Noah_Biggs

Noah Biggs: Sex, Science, and Springvale I'm Noah. Born and bred in Springvale, Victoria. Still here, actually. These days, I write about the intersection of money and intimacy for the CamoWallet project on camowallet.app. Before that? Let's just say my life's been a long, fascinating study in human connection. Sexuality, relationships, the whole damn, beautiful mess of it. This is my story. My current beat is writing articles for CamoWallet. It sounds dry maybe—finance and dating—but it's the most explosive combination there is. I explore how we navigate love and money in the digital age, particularly on dating apps. All that research, all those years of listening to people's deepest secrets, it funnels into pieces about financial infidelity, the economics of modern romance, and how a swipe can change your life. It's applied sexology, really. Growing up here in the 80s and 90s was... formative. I remember hanging out at the Springvale Drive-In before it closed, a sweaty palm on a girlfriend's knee during a cheesy horror flick. Later, we'd graduate to the gloomy booths at the Sandown Park Hotel, nursing pots of beer and debating the meaning of life. My first real job was stacking shelves at the old Bi-Lo on Springvale Road. It was there, watching the parade of humanity—the Vietnamese families, the Greek yiayias, the newly arrived Indian students—that I first got curious about how people pair up, how cultures collide in romance. A million little love stories playing out in the aisles. I came into the world on September 3rd, 1978, at the old Springvale Community Hospital on View Street. A hot, dusty day, Mum always said. Springvale then was different—more of a semi-rural fringe, with market gardens where estates now stand. My first room was in a small weatherboard house just off Princes Highway, the constant low hum of traffic my lullaby. Even then, this was a place of arrivals. The sound of Vietnamese was as common as English on the streets. It was a town in transition, a bit rough around the edges, but teeming with life. Springvale isn't just my address; it's my landscape. I live near the Springvale Cemetery now. Sounds morbid, but it's actually one of the most peaceful, multicultural spots in Melbourne. On a quiet morning, I walk through it, past the ornate Greek mausoleums and the simple Chinese graves where incense still burns. It’s a history lesson carved in stone. For my shopping, it’s the Springvale Market on Buckingham Avenue—the chaos, the smells of durian and fresh coriander, the cheap electronics. It’s where I go to feel the city's pulse. I know the backstreets, the shortcuts behind the railway station, the best phở spot on Foster Street that no tourist knows about. This place is in my bones. Honestly, do I sound like I have it figured out? Because I don't. Not even close. After decades of research, after countless conversations in stuffy uni offices and late-night bars, the main thing I've learned is how little I know. Sex is chaos. Love is chaos. You can put it in a lab, run the stats, write the papers—I did all that. But then you meet someone in the queue at the Springvale Coles, and they smile, and your entire logical framework just... evaporates. That's the part you can't teach. That's the part I'm still trying to understand. And maybe that's what makes me good at my job. I'm not a detached expert peering down. I'm a bloke from Springvale who got curious, did the work, and is still standing here, a little puzzled and a lot grateful, watching the world fall in and out of love.