By Spiph, South Africa:
I would like to believe I am a stern anti-subscriber to social convention. I view convention as a shared taboo to which I divorce myself of all completely. Convention to me signals self-inflicted propaganda schemes so overt yet covert.
So you can imagine how tightly I held on to my regular cut pants when males started wearing skinnies, or how frequently I go to the barber to shave my head because of the advent of the Mohawk. By the various comments that make their way to my ear, by now I should be excommunicated because of acute conservatism and overly apparent fashion bureaucracy at the expense of style transformation. But I don't care much for trends nor do I feel the urge to rise-up and seek emancipation from my conduct. So fashion will have to excuse me and Kendrick Lamar's hair stylist will have to forgive me.
I love the way my granddad and some of the toppies at church dress. The mannered shades they wear look great to me, not only that – they seem comfortable and radiate a whim of respect and content. Very deep stuff for slacks and a jersey I know. So whenever I see Kanye West's ensembles and Miguels hairstyles I'm overcome with a deep tribal religiously and culturally fuelled urge to tell Kanye to pull up his pants and in the process attacking Miguel with scissors and an afro-comb. Unfortunately that opportunity has not been physically presented to me, however the afro-comb in my bag will one day prove a worthy comrade.
Then we have my sisters in leggings…
I still recall the first day I saw those dreaded – pants – and I will start this like many intelligent people before me would have.
It was a chilly June afternoon; my friends and I had gathered at a local fish and chips shop in Braamfontein in the Johannesburg CBD. The shop overlooking the traffic and railway lines provided choice visuals of the countless “comfortable” ladies making their way home. Then that girl appeared from the opposite corner – JESUS!! – Out of breath and half dead from chocking on a potato chip, I regained my composure with the aid of a glass of coke.
As we watched her collectively out of words, I thought to myself, this girl is out of her mind. How could someone leave the house dressed like that? Those visuals were the subject of a heated discussion on our way to the train station and taxi rank. The conclusion being, we need to invest in sturdier jeans because Sodom and Gomorrah has now made it into fashion.
Fast forward to today and these leggings are everywhere and the root of many fights amongst people. I mean these things are being wielded all over the area. I can't even focus while at the gym as they are everywhere one looks.
This is a global problem, and if you don't agree with me I suggest you look into the untold story of many men who have injured themselves while driving or lifting weights after being distracted by legging wearers.
The ugly issue is that of age. I am no expert in the field of “appropriacy”, but a 50 plus year old woman wearing leggings at a funeral should be illegal or at the very least categorised as blasphemy.
I believe this is a time when the future will look to history and ask us why we didn't act; the issue of leggings will have a knock-on effect. Much like the German cut to the Mohawk. The life of a Social Pariah is a sad one indeed.
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