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.

Less Marcia Brady, More Raven Baxter: The 70s Can Leave

seventies are back (obv) by khenzonatalia featuring round sunglasses

The 70s are back and its bigger and badder than ever. You probably haven't noticed due to its super subtle influence on the Spring 2015 collections in New York and London. It takes a super trained ear to hear the slight, *judging you* whispers of Marcia Brady all over Derek Lam's suede panelled skirts, Dries Van Noten's minimal use of silk and BCBG's flared pants. While I love middle partings, giant sunglasses and floppy hats as much as the next blogger brat, I was really hoping that the really popular 90s revival would lead to an even more popular early 2000s repentanance. You know, a decade I can really echo sentiments of "back in my day" and actually get on my Tumblr pretense, "only 2000s kids will know what [assorted shit probably featuring heelies] is".

Ever since chokers, velvet and those giant Fresh Prince puffy jackets came back, I hoped that  my mom was insane for attempting to insist I purge my closet of the frilly mini-skirts, furry collared tops and jersey skirts that were the light of my youth. Sadly, Jackie Burkhart isn't trying to let that happen. Well, I say NAY.

"But, Khensani," you begin. "The 2000s were gross." Well, shut up. 

Listen, you're too focused on the excessive amount of belts, scarves and butterfly clips to actually recognise what was the greatest sartorial decade ever. Yes, we're all a lit bit turned off by super low cut Ambercrombie skirts and high rise thongs and all the weird shit people used to bedazzle all over their jeans and don't get me started on velour tracksuits. 

But, young one, do you not remember the July 2003 issue of Vanity Fair?

What about the super ghetto fabulous application of faux fur to anything and everything?

Or the absolute experimentation in all things crop top? I'm talking one shoulder, no shoulders, straps, weird things that just ended in a triangle above your navel and a very (worrying) supply of halter tops.

 And don't even get me started on the rise of metallics:

Also, along with V-necks that kept getting deeper than French existentialism, it was arguably the greatest time for the OG socialites (DUIs and public lack of underwear included); Nicole, Paris and Lindsay.

 Don't try to tell me Lizzie McGuire wasn't everything either.

 Or pretty much anything by Gwen Stefani (cultural appropriation aside).

 And Lil Kim.

 And this happened.

 Also: Gossip Girl, headbands, tights and coats, man.

No lie: the 2000s got very messy very often but it was also the most fun I ever remember in fashion. There was this lack of inhibition in terms of hemlines, materials, lace-ups, colours. Not to mention the absolute carefree Black girls on the rise; Lil Kim, Eve and Missy Elliot to name a few. I don't think there was anything as aesthetically exciting as one of their music videos. To hell with eyes over lips or lips over eyes: accentuate whatever you want to accenuate. 

The 2000s were free. It just seemed like the funnest mish mosh of past decades and modern clothing. It was wearing all your favourite items at once and spending your Bring It On DVD pack money on the overpriced criss-cross C&C California tank tops because Lauren Conrad had three.

Marcia Brady just don't do it like that.

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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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