A Wolf in Sheepskin



Must have it...



So, the last time I blogged was when I threw caution to the wind, had some hard liquor and decided to be a fashion blogger. I’ll let that sink in for a few seconds…I wanted to be a fashion blogger. Now we can all collectively laugh… What on earth do I know about the ins and out of clothing never mind the industry? I own only one pair of denims for heaven’s sake hahaha! Truth is, my favourite magazine had launched a competition in search for an online fashion blogger and my master plan was to infiltrate the magazine in the guise of someone who knew all about trends, designer labels and style while I showcased my own written work and have them hire me on the spot to touch on issues that were of more substance to me.

So I set out on my quest to come up with a creative concept: to show case different trends in SA and compare them with how people in Europe wore the same trends since we are two seasons behind in terms of fashion in this country. A sort of “throwback meets the present”type of feel.  The idea worked for me but my contacts on the other side of the world have lives and could not help bring my global vision to life. That left me a little despondent and instead of me taking that as a red flag, a warning that maybe this is not where I need to be, I persevered and decided, against better judgment, to model my own blog. Again I’ll let that sit with you for a few seconds before you pee yourself with laughter.

I’m comfortable with my personal style. It has no name, box or category but it is hardly something to talk about or even blog about but again the “you are using yourself as a model” red flag went up and I pushed on. I really wanted to write for my favourite magazine and I took the risk.

Needless to say, I did not win the competition, neither was I even considered for the top one thousand. I, of course, am not the best in situations that require sportsman-like behaviour and I immediately broke-up with the love of my fashion life, Elle Magazine, and have not bought an Elle in what will soon be a year. I walk past its awesomeness in the shopping isle and just as I reach out to touch it I swear my ears emit smoke and the terrorist in me threatens to comes out, I quickly withdraw my hand and leave the magazine rack in one piece. Must get a handle on this forgiveness issue…

I’m certain that soon Elle and I will get back together and that little misunderstanding will be long forgotten and off into the sunset we will ride through pages of pastel and neon and I’ll learn to just me, the life meant for others is uncomfortable to wear.

Live Laugh Love

Those who walk…



Hitch hiking in the wild



Those who walk shall drive, a saying that I picked up from the boyfriend. When I first moved to Pretoria due to my life story off- ramping into a direction a tried hard to fight I was a pedestrian. I lived at res and had no use for a car or a man with one. I enjoyed that my legs looked amazing all thanks to the obstacle course that is the mountainous T.U.T main campus. Fast-forward to 2013 and still here I am with the hot legs and no car. I did not mind it for the longest time, my mummy is a single parent and I did not want to push so I put on my “happy thought’” hat, continued my calorie-burning life and strengthened my bond with the sidewalks of Pretoria.

I then started noticing that I had no control as to when I left a place because I had to be cautious of taxi times. I could not stay on campus for the extra hours that I required to get help with the rapist subject EconomicsIV. My friends were always giving me lifts from dance practices even when the route was out of their way. Tons of people were shocked that they saw me dance on television constantly and I was still walking. What “famous” person does that?! People started making up rumours about how rich I had become and how I was ‘ballin’”. Jesus help the little children to keep their noses out of my business.

The only truth is what I write and here it is…To say I detest walking is to be ungrateful for my good health but I'm always sweaty and sticky by the time I get to campus, my colleagues have given me the nickname Bugatti-legs because I can get to corner Pretorius and Sisulu Street from Bosman Street in under twenty minutes and my dainty dancer feet are beginning to hurt. I am also getting over the curves of burly women resting on my thighs as we sit overloaded in the taxi, the bath-time evaders and the spicy smell of armpits, the elderly who want to discuss everything under the sun when all you want is some quiet and please don't get me started on the ventilation issues!!!!

I appreciate the stories my pedestrian life has enriched me with but I'm ready for a new set of problems. I too want to gasp in despair when the news announce yet another hike in petrol, I want to see friends and family at a whim and want to be able to escape any scenario at the drop of a hat but until then I must believe that those who walk shall drive.