivy or The Establishment, which, let’s be honest, are also drowning in noncommittal douche monkeys, but up on the Cooge Pav rooftop you will absolutely cop a bunch of rotating heads doing “the scan” as they evaluate who to ask if they come here often.
Now, I’m not being petty because I’m simply jealous of those able to afford living by the beach. In fact, I would argue that a lot of Coogee Pav’s patrons don’t actually live locally — instead they jump on that 373 to have a big night while ruining the night of five-to-seven others. Perhaps including the person they’re in a “complicated” relationship with who’s asleep at home.
Don’t get me wrong, Coogee Pav is stunning — love what Justin Hemmes has done with the place. The location is unmatched. And from memory, if you can get a table, the menu slaps. But just be cognisant of the cream (yes, I went there) you might be eating for desert.
Because if Coogee Bay Hotel is home to the gelato poo, then Coogee Pav is home to the fuckboy sundae.
Chantelle Schmidt is a freelance writer. You can follow her on Instagram and TikTok.
