All White Sucks



Kim Kardashian is not to be trusted.

Olivia Pope is not to be trusted. Country club members on tennis courts are not to be trusted.

Anyone who regularly wears all-white ensembles is very clearly a psychopath or privileged enough to have a mousy assistant who serves them red wine in sippy cups and puts down sheets when they're about to take a seat. In addition, anyone who regularly wears all-white ensembles enjoys having everyone look at them sideways when they choose to stand a metre from walls, inspect surfaces supposedly for sitting and ask for the driest dishes on the menu.

See, to live an all-white life is to continually struggle. Sure, you're super aesthetic and an Instagram wet dream but you will die inside. Your once adorably clumsy friend with a thing for cranberry juice is now your enemy. You can't enjoy outdoor excursions with your friends because you can't catch any of the jokes, preoccupied by the thought of grass stains. What is the point of being oh so crisp, so clean, so minimal when you can't even enjoy lunch with your friends because everyone thinks you're a priss for putting down ten serviettes before you sat.

Wearing all-white means you must sacrifice your life for the aesthetic, essentially doing everything for the Vine.

My mesh top is from H&M, tennis skirt Mr Price, Rubi/Cotton On flats and one sock is Reebok, the other addidas. My choker and marabou cuff are handmade by yours truly.

Anyone wear all-white ever? Why do/would you like to suffer like that?

Do What You Want When You're Popping

A few new developments:
1. I just started fashion school.
2. I cut my own bangs a day before school started. (I have no idea if my hair will stand the constant heat.)
3. Real life is hard.

Things that have not changed:
1. Shirts are still being worn backwards, cardigans still double as V-neck tops.
2. I still only own one belt.
3. Real life is hard.

Shirt: Identity | Skirt: Mr Price

(Above is my first day of school outfit. I left my house in such a panic (late as always) and didn't notice that my prints weren't matching up in colour.)

Part of me is completely thrilled to have a reason to wear makeup every day, plan outfits the night before that I scrap each morning and actually take my hair out of its bun every morning. This part feeds into my general new beginnings, new life excitement where I'm meeting new people, creating memories and making new friends every single day. But, wow, it's exhausting being a real person.

As much as I enjoy already having a signature everyday makeup look and wearing clothes that were meant for growing, teenage girl bodies, I am so tired. Orientation Week was only three days but I feel like I've just trained for and complete the Comrade's Marathon. I am very ready to retire. I also like to dig my own grave by being my most adult self by deciding to visit the latest Museum of African Design exhibition last Thursday night. I put aside my school/real-life fatigue to enjoy walking around the gallery in a pencil skirt and discussing mise-en-scene and drinking dry white wine.

The exhibit was really cool, by the way. Unfortunately my camera died two minutes in and I couldn't capture the magic of the Angolian art on display. I do suggest that anyone in Joburg makes a visit quick, quick.

Cardigan: thrifted | Skirt: Mr Price | Socks: Factorie | Bag and Creepers: somewhere in Istanbul | Harness: Glitter Betty

For my second day of school, before I got home in this black-and-red ensemble, I wore a nondescript green t-shirt and high-waist short-shorts. I remembered that morning that I was meant to be trying minimalism out for a while. And once again it came out hella basic.

Romper: Mr Price | Harness: Glitter Betty | Belt: my dad | Jewelry: Glitter Betty | Socks: Mr Price

Day/morning three was hard on account of my having been out the night before and only coming home in the AMs (but side note: how cool am I now) (hahaha, still not very cool, I know). I wore this romper which was almost my uniform in December just because of how easy it was to wear and dress up/down.

Upon looking at these photos, I realized I was very barely trying out  a new aesthetic but updating something I'd already done before (bangs, backwards shirts, high hemlines).

 Anyway, I should probably be preparing for school or whatever tomorrow.
Also, I think I deserve major daps for not titling this post "This Ain't High School" or including Nicki Minaj's High School or Beyoncé's Schooling Life.

Confessions of a Maximalist

A long time ago, I could've been a billionaire if I had received a dollar for every time I'd ever exclaimed, "I have nothing to wear," while staring into my perpetually overflowing, disorganised wardrobe of clothes dating back to before I was born. I would push aside twelve pairs of jeans to look at thirty variations of the same top and sigh, I would try on five or so tank tops and wonder why it was so difficult for me to get dressed. It wasn't so much that I had nothing to wear but everything I owned was basic, tacky or ridiculously overdone. I mean, how was I supposed to stand out when I continually wound up in a pedestrian combination of jeans and a t-shirt, or an a-line skirt and ballet flats. 

This was made all the more difficult by the walk, walk, fashion baby fashion rags I kept in every corner of my bedroom. The sparkly girls in those pages came alive in all kinds of wild prints, new age silhouettes and effortless effortful proportion play. Man, I wanted so bad to be one of those fashion girls. There was something about being the kind of girl who wore three different plaid-pattern items in contrasting and clashing colours that meant you got to be the kind of girl who could describe every night of her life as the time of her life.

Eventually, I figured out the secrets of those almost-mythical creatures: all their dressing decisions were made on the shop floor, not their hideously carpeted bedroom floors (I finally got wood ones a year before we moved to nondescript tiled-ness). So I vowed that I would never again buy anything that could be described as a "wardrobe staple" or a "basic". Right now, any tank top or camisole I own belongs to my sister or my mom. I have maybe two pairs of everyday jeans and I've had them since 2013. You'll be very hard pressed to spot a blazer, tailored trousers, a little black dress or a "classic" white dress shirt in my wadrobe. (I mean, you might find it because I'm a chronic hoarder but you're gonna have to reeeeally look because I'm a chronic hoarder.) Instead you will find all manner of bright and bold patterns and prints, loud pops of colour and night-time-y fabrics and silhouettes.

And I got to be one of those fashion girls for a while. For a long while, actually. (My mom still rolls her eyes when I frown at the pretty-girl-things she offers to me or shows me when she's we're shopping.) And then minimalism became a thing again and I started to look at my 50 million prints, textures and cuts, and I became that Drake from three years ago. I was not at a higher place. And now I was presented with a new problem: these fashion girls were dressed in the same "staples" and "basics" I had foresaken yet there was nothing ordinary about their outfits. Some of these girls were literally in jeans and a t-shirt, or straight line dresses and ballet flats or (what I can only describe as) a cloth and I once again had nothing to wear.

For a while, this was something at the back of my mind. I had a series of aesthetics that worked for me and which I loved and I could be happy that way. But part of maximalism also grew out of the frustration of having to wear the same thing - in neutrals no less - every day for the past five years. But now that school uniform is no longer a thing, I'm dying for something consistent and easy to rely on. I can't deal with the concept of exclaiming "I have nothing to wear" on a daily, instead of weekends only.

I'm, what, two years too late but teetering into minimalism.

T-shirt/dress: work in progress Glitter Betty: | Socks: Mr Price | Boots: thrifted/Hot Topic.

(Lol: this t-shirt/dress was the result of 32 hours of no sleep, an over-heating sewing machine and a desire to rid myself of all the fabric I'd bought a year ago and hadn't touched. But I'm pleasantly surprised at how my sloppy satin and mesh combo came out and might sincerely pursue it at a later date. What do you think?)

PS. Does anyone who does't/hasn't/no longer wear a uniform have any tips for trying to look, at least, half-human on the daily? Please and thank you.

The End of Era and Superbalist

The only thing more absent than my presence on this here blarb, is my desire to see the year's end. This Sunday not only concludes the end of a week but the end of an era. High school is officially over (only to an extent, of course, there are still final examinations to be written) and I wanted to celebrate my delving into one of my favourite aesthetics; une IG bad-bad.

Oh, you know, those super beautiful girls you only ever see on Instagram with 20 inch weaves and contour for the gawds, the world's supply of pencil skirts and lace up high heel sandals. They're always going to fancy lunches and drinking artisan coffees and taking super lowkey selfies with beyps.

And, just in time, I received a R500 voucher from the really lovely people at Superbalist (which I still pronounce super-balist even though I've learnt it's superb a-list) and copped this amazing Vera Moda jacket and extra long pencil skirt. Which, given my recent obsession with the IG bad-bads, has been the most coveted item in my wishlist.

I was pleasantly surprised to see how far I could stretch R500 on a website that imports high street fashion from around the world and in between the beautiful jacket and skirt, I also got a really lovely piece of art too. And shopping with Superbalist was a dream. The website is clean in design and easy to navigate, they keep you updated on your shipping progress and send you an SMS the day-of-delivery to tell you when your parcel is going to arrive.

Shop Superbalist (which also ships internationally, btw) here. I also recommend that you hurry because their stock sells out rather quickly.

From Mad Hatters to Book Launches

There's nothing like sitting around on a Friday night wanting plans because you are so funny and so cool and everyone should witness it only to actually have very full Saturday and realise that you're a pile of bricks with nothing to wear actually.

A friend invited me to the book launch of his self-published anthalogy of poems, You Are the Sky on Saturday night. It was a really lovely evening with his friends performing music, poetry and the like. It was really affirming to see so many people band behind this kid, I mean he's eighteen years old with his own book, and just come out to genuinely support him and buy his product. It was a great reminder that sometimes all you have to do is just put yourself out there and people will support. 

Earlier that Saturday I also went to an Alice In Wonderland themed tea party which was hosted in my friend's so-called backyard (I don't know if you can still give it the label of the homely 'backyard' when there's a private dam and her very own population of geese). We got manicures, painted the roses red, make a quilt and ate a lot of cookies and drank lots of tea out of 'drink me' bottles and 'eat me' trays.

When You Do Have the Juice Like That

"Omg, khensani, are those swimming trunks? u r so creative!"
Hahaha, no, peasant. I'm just broke and always twenty minutes late to everything.

Fashioning short shorts out of your brother's too, too big swimming trunks will seem like a really clever idea when you're left with two minutes to get ready before having to head out. You'll tell yourself that your colour palette is so on point and you've just extended your wardrobe by another item for absolutely free, thereby creating a whole new plethora of outfit choices for the summer (which, you seem to keep forgetting, is almost over). You'll pair your cute new shorts with a thrifted button up shirt in your favourite shades of blue ("ah, look at how well they go together," you'll remark, "this was meant to be"), slip into the pink Pull & Bear trainers you're always wearing and never washing and throw a wink at the mirror before you leave with your thrifted jacket and the remaining trophies of almost-responsible-nights-out-when-you-didn't-lose-everything on your wrists and fingers.

You good-looking fool, you.

You're going to regret all of this when the hair-ties holding your shorts up keep getting lost, the drawstring of aforementioned shorts keeps giving up on you and your shirt exploding outwards and forwards, and don't even get me started on what a burden that jacket will become to you on the dance floor. I hope the compliments were worth all the anguish.

Jacket: Better Half Vintage // Top: Glitter Betty // Shorts: somewhere in the Seychelles // Shoes: Pull & Bear // Rings: [the store formerly known as] Sass Diva, Mr Price, LEGIT and a really nice old Turkish women in Osmonbey // Choker: Glitter Betty //

this is me thinking about how much easier my life could've been if I had just worn some jeans.

♡I'm not offline, I blocked you, asshole.♡ from 9arbage on 8tracks Radio.

Has anyone else made some terrible choices for the sake of letting your look live?

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Suskind, The Double Bass and Tangerine Trousers

"Tell me, if you can, why a grown man in his mid-thirties, namely me, should have to live with an instrument that's a constant handicap to him? Humanly, socially, sexually, musically, in traffic..." Patrick Suskind's The Double Bass.

The same genius that brought us Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, also really affected that sweet spot between my left and right lungs with The Double Bass, which is on until the 14 March at Sandton's Auto General Theatre on the square. What I thought would be a terrible one-act, one-man play wherein Pieter Bosch Botha would speak at me for an hour and a half about the double bass actually turned out to be a very heartbreaking monologue about a lonely double bassist disenfranchised and almost crippled by the four string instrument that makes up his life purpose.

It begins as a middle-age man simply praising the double bass, he speaks about how it's sparked revolution in classical music, its lack of appreciation, its central importance to any orchestra along with anecdotes about famous composers and the history of the opera and orchestra. But the double bass, as an instrument, starts to change form in the bassist's monologue. The bass becomes this allegory for oppressive voices, the bassist is unheard and, despite all his classical training, he is reduced to a mere artisan as opposed to a musician or creative. The double bass works as both a helping hand and a crutch; it taunts him, demands more of him, he even goes as far as to take the jack off of his back to protect it from the rain. Coupled with his soundproofed apartment, the bassist is forced to accept this unhealthy, pseudo-codependency because, in the end, the bass is all he has.

 I recommend everyone see this play once in their life. It's the most thought-provoking, endearing and jarring tale of loneliness, of how the things that make us also break us, of the uncomfortable nature that is this human existence. It's been over seven days and this play still rattles my bones.

I went to the theatre almost straight after school and in my rush, I accidentally put this shirt (which I wore as a skirt here) on backwards and it turned into a pretty cool boxy, turtleneck thing. My pants are relics from H&M that have me spend every four minutes posing like one of Soulja Boi fuckboys (ie. constantly grabbing my crotch). But if you're fortunate enough to either have super long stems or pull of that fuckboy look, these are for you, boo.

Anyone see/read some really cool plays lately? I need something to go against The Double Bass as the best thing ever.

Bang, Bang Into the Room

 February is always a really difficult month. You realise, once again, that you can't keep throwing so much money because "New Year, New You", Valentine's Day is pretty awful (especially since you already threw away so much money in December), Fashion Week(s) sucks and your resolutions/plans/hopes has been thrown off by Reality and all the things you have to catch up on.

I think that's why March is such a blessing. You can finally take a breather, prepare for upcoming vacation time, the arrival of winter (layering makes me so happy and, also, Drake weather) and change up your life.

I finally gather the courage to crawl up from under all my art homework and get my hair cut, as well as experiment with some bangs which a recent article on Man Repeller convinced me was an essential to every young woman experience ever. My friends, who helped me rescue the hack job originally done to my head, did not agree.

Top: H&M | Skirt: H&M (by accident, I swear) | Jacket: Better Half | Bag: Zara

I wore this last weekend when I went Glitter Betty sourcing and Melville exploring with a friend I hadn't seen in forever. It was so refreshing to not spend all day making body chains and embroidering Drake lyrics onto crop tops (don't ask).

(Left to right:) Lines from Locket by Kilo Kish, Wednesday Night Interlude by Drake and Weekend in Atlantis by Jaden Smith

What's everyone looking forward to this March?

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