By 2006, Claremont could no longer handle the local arcade’s inability to accurately reflect their sense of self-worth. It, therefore, engaged the Hawaiian group and Multiplex to build a perverse shrine to the official religion in the area: consumerism.
By 2011 the Quarter stood like a commercial Taj Mahal where they could finally bury Claremont’s dying shreds of humility.
Of course, there is probably some good corporate wank to explain why Claremont Quarter uses a different logo to its cousin centres in Forrestfield, Bassendean, Melville and Noranda, etc. Although, in your heart of hearts, you know exactly why they did it.
Your average Claremont resident would sooner invite royal show-goers to park on their lawn than accept any affiliation with those shitholes orbiting the suburban-plebiverse they try so hard to avoid.
To truly experience the Quarter you should roll the dice in the underground parking. Imagine a demolition derby with half-drunk, entitled cougars in luxury 4WDs.
While the aesthetics are a little different the same carnage awaits as you bear witness to the most contemptuous driving this side of the Swan River. If you do get hit, don’t inconvenience the elite with your pitiful personal injury claim, they will destroy you.
Once you have escaped the depths of parking hell, you will be confronted with the shopping equivalent of using a fleshlight – it may feel vaguely similar to others you’ve been in but you weren’t expecting to feel so much shame.
Oh yes, instead of dodging feral kids at Midland you will be dodging judgmental stares from professional socialites who wish they could shop without your unsettling Dickensian stench.
The centre contains some shops that help bridge the gap between our social classes. Be amazed at the idea that rich people eat Mad Mex or duck into Coles for some milk.
Of course, those fleeting moments of unity will be blown apart as soon enough you’ll see some silver spoon fuckery that will just piss you off. In Midland they are offering you a chance to win some shitbox Skoda, at the Quarter, it’s Porsches, baby. Stay in your lane.
Feel free to walk around the centre and enjoy the ultimate in western suburb customer service – wannabe influencers glued to their phones and generally pissed off their father’s made them get jobs to learn the value of a hard days work.
You can actually feel the burning resentment as they take a little holiday to reality and learn the pain of most people’s existence as they fulfil their contractual obligation to assist you in finding a nice pair of shorts.
Finally, no trip to the Quarter is complete without dropping a small Polynesian nation’s GDP on some of the overpriced restaurants and bars surrounding the Quarter. Ensure at least 2 bags from high-end boutiques are visible on your table at all times. It’s the Claremont way.
For more: THE HUMAN ZOO – Mrs Claremont Quarter
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?