South African Fashion Week A/W 2015 - Day 2

For some reason, SA Fashion Week won't let me flourish like the faux-bleu eyebrow sporting, based god of turnt down I, oh, so want to be.

Last year, I couldn't find an outfit, was running thirty minutes late and rolled up to the Crowne Plaza Rosebank, trying to pretend that my sweatpants-crop-top-and-platforms combination was a conscious sartorial decision and not a time pressed choice heavily influenced by my dad shouting at me to move it (my African Time oriented ass) or lose it (my ride). And then halfway to Rosebank, I realised I hadn't collected my ticket and not a single Checkers/Shoprite in the entire country seemed to be open. 

To top it off, that was the moment my deoderant decided to find itself away from my armpits as it usually does whenever I'm incredibly stressed.

I blamed the bad mojo on my over-enthusiasm and lack of foresight so this year I had deep thinks all this week about what I would wear, what I would do, who I wanted to meet and which shows I wanted to see. Not that this mattered, of course, because (what might soon be) the curse of SAFW struck again and I got home from school at five o'clock and bullshitted my way through an outfit choice and tried to compensate with blue eyebrows and frilly socks. 

This time, however, I did remember to get my tickets printed only to arrive to the Crowne Plaza to find that all the shows had been delayed due to the Armageddon dust storm forming from Hell (well, Bloomfontein - same thing though). I dabbled in optimism, however, and thought of the extra time as a chance to socialise, take pretty photos and have a fabulous night. My 2% iPhone battery and almost full SD card, however, were not on the same page. To top it all of, all the shows had been cancelled and moved to Sunday night. 

That just goes to show - foresight, planning and organisation mean nothing in the real world, kids. Also, if you skip your 11:11 wishes for a whole week, it will come back to bite you.

 My lace crop top - which ended up appearing a lot more see-through than I had thought - is from H&M, my 'Baddie K' necklace from Accessorize, my skirt from Mr Price, socks from C&A and Mr Price and studded creepers from a little shoe store in Osmonbey, Istanbul that I think is closing down soon (it's also the spot I got my blue suede creepers last year).

 The  real MVP, Foyin, doing her thing as media and grabbing some cool street style. She's been on a really great wave of progress and success which has been so lovely to observe. Khensani, my woman-crush everyday and namesake, from Oh Kenzo, was also there but my SD card and had-it-up-to-here-ness was already full by the time she arrive.

I also met these lovely babes right before my camera bailed on me and they reminded me so much of myself and my girls last year at Fashion Week. Especially the wary enthusiasm they approached everything and everyone with. My heart grew bigger than the Grinch's when I asked them about what they did, as in school and stuff, and they both side-eyed, considering whether to pretend they were in university or admit they were in high school. They were a lot smarter than I was last year in that they told the truth.

And now to drift into school tomorrow morning with some tinted reading glasses and a cup of green tea, pretending to have had a wild, wild night of hemlines and sparkling flutes. Hopefully the spirits grant me some mercy tomorrow night when I tackle Rosebank again for Day 3 of SAFW.

xx

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I Live In a Hologram with You

I'm a rather boring person right now. I don't know why.
Today, an old friend asked me about things going on in my life. We hadn't seen each in a long time and it was weird. Talking to old friends gives you an uncomfortable sensation and guilt and nostalgia and that thing you get when you're with your mom and you feel like you have to constantly explain yourself. My friend noted that I didn't the laugh the way I used and my humour had changed. I was quieter, more subdued, like I had a lot on my mind.
Talking to an old friend and reminiscing - you'd expect you'd learn new things about your friend and receive a more rose-tinted view of the past but those things you find from just looking at the person, watching them check their Twitter whenever the conversation stalls.
And after said friend leaves and you promise to try to see more of each, say hi to your mom/sister/the-love-of-your-lives, you're still left with that gross feeling of guilt. It flows through your veins like oil and your arms become heavy.
You never realise how much you've changed until you're faced with the people who've become people you used to know. One of those people being yourself.
I don't know. It all made me think of Buzzcut Season by Lorde. There's something about the song that makes me think of the increasing number of people I know becoming people I knew. And it's great that times are changing but change is this terrible shade of blue that I find both warm and cool.

 Wifebeater: Topman | Jeans: Cotton On | Sandals: Edgars | Bangle: Truworths | Lipstick: some eyeshadow and Vaseline | Attitude: 16 years of being nothing

 Camisole: Mr Price | Pajama Trousers: Zara Istanbul | Shoes: Diva at Zando.co.za | Ring: the store formerly known as Sass Diva, Zuri | Belt: Mr Price

 *** FYI: I wore these outfits on separate occasions. I am not a great catfish.

 Midnight blue is such a great colour. It's so suggestive of eternity and foreverness (in terms of Tavi's Rookie December 2013 Ed's Letter). I find it strange that blue is seen as a cool colour since there's nothing more comforting and refreshing than the night sky.

Forever,
Khenzo xx

Baby, When You Finally Get to Love Somebody

 Happy 10th Anniversary of Mean Girls! Also IT'S GONNA BE MAY! Also, Kate Moss's collection for Topshop launced today. Also, IT'S GONNA BE MAAAYY.
To celebrate the anniversary of one of my favourite films ever, I wore pink because it also happens to be Wednesday! Why is that significant, you ask? What is Mean Girls anyway, you ask? Why was my Tumblr dashboard filled with it, you keep on? Please pick up your orangatan boobs and army green Crocs and proceed to run over a cliff. Thanks, bye.
Don't even get me started on the NSYNC reference.

It was such a labour of love and sacrifice to basic bitchness to find the only pink top in my wardrobe (which is discombobulating - pink is such a great colour). I found these perfectly oppressive high waist jeans from Mr Price yesterday and they allow me to eat carbs and still be a walking catfish (read: this is real progress, Mark Zuckerberg). My socks and flatforms are from Mr Price as well.

As someone who is from Africa as well (and has actually grown up with Ladysmith Black Mambazo), I can verify that we all speak Swedish and that butter is a carb. This is all science.

 The Topshop South Africa Instagram promised a R2000 voucher for the Kate Moss collection to the first people to show up this morning when the store opened. I missed it by thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much. I was really disappointed with the lack of hype from Topshop, the fact that they didn't turn it into, like, a proper vibe and throw a launch party with fancy juices and sweets like they did somewhere in the world with Jourdan Dunn there (I think). But when I came face to sequins/fringe/leather with the collection, I understood why. I was so whelmed. Which is becoming a recurring theme with my visits to Topshop.

 Josh and I threw a little temper tantrum and then went for a carby lunch (WHERE MY PANTS DID NOT EXPLODE THIS IS SO IMPORTANT YOU GUYS).

I AM A TURD

On Monday, my blogger friend, Foyin (of Dear Solo) and I did a little clickety-click snap-snap thing at her house. She made me waffles and pink tea and bacon and I was just filled with a warmness unmatched by the white hot intesity of a thousand suns because having friends and bacon is so nice. Plus Foyin is such a babe, especially in photographs.

 I probably should have left Foyin to publish these photos herself (there are many more great ones) but I really love them and I'm kind of gushy proud of the way my photo-taking (too hipster to put photography) has improved since, like, this time last year.

 This is what the past two weeks of holidays have looked like for my laptop. I'm finally writing again, probably mediocre but better than nothing. I've also found that taking photos of self-portraits makes them look a lot better. I'm not a very strong or confident painter so I've been trying to teach myself these past weeks and, I know, I know, they're rather whelming but it's improvement. I'm just at a point in my life where growth is better than sitting around not doing anything because I'm scared of failing, you know?

Forever
Khenzo xx

There's a Lot of Metaphors, You Just Lack Vision

 How about a round of chicken wings for me? I've spent the past four days trapped in my room, doing art, writing bad poetry and failing at putting in false eyelashes (how do people do that on a daily basis). So after watching bad TV, I rallied (read: tricked) a friend into going to see a movie with me.
We watched Hercules, starring (beautiful, beautiful) Kellan Lutz. It is a terrible film. Do not see it. Do not let Kellan's sculptured face trick you into believing otherwise.

My crop top is from Mr Price, bag from Zara, skirt from the days of my youth (does that count as vintage?), and my boots and socks from Jet. I'm playing around with the idea of Winter fashion now that it's getting really windy at night and it took a lot of strength to stray away from adding my red trench coat over this.

I've had such envy over the tights, coats and wool pieces Northern Hemisphere bloggers have been sporting up 'til now. I never know how to dress in summer unless it's half-naked in my room, watching Australian soap operas. With winter you can wear boots, leather, things with buttons, things with a lot of zips, no one judges you for mismatched items because you're just trying to keep warm - we feel.

I wanna give photo creds to my brother for these but I don't know if it counts since it's just me forcing him to stand in a certain position, angle the camera like so and leave enough space above my head. And then me still cropping and tinting the photos.

Last week when my friends stayed over for my birthday weekend extravaganza (za) (za) (zaa), we (mostly them and I took photos and drank concentrate juice) cooked dinner for my family. (So as much as I love cooking, I never eat my own food and I wasn't in the mood to go on toast for the night.) We made a night of it; decorating the plates like it was Masterchef, putting on the romance lights (they never have any use here ever) and playing Chance the Rapper's slow jamzzz.

Forever
Khenzo xx