Making their own way in the world

My recent trip along the western edge of the Pacific (Singapore-Sydney-Bangkok-Hong Kong-Taipei-Tokyo) was one of those grand tours that left me wondering whether the world is becoming more globalised or whether many nations and cities have decided to sail off in their own direction and chart a course at a pace and style that’s uniquely their own. Twenty-four hours in one country followed by 48 hours in the next is always an excellent way to gauge how far consumer, business and cultural trends really travel.

On the streets of Bangkok, listening to Thai-pop in the back of the car, I wondered if the country’s vibrant domestic music scene insulated it from pop influences that might seep in from the US or Japan. The young man belting out his poppy number sounded as if he was about 21, and I imagined he probably looked like a very handsome girl with an elaborate hairdo, exquisitely manicured eyebrows, a confident flash of eyeliner, a baggy T-shirt and super-skinny jeans. Though his song had all the right hooks, I was sure he had little hope of getting much airtime in Australia.

In Sydney, I decided to meet my colleague Andrew for breakfast at a much-loved café out in the suburb of Bronte. I often think of Australia as an upside-down version of Canada with slightly better weather and more interesting animals. With its one big city on the west coast, two urban rivals in the east, its funny little capital city and all those minerals and animals in between it could be Canada – yet it’s anything but. For starters, Australia has developed its own contemporary architectural language, particularly when it comes to residential renovations and newbuilds. Second, it’s local shopping parades are completely free of chain stores, homegrown or otherwise. Where most British, Canadian and US high streets are a loop of the same pharmacies, cafés, stationers and newsstands, Sydney’s neighbourhoods are proper collections of independently owned and operated small enterprises.

For sure, Australia’s remoteness keeps the faint-hearted from boarding a Qantas flight to see whether it’s worth expanding. But the fact that Starbucks closed 61 of its 85 stores in 2008, and that Borders this year had to close all its stores (which was unrelated to its filing for bankruptcy in the US) revealed that this is a market that’s not easily impressed by so-so coffee or box-store bookselling.

On Wednesday I landed in Tokyo and noted that the locals had not only found their groove to spend again, but young Tokyoites were out in force in various interpretations of national dress. I was spared the high temperatures of recent weeks on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday saw the temperature rise, and with the creeping mercury appeared nattily turned-out young men in yukata, kimono and jin-bei (summer pyjamas). Likewise, groups of young girls were also seen sipping iced lattes and eating cream-filled roll cakes in high hairdos and perfect make-up.

Was it a subtle display of nationalism and solidarity? Was it part of stimulus package to get young people to invest in Japanese craft and keep their spending in the country to support ancient businesses? Or was it nothing more than just a practical way of looking and staying cool?

By the time I reached Zürich on Sunday evening, I felt relieved that a place as familiar as Australia was pulling in its own direction and was managing to avoid looking like a suburb of San Diego, and that a society as obsessed with trends and global brands as Japan was finding more comfort in products and talent home-grown rather than imported.

I flipped on the TV to catch the headlines and tuned in and out of various channels while I started to unpack. On some networks they were replaying highlights from the phone-hacking scandal, while others were reporting “live” from Oslo. As I listened to voices from studios in Atlanta, remote locations in China, stand-up positions in front of parliament and over Skype, the world wasn’t so unique any more. From anchors to analysts, punters to politicians, all of these people sounded alarmingly alike – no matter the provenance of the broadcaster or the point on the planet where an interview was taking place.

James Murdoch sounded not unlike the security analyst who was talking about the rise of the far right in Norway; the political commentator in Washington DC sounded a lot like the banker on the trading floor in Singapore. All the sentences ended with that slightly raised inflection that somehow makes even the most informed academic sound a little bit dim. Even the Chinese commentator speaking about the horrific high-speed rail accident sounded as if he was talking about the perils of getting blonde highlights rather than safety issues surrounding his country’s rail operators. If the world’s eventually going to be flat, then hopefully English language speech patterns will follow suit and level out.

Tyler Brûlé is editor-in-chief of Monocle magazine

tyler.brule@ft.com

More columns at www.ft.com/brule