A Vanishing Legacy: The Emotional Appeal of Italian-Australian Homes
Have you ever stepped into a home that felt like a time machine, transporting you to a bygone era? For many, Italian-Australian homes built in the 1970s and 1980s evoke just that sentiment. But here's the bittersweet reality: these architectural treasures are disappearing at an alarming rate. And this is the part most people miss: as younger generations opt for modern renovations or demolitions, a unique chapter of Australian housing history is being erased. But why does this matter, and what can we do about it?
When Australian film director Frank Lotito recently took to social media seeking a quintessential Italian-Australian home frozen in time, the response was overwhelming. “I didn’t realize how few of these homes still existed,” Lotito, director of Wog Boys Forever, remarked. His quest wasn’t just about finding a location for his upcoming film Nonno—a heartfelt coming-of-age story exploring family and generational bonds—but also about preserving a cultural legacy. Based on Archie Fusillo’s The Dons, the film stars Django legend Franco Nero and begins shooting in April.
But here's where it gets controversial: while these homes are cherished for their nostalgic charm, they’re often deemed outdated by younger buyers. Think laminex kitchens in bold orange and brown, ornate tiles, and formal lounges. Yet, for the post-WWII Italian migrants who built these suburban castles, they were symbols of pride, resilience, and a new beginning in a foreign land. “These homes were built to last, with double brick, ornate columns, and even lion statues guarding the entrance,” explains Ray White Perth’s Justin Merendino. “They represent a sense of accomplishment for a community that worked tirelessly to establish themselves.”
Take, for instance, the home at 33 Grebe Street, Stirling, or the one at 39 Bruce Street, Coburg, heading to auction with a price guide of $1.3m-$1.4m. These properties are more than just real estate—they’re living museums. But as land values soar and density demands increase, many are being demolished or subdivided. In Sydney’s Leichhardt, once a hub of Italian culture, gentrification is replacing these homes with modern duplexes. “It’s not that these homes are undesirable; it’s the land they sit on that’s the real prize,” notes James Montano of Montano Group Leichhardt.
Here’s a thought-provoking question: Are we losing more than just bricks and mortar when these homes disappear? For Lotito, the answer is a resounding yes. “These homes represent a simpler time, a time when life felt slower and more connected,” he reflects. After days of visiting homes where nonni welcomed him with coffee, biscuits, and homemade salami, he found his dream location in Preston, Melbourne—a brown double-fronted brick home owned by the mother of his executive producer, Frank Monterosso. The house, with its shag pile carpet, amber glass dividers, and 1970s kitchen, perfectly captured the essence of Nonno.
Yet, not everyone shares this sentiment. Some argue that progress requires sacrifice, and outdated homes must make way for modern living. “Younger generations see these kitchens and think, ‘Oh, it’s so dated,’ but for an Italian family in the ‘70s, this was the epitome of success,” Merendino points out. So, where do you stand? Is preserving these homes a nostalgic indulgence, or a cultural imperative?
Interestingly, while the physical homes may be fading, Italian-Australian nostalgia is thriving through comedy acts like Sooshi Mango and social media personalities like Maddie and Nonna Fina. For Lotito, Nonno is his way of encapsulating this era before it’s gone for good. “It’s a bit sad to see these houses disappear, but I also understand the need for modern conveniences like dishwashers,” he laughs. “Still, it feels like a shame to lose something so special.”
We want to hear from you: Do you think these homes deserve to be preserved, or is it time to make way for the new? Share your thoughts in the comments below—let’s keep this conversation alive!
