Last year, escaping the Perth heat for a Brooklyn summer, I found myself in a Bushwick loft above a glue factory, trading Aussie sunshine for glue fumes. This wasn’t my first rodeo in the States, but this stint, more than any other, hammered home a long-held suspicion: America? It’s basically a cartoon, and Rockos’ Modern Life nailed it.
Summer in a glue factory loft is as glamorous as it sounds. The exhaust pipe, inconveniently routed under my bed, turned my room into a sauna with a distinct, shall we say, adhesive aroma. The floor was lava for bare feet. Our Airbnb guest, bless her cotton socks, panicked. “You’re Australian,” she declared, “this kind of heat is normal, right?” Yeah, nah m8.
Americans, bless their hearts, have some interesting ideas about Australia. Think Outback survivalists wrestling kangaroos, dodging crocs and snakes the size of small cars, and battling spiders the size of dinner plates. The novelty wears off fast. But you learn to appreciate this, shall we say, unique understanding of Down Under. It’s almost a unifying cultural thing, this charming ignorance. Being an Aussie in America means enduring the same “did a dingo eat your baby?” joke on repeat. Forty years on, and still a knee-slapper, apparently. You learn to just nod, chuckle, and throw in a “yeah, m8” and a “that’s not a knife, this is a knife” for good measure. No point in bursting bubbles, especially when schools start the day with a “Pledge of Allegiance” – still very, very, very weird.
But for me, an Aussie in the Big Apple, surrounded by a growing cast of larger-than-life characters, slowly marinating in glue fumes and New York’s special brand of… directness, one show echoed my experience with uncanny precision: Rockos’ Modern Life.
Yes, that classic Nickelodeon cartoon, Rockos’ Modern Life, starring Rocko, the anxious wallaby navigating the late 20th-century American chaos. It wasn’t just kids’ entertainment; Rockos’ Modern Life was a sharp spoof of post-Reagan American capitalism, exceptionalism, and general dysfunction. It was Rockos that got it.
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The show plonked its neurotic Australian protagonist, Rockos, into a world of exaggerated characters and logo mania. Conglom-O, the ever-present mega-corporation, boasted the slogan “We Will Own You.” A slogan that resonated as I watched people get chewed up and spat out by the American “dream.” Laundry day, garbage day, grocery day – in Rockos’ world, these were “very dangerous days.” And they quickly became mine too. Trying to navigate “black ice” (what even IS that?) while juggling five bags of groceries and a case of suspiciously watery beer? Welcome to my very own episode of Rockos’ Modern Life.
I found myself living out scenes straight from Rockos’ Modern Life. The episode “Love Spanked,” where Heffer creates a dating profile for Rockos, sending him on a series of increasingly bizarre dates, felt like a demented mirror of my New York dating escapades.
Rewatching Rockos’ Modern Life, and its Netflix revival, Rocko’s Modern Life: Static Cling, after ten months in NYC, I wasn’t just laughing at Rockos anymore; I was relating to him. The show, more than any other, captured the essence of sheer exhaustion. Everything in Rockos’ world is too much: too many sight gags, too many fart jokes, too many warped perspectives, too much capitalism, too much relentless noise. Exhaustion isn’t just a feeling in America; it’s the default setting.
And yet, Rockos’ Modern Life beautifully portrays that outsider’s paradox: being both overwhelmed and utterly captivated by America’s “too muchness”—its ignorance, its hysteria, its sheer audacity. Like Rockos, I found myself surrounded by a crew of lovable, goofy friends who, like Heffer, embraced our misadventures as “a hoot.”
The lines between cartoon and reality blurred. That “Love Spanked” episode? Uncannily accurate to my love life, even down to being roped into a dating show with a friend (true story).
Then there’s “Who’s For Dinner,” opening with Rockos phoning his mum, confessing to Spunky, “You know, Spunky, it’s good to be on me own. But sometimes, I miss me family.” Cue the family photo album: photos of his dead Aunt Mathilda (“Aunt Mathilda, died waltzing”) and his uncles’ tombstones. Dark? Absolutely. But for me, living that expat life, it hit a little too close to home. Made me wonder if some melancholic animator was sketching my life too.
(Speaking of Spunky, my dog Buckley is basically his doppelganger):
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Americans rarely consider the Australian gaze. But our perception is shaped by mass media – predominantly American media. For many Aussies, America is filtered through pop culture and news, which, let’s be honest, are often indistinguishable these days. But our fascination runs deeper than just enjoying the cheeky innuendo in your finest kids’ cartoons like Rockos’ Modern Life.
Let’s be blunt: America is an empire, and Australia has been a loyal sidekick since… well, since that moment in WWII. American friends in Australia are always floored by how much we know about US history, politics, media, culture. But we’re saturated in it. America says jump, and we ask, “How high? And should we invade Iraq while we’re at it?”
Australians who haven’t experienced America often picture a kind of pornographic dystopia. But, crucially, a fun dystopia. We imagine a chaotic, barely-functioning First World nation riddled with crumbling infrastructure, bizarre moral crusades, Dickensian labor laws, a… well, you get the picture, and a mass shooting on every corner.
My generation was maybe the first to be hyper-Americanized in Australia. We were raised on a non-stop barrage of American entertainment: music, movies, fashion, sitcoms, reality TV, video games, toys, and, crucially, cartoons like Rockos’ Modern Life. Media shaped our view of America like Crocodile Dundee shaped America’s view of us.
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So, that “pornographic dystopia” view? It sticks. Australians are pre-warned about gun violence before even setting foot in the States. “I don’t want to get shot,” or “I don’t want to get shot and then get a $80,000 hospital bill” are common refrains. I, myself, was held up at gunpoint in New Orleans. But hey, I’m fine. And they were polite kids, if a little over-armed for their age (15, 14, and 12).
The point is, Rockos’ bewildered, slightly resigned navigation of this “too much” world? It’s deeply relatable to the Australian-in-America experience.
When I’m with fellow Aussies in New York, the glue-factory cool melts away, and the Americana wonder takes over. “Just like The Simpsons,” “just like Seinfeld,” and “just like Escape from New York” are tossed around on the L train like… well, like enthusiastic cultural touchstones at Bossa Nova. You see that thing from TV, right there, screaming at a dead rat at the Jefferson stop. Beautiful.
Like Rockos, I was in America – not Australia – because in America, especially Bushwick, especially above a glue factory, it’s wonderfully hard to feel weird.
America is a cartoon, no doubt. But hey: I love cartoons. And Rockos’ Modern Life? That’s peak American cartoon reality for this Aussie.
