Cheat sheet: the five stages of strewth

The Advertiser

a day ago

There are few words in the Australian vernacular that carry as much emotional range as "strewth".
It's not just a word; it's a reaction, a philosophy, and for many, a coping mechanism. Whether you've stubbed your toe, spotted a funnel-web in your gumboot, or just found out the schooners are now $10, "strewth" is there for you, like a warm Bunnings snag on a cold Saturday morning.
The word itself comes from a clipped version of 'God's truth', a centuries-old oath carried over from Britain, softened by time and Aussie inflection until it became less a solemn vow and more a casual exhale of disbelief.
Like grief, "strewth" follows a pattern. A uniquely Australian one. And while Elisabeth Kubler-Ross gave us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, I reckon it's time we formally recognised the five stages of strewth. Because, let's be honest: in modern Australia, we say "strewth" a lot more than we say "I'm deeply in denial about this life-changing event".
So here it is. The definitive guide to the five stages of strewth. Consider this your emotional cheat sheet for surviving everyday Australia.
This is your entry-level strewth. Delivered with a slightly raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head. A low-stakes surprise, often encountered when something's a bit off, but not yet catastrophic.
"Strewth... that kookaburra just nicked me snag off the barbie."
It's part curiosity, part admiration. You're not angry. You're just trying to process how reality took a left turn without indicating.
Something has escalated. The vowel gets longer. Your voice rises in pitch. This stage is usually triggered by events that interrupt comfort, like discovering the servo's out of iced coffee or that the NBN's dropped out mid-Origin.
"Strewwwth! The bottle-o shuts in five!"
You're not panicking yet, but you've moved beyond mild puzzlement into urgent recalibration of your evening.
This is it. Peak strewth. The head jerks back. Eyebrows vanish into your hat brim. The arms may flail. Sometimes accompanied by a step backward and a profanity.
"STREWTH! He just drove straight through the roundabout like it wasn't even there!"
This is the moment when adrenaline takes the wheel. A spontaneous reaction to something outrageous, dangerous, or just very, very Australian.
The tone flattens. You've seen too much. You've been here before. You're not even surprised anymore, you're just tired.
"Strewth, mate... another election ad already?"
This is the sigh that follows a decade of power bills rising and public transport timetables being "optimised." It's the shrug of a man watching a magpie attack his windscreen wipers for the third day running. You're not okay, but you're functioning.
This is the final stage. You don't even say the word anymore. Your eyes say it for you. The silence is louder than shouting. Often seen in Bunnings car parks or after particularly bad parking jobs.
Notices two pelicans fighting over a kebab while a council worker referees. Nods slowly.
You've evolved beyond speech. You've gone full Buddha on the barbie. It's not that you're numb, it's that you've finally accepted the full, absurd glory of life in this sunburnt country.
In a world increasingly full of jargon, trigger warnings, and carefully curated expressions of emotion, "strewth" remains refreshingly unsanitised. It's raw. It's real. It's as much at home in the bush as it is on Beaumont Street on a Friday night.
Sure, it might not appear in HR-approved corporate emails, but it captures something deeper than a KPI ever could. "Strewth" is our way of saying: I'm here. I'm witnessing this. I cannot believe what I've just seen, but I will soldier on, probably in thongs, probably holding a half-melted Drumstick.
So the next time life hits you sideways with a kangaroo in the drive-thru or a tradie in a tuxedo, don't fight it. Don't overthink it.
Just look to the horizon, take a breath, and let it out:
Strewth.
There are few words in the Australian vernacular that carry as much emotional range as "strewth".
It's not just a word; it's a reaction, a philosophy, and for many, a coping mechanism. Whether you've stubbed your toe, spotted a funnel-web in your gumboot, or just found out the schooners are now $10, "strewth" is there for you, like a warm Bunnings snag on a cold Saturday morning.
The word itself comes from a clipped version of 'God's truth', a centuries-old oath carried over from Britain, softened by time and Aussie inflection until it became less a solemn vow and more a casual exhale of disbelief.
Like grief, "strewth" follows a pattern. A uniquely Australian one. And while Elisabeth Kubler-Ross gave us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, I reckon it's time we formally recognised the five stages of strewth. Because, let's be honest: in modern Australia, we say "strewth" a lot more than we say "I'm deeply in denial about this life-changing event".
So here it is. The definitive guide to the five stages of strewth. Consider this your emotional cheat sheet for surviving everyday Australia.
This is your entry-level strewth. Delivered with a slightly raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head. A low-stakes surprise, often encountered when something's a bit off, but not yet catastrophic.
"Strewth... that kookaburra just nicked me snag off the barbie."
It's part curiosity, part admiration. You're not angry. You're just trying to process how reality took a left turn without indicating.
Something has escalated. The vowel gets longer. Your voice rises in pitch. This stage is usually triggered by events that interrupt comfort, like discovering the servo's out of iced coffee or that the NBN's dropped out mid-Origin.
"Strewwwth! The bottle-o shuts in five!"
You're not panicking yet, but you've moved beyond mild puzzlement into urgent recalibration of your evening.
This is it. Peak strewth. The head jerks back. Eyebrows vanish into your hat brim. The arms may flail. Sometimes accompanied by a step backward and a profanity.
"STREWTH! He just drove straight through the roundabout like it wasn't even there!"
This is the moment when adrenaline takes the wheel. A spontaneous reaction to something outrageous, dangerous, or just very, very Australian.
The tone flattens. You've seen too much. You've been here before. You're not even surprised anymore, you're just tired.
"Strewth, mate... another election ad already?"
This is the sigh that follows a decade of power bills rising and public transport timetables being "optimised." It's the shrug of a man watching a magpie attack his windscreen wipers for the third day running. You're not okay, but you're functioning.
This is the final stage. You don't even say the word anymore. Your eyes say it for you. The silence is louder than shouting. Often seen in Bunnings car parks or after particularly bad parking jobs.
Notices two pelicans fighting over a kebab while a council worker referees. Nods slowly.
You've evolved beyond speech. You've gone full Buddha on the barbie. It's not that you're numb, it's that you've finally accepted the full, absurd glory of life in this sunburnt country.
In a world increasingly full of jargon, trigger warnings, and carefully curated expressions of emotion, "strewth" remains refreshingly unsanitised. It's raw. It's real. It's as much at home in the bush as it is on Beaumont Street on a Friday night.
Sure, it might not appear in HR-approved corporate emails, but it captures something deeper than a KPI ever could. "Strewth" is our way of saying: I'm here. I'm witnessing this. I cannot believe what I've just seen, but I will soldier on, probably in thongs, probably holding a half-melted Drumstick.
So the next time life hits you sideways with a kangaroo in the drive-thru or a tradie in a tuxedo, don't fight it. Don't overthink it.
Just look to the horizon, take a breath, and let it out:
Strewth.
There are few words in the Australian vernacular that carry as much emotional range as "strewth".
It's not just a word; it's a reaction, a philosophy, and for many, a coping mechanism. Whether you've stubbed your toe, spotted a funnel-web in your gumboot, or just found out the schooners are now $10, "strewth" is there for you, like a warm Bunnings snag on a cold Saturday morning.
The word itself comes from a clipped version of 'God's truth', a centuries-old oath carried over from Britain, softened by time and Aussie inflection until it became less a solemn vow and more a casual exhale of disbelief.
Like grief, "strewth" follows a pattern. A uniquely Australian one. And while Elisabeth Kubler-Ross gave us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, I reckon it's time we formally recognised the five stages of strewth. Because, let's be honest: in modern Australia, we say "strewth" a lot more than we say "I'm deeply in denial about this life-changing event".
So here it is. The definitive guide to the five stages of strewth. Consider this your emotional cheat sheet for surviving everyday Australia.
This is your entry-level strewth. Delivered with a slightly raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head. A low-stakes surprise, often encountered when something's a bit off, but not yet catastrophic.
"Strewth... that kookaburra just nicked me snag off the barbie."
It's part curiosity, part admiration. You're not angry. You're just trying to process how reality took a left turn without indicating.
Something has escalated. The vowel gets longer. Your voice rises in pitch. This stage is usually triggered by events that interrupt comfort, like discovering the servo's out of iced coffee or that the NBN's dropped out mid-Origin.
"Strewwwth! The bottle-o shuts in five!"
You're not panicking yet, but you've moved beyond mild puzzlement into urgent recalibration of your evening.
This is it. Peak strewth. The head jerks back. Eyebrows vanish into your hat brim. The arms may flail. Sometimes accompanied by a step backward and a profanity.
"STREWTH! He just drove straight through the roundabout like it wasn't even there!"
This is the moment when adrenaline takes the wheel. A spontaneous reaction to something outrageous, dangerous, or just very, very Australian.
The tone flattens. You've seen too much. You've been here before. You're not even surprised anymore, you're just tired.
"Strewth, mate... another election ad already?"
This is the sigh that follows a decade of power bills rising and public transport timetables being "optimised." It's the shrug of a man watching a magpie attack his windscreen wipers for the third day running. You're not okay, but you're functioning.
This is the final stage. You don't even say the word anymore. Your eyes say it for you. The silence is louder than shouting. Often seen in Bunnings car parks or after particularly bad parking jobs.
Notices two pelicans fighting over a kebab while a council worker referees. Nods slowly.
You've evolved beyond speech. You've gone full Buddha on the barbie. It's not that you're numb, it's that you've finally accepted the full, absurd glory of life in this sunburnt country.
In a world increasingly full of jargon, trigger warnings, and carefully curated expressions of emotion, "strewth" remains refreshingly unsanitised. It's raw. It's real. It's as much at home in the bush as it is on Beaumont Street on a Friday night.
Sure, it might not appear in HR-approved corporate emails, but it captures something deeper than a KPI ever could. "Strewth" is our way of saying: I'm here. I'm witnessing this. I cannot believe what I've just seen, but I will soldier on, probably in thongs, probably holding a half-melted Drumstick.
So the next time life hits you sideways with a kangaroo in the drive-thru or a tradie in a tuxedo, don't fight it. Don't overthink it.
Just look to the horizon, take a breath, and let it out:
Strewth.
There are few words in the Australian vernacular that carry as much emotional range as "strewth".
It's not just a word; it's a reaction, a philosophy, and for many, a coping mechanism. Whether you've stubbed your toe, spotted a funnel-web in your gumboot, or just found out the schooners are now $10, "strewth" is there for you, like a warm Bunnings snag on a cold Saturday morning.
The word itself comes from a clipped version of 'God's truth', a centuries-old oath carried over from Britain, softened by time and Aussie inflection until it became less a solemn vow and more a casual exhale of disbelief.
Like grief, "strewth" follows a pattern. A uniquely Australian one. And while Elisabeth Kubler-Ross gave us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, I reckon it's time we formally recognised the five stages of strewth. Because, let's be honest: in modern Australia, we say "strewth" a lot more than we say "I'm deeply in denial about this life-changing event".
So here it is. The definitive guide to the five stages of strewth. Consider this your emotional cheat sheet for surviving everyday Australia.
This is your entry-level strewth. Delivered with a slightly raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head. A low-stakes surprise, often encountered when something's a bit off, but not yet catastrophic.
"Strewth... that kookaburra just nicked me snag off the barbie."
It's part curiosity, part admiration. You're not angry. You're just trying to process how reality took a left turn without indicating.
Something has escalated. The vowel gets longer. Your voice rises in pitch. This stage is usually triggered by events that interrupt comfort, like discovering the servo's out of iced coffee or that the NBN's dropped out mid-Origin.
"Strewwwth! The bottle-o shuts in five!"
You're not panicking yet, but you've moved beyond mild puzzlement into urgent recalibration of your evening.
This is it. Peak strewth. The head jerks back. Eyebrows vanish into your hat brim. The arms may flail. Sometimes accompanied by a step backward and a profanity.
"STREWTH! He just drove straight through the roundabout like it wasn't even there!"
This is the moment when adrenaline takes the wheel. A spontaneous reaction to something outrageous, dangerous, or just very, very Australian.
The tone flattens. You've seen too much. You've been here before. You're not even surprised anymore, you're just tired.
"Strewth, mate... another election ad already?"
This is the sigh that follows a decade of power bills rising and public transport timetables being "optimised." It's the shrug of a man watching a magpie attack his windscreen wipers for the third day running. You're not okay, but you're functioning.
This is the final stage. You don't even say the word anymore. Your eyes say it for you. The silence is louder than shouting. Often seen in Bunnings car parks or after particularly bad parking jobs.
Notices two pelicans fighting over a kebab while a council worker referees. Nods slowly.
You've evolved beyond speech. You've gone full Buddha on the barbie. It's not that you're numb, it's that you've finally accepted the full, absurd glory of life in this sunburnt country.
In a world increasingly full of jargon, trigger warnings, and carefully curated expressions of emotion, "strewth" remains refreshingly unsanitised. It's raw. It's real. It's as much at home in the bush as it is on Beaumont Street on a Friday night.
Sure, it might not appear in HR-approved corporate emails, but it captures something deeper than a KPI ever could. "Strewth" is our way of saying: I'm here. I'm witnessing this. I cannot believe what I've just seen, but I will soldier on, probably in thongs, probably holding a half-melted Drumstick.
So the next time life hits you sideways with a kangaroo in the drive-thru or a tradie in a tuxedo, don't fight it. Don't overthink it.
Just look to the horizon, take a breath, and let it out:
Strewth.