Keeping Up Appearances...

The not-so-pretty flipside of being a fashionista

Words by: Afika Avathe Lulo

My "Ivy League" (read UCT) friends always thought I was ditsy & unintelligent. And pretentious. They thought I was unintelligent because my daily modus operandi was more of a moda operandi. 

You see, I became better acquainted with make-up brushes and colourful clothing rails when my school shoe days reached their long awaited end. I found myself - a fashionista in the midst of people who thought caring about the clothes on your back was a habit of the superficial.

I recently bought a 1991 (year I was born) issue of American VOGUE and in it was a feature story on how women who dress well are perceived. Coincidence? I think not. The words: “Is a fashionable image empowering – or does it undermine authority?” triggered in me the oppression I often felt from my peers for coordinating my outfits well. Of course, this may sound like the cry of a preschooler who runs home to their mom saying, “they don’t like me cos of my hair,” but the truth is that our playground notions of ‘what is different should be mocked’ far outlive our education levels.

“Why should a woman repress any aspect of her personality?’ Woody Hochswender questions in this VOGUE piece. Sadly, I succumbed to the perceived ostracism for the sake of being heard in the dining hall (because res). Of course, this was at a time when I actually cared about being liked by people. When your own friends question your ability to grasp basic concepts such as that of laissez faire and your use of elementary words like “ambivalent”, you start wondering how much of a helpless princess aura your manicured nails and white pussy-bow blouse are exuding.

My guy friends told me it is highly unlikely that I am a feminist because I wear freakum dresses when I go out, tight jeans during the day and I listen to Hip-Hop (a genre of music that somewhat hates women). My opinions were downplayed at Gatherings, I got jabs about my Kings College (school in England) sweater not belonging to me because I couldn’t have possibly been smart enough to wow a panel of interviewers into going on exchange. There was a sense of a trivialising of my blog,  comments like “I had no idea you even knew that many words” and the yawn inducing question whenever a girl walked into the dining hall, “what do you think of what she’s wearing?” when I’m not even thinking about said girl at the time. 

These are examples of the remarks that made me feel like I would have an easier time stifling one of the very things that define me. More importantly, though, these are portrayals of what happens when you judge a book by its cover – you take that book and place it carelessly somewhere between international tabloids and children’s fiction before you even open it to read the first page.

“I would much rather you think of me as nothing more than a well coordinated outfit so that you may be shocked when I accomplish my trivial feats.” I subtweeted once in passive aggression.

The misconception about women who take care of their outward appearance is that they do it for the audience or to sartorially mimic the likes of the Kardashian/Knowles sisters, but never themselves. Now I mentioned that there was a point at which I cared about being liked people (not an anomaly might I add), but I never placed that need on my passion for material. Me being runway inclined had everything to do with how the textures, tags and trims made me feel and nothing to do with how others would feel once they saw me. 

Though metrosexual men also sometimes fall prey to the labels of applause-seeker and peacock, it never affects how they are viewed professionally; instead we use words like “dapper” and “gent” to describe them. Women, on the other hand receive all the labels that do nothing for us from a professional standpoint: sexy, sassy, bombshell, vixen and insert any other adjective that will eventually allude to a woman sleeping her way to the top.

The logic here is that a woman who is style literate cannot possibly have space in her head for anything else and therefore does not have the mental capacity to build a career meritoriously.

Former president of the American Civil Liberties Union, Nadine Strossen, said, “The more empowered I am, the more I dress to please myself,” and further elaborates on her point by stating that, “there is no way one can divorce one’s appearance from success.” Coming from a family that won the genetic lottery of good taste and aesthetics, Strossen’s words make me think of how impeccably the ladies in my family dress for the workplaces in which they hold leadership positions in male-dominated fields. They don’t hold these positions because their male colleagues were distracted by their sheer stockings neither do they dress well to get their way around the office. We dress this way because what you project on the outside is a reflection of what is happening inside you.

There's this double standard about the workplace. A woman dressed in a Margaret Thatcher banker’s grey suit does not necessarily guarantee a good work performance. Playing down your femininity to win the respect of your male counterparts is an unnecessary evil birthed from the false dichotomy of; femininity equals sexy equals weak or bad at what you do vs. masculinity equals merit & credentials equals respect/power. A man with an unbuttoned top button and loose tie at the end of the day is hardworking and admirable, but a woman with a loose bun can’t handle the pressure.

The problem with receiving compliments such as "sexy" or "bombshell" puts you in the “all pout-no clout” box (just coined that by the way).

They say a woman should always take care of the way she looks and Elizabeth Arden said, “To be beautiful is the birthright of every woman,” and I’ve always believed that there is no such thing as an ugly woman – only a lazy one. 

I love fashion. I love talking about it. I’m enthralled by its visual appeal. It is also unfortunately a misunderstood culture. Though misunderstood, I never felt that my love for it warranted an explanation to my friends (anti-establishment males, mostly, who represent a part of society that equates a full closet with an empty mind). I will say this though - Being a lover of all that is vogue does not make me its victim. There is a multitude of fads that I will never dabble in.

When you see a book cover, you don’t concern yourself with the font on the cover and put it back down because the illustrations are too evocative; instead you flip it over and you simply read. Try that next time you see a walking Vogue cover.

Hair Today, gone Tomorrow...

Growing up I never had much hair. I was not one of those babies with a hairband around a miniature afro. Don’t get me wrong, I was cute, but my hairband was around a few strands of baby hair rather than an afro. My hair only grew to a decent length during my pre-teen years when I discovered the joys of tying my hair up in different ways. My obsession with my hair is no different to any other black girl’s obsession with her hair. 

I also believe that almost every black girl’s insecurity or pride & joy has something to do with her hair – it is the bane of our existence. It starts in our formative years when our black parents buy us Barbie dolls with long, silky, blonde hair. My sister and I used to wash that hair, brush it and even plait it – in an act of living vicariously through these plastic models. These seemed easier than the extensive treatments our own hair has to go through. 

“Ethnic” hair requires that we chemically straighten (commonly known as relaxing) it every four to six weeks to give it that silky texture. I personally am not opposed to this practice (regrowth irks me), but what I have always been offended by is the fact that the packaging for these products has girls with hair extensions on them. It took me very long to realise this, though. All little black girls grow up under this impression. Is it any wonder we have such a love-hate relationship with our hair?

Beyond the hair relaxing and my hair length (yes, it is quite long now beneath a million braids), my major dispute is now with my hairline. After years of tugging and pulling every time I get braids or a weave (human hair extensions) installed, traction alopecia has crept in and so has another insecurity about tying all my hair back. Traction alopecia is commonly referred to as a receding hairline and it is most common amongst black women because of all the hair extensions we plant every other month. 

I remember tweeting the following one bad hair day: “Changing my hairstyle every month like I’ve been promised a new hair line,” and “Braid it and forget it,” explicitly portraying the frustration with my hairline, yet also fearing how much longer I have until I start balding.

The Oxford Dictionary gives the definition of “recede” as: “go or move further away from previous position” and “to gradually diminish.” The former explanation is what has literally happened to my hairline and the latter figuratively denotes what happens within us when this occurs – after some time the value we place on our hair diminishes and so does that feeling of grandeur, of running your fingers through your hair and posting enviable selfies on social networks. 

The more we try to salvage our hairlines, the further we push ourselves into that hairline abyss. It’s a vicious cycle. Hair loss may seem like a trivial matter to some, but when you've grown up aware of the "your hair is your crown" notion and suddenly when you look in the mirror, you see that some jewels have fallen off your crown, the gold is chipped and your reign is drawing nearer to an end, your self-esteem takes quite a knock. At the end of the day, hair loss is to a black woman in her prime what acne is to a teenager. Alas, we all have our insecurities.

The Real Thing - what these three words mean in fashion speak.

I remember almost ten years ago in primary school when we had  a Design & Technology project to complete - we had to design and make a T-shirt, showcasing our ability to use dye and fabric paint. My first thought was, "finally, a fashion assignment in school." By this age (age 13), one has already become brand conscious and materialism has also started to creep in. Instead of using my project as a means of replicating a branded Tee I could not afford, I cut off the tags on branded (using the term loosely here) clothing from mine and my sisters'cupboards and sewed them on the now pink colour-bleed Tee. I used black fabric paint to write "No Time..." across the front and "...to Fake it" across the back. I, along with a now fashion design graduate, both got "Best on Show" for our respective pieces of art. Yes, a proud moment.

Nine years later, I posted a YSL blog post, where I was wearing the "highly acclaimed", most coveted YSL Tee. I did also put out a disclaimer that my student budget does not stretch far enough to purchase such luxuries - they were a gift from my brother. I now know that he has a friend that traverses the world and purchases luxury brands to sell in South Africa. There exists many of this kind of entrepeneur in SA lately, some even selling handbags, Coco Chanel pumps and weaves from their car boots. This raises the following question; do people really think a pair of Coco Chanel patent leather pumps is only going to cost them R799? R799 is reasonable for your average high end retail store, but for an item from a luxury brand as huge as Coco Chanel, it is incredibly cheap. What baffles me about people who buy into fake designer label clothing and accessories is that they would much rather spend a few hundred rands or thousands on replicas of international brands rather than spend that same amount of money on genuine pieces from local brands that are designed and created just as immaculately as any international brand.

My brother is based in KZN and the only APSLEY Group stockists in South Africa are in Cape Town and Johannesburg. YSL is part of this group, so initially I was quite curious as to where he had purchased these gems, but I've always been told it is rude to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I did not ask my brother any questions.  I appreciate the gift, because he knows how much I froth over monochrome fashion. The YSL letters on my tee's are black (and ivory) hyde cut-outs and there is a Yves Saint Laurent tag on the back, but doubt still lingers in my mind. Thing is, in China, you get three variations of each respective fashion house; the fake, which is the kind where you'll buy an LV handbag for R200, the rich cousin fake, which is slightly more expensive (kinda like factory outlet prices), but still not the real thing and then the real thing (rare, but it exists). This is where the car boot entrepreneur stocks up. 

An article I read reported on an iStore in China that was completely fake, yet so well engineered that even its employees did not know that they were working in a counterfeit iStore - enough said.

As a result of the growing market of "FongKongs" we're nearing a point whereby we will not be able give a compliment without asking, "Is it the real thing?" Those three words: the real thing, what do they even mean? What is the "the real thing?"

One of the biggest online stores in the world, eBay, provides an array of guides on how to spot the real from the fake. The most popular one being the fake vs. real Louis Vuitton bag, because we all know that every street vendor, every backstreet store and cellphone repair store has that traditional "Louis Vuitton" Monogram Toile canvas handbag, wallet or cellphone cover. I have also seen mannequins in backstreet stores and "R5 stores" (yes, believe it) wearing sequinned Armani Tee's with Coco Chanel handbags hanging off their dislocated porcelain shoulders and just thinking to myself, "Make it stop." The worst part is that there are people who genuinely believe that these are real and that they have been lucky enough to find these high fashion items at such bargain prices. On the flip-side, there are people who are quite cognisant of the fact that these are fake, but still purchase them anyway, because fads, fashions & Instagram likes.

Truth is, in our turbulent economy not many people have the cash to just splurge on a R40 000 handbag.

Yes, we may think we can tell a fake from a real offhand, but this requires a lot of in-depth knowledge of each brand. Intricacies such as stitching, font, ink and placement of graphics have to be taken into account, but the ever-expanding market of fake products comes with really well made fakes, which makes it quite difficult to distinguish between a real and a fake. Even so, I maintain that the trick is in the pricing and store - if it seems too good to be true, then it probably is. If it has a price tag on it chances are that it is fake as well, because major fashion houses do not actually place the price tag on their merchandise. Why? Simply because that kind of price tag is too heavy.

American brand, Abercrombie & Fitch, burns their faulty and unsold clothing, because they do not want people who cannot afford their clothing to wear their clothing. An unnamed A&F official even stated the following: “Abercrombie and Fitch doesn't want to create the image that just anybody, poor people, can wear their clothing. Only people of a certain stature are able to purchase and wear the company name.”



Chanel and Louis Vuitton also burn all their unsold merchandise at the end of each season to avoid having any of their items on sale, which, according to them, taints the item's image and value. Elitism is the tool used to market such fashion brands - nothing else. There is this notion that buying merchandise from international fashion houses gets you a spot in the elite circles. 

My friend once bought a Marc Jacobs blazer at a store in Cavendish Mall. The blazer is stunning and I asked her if it's real and she said, "I don't care, it's Marc Jacobs!" This I admired, because for her, purchasing that blazer wasn't about her showing off, but rather about how it made her feel. Still touch and go, but okay.

As a fashionista and avid magazine collector, I often feel the need to visit the mall every week to, as I call it, "liven up" my wardrobe, which is why I shop smart. Unlike our parents, I am not yet at a point whereby I can pay Luminance a visit like once a month, where most of us can only afford an iPhone cover (if even that). Anyway, the reason why I say I shop smart is because I am more of a "sale-gal" and I don't do shopping sprees. I don't need to do shopping sprees, because I go shopping often - if there is no sale I buy two items at most or sometimes I just let my parents bankroll my swag (have to admit). My point is that in order to look good, you do not have to emulate the lifestyle of someone who is in an income bracket that you do not fall under. 

Just because something is expensive doesn't mean it's great or that everyone around you knows how much it cost you. Also, if you really feel like you just cannot live life without some brand name sprawled across your chest, remember that thrift stores and factory outlets are your friends - genuine brands at incredibly reasonable prices (I once bought a United Colors of Benetton sweater for only R30)! and not to brag or anything, but there are very few brands I do not have in my cupboard.

That said, the fun in fashion is not found in the number of brands in one's cupboard, but rather the feeling you get when you look good - that extra push of confidence and cultivating an image for yourself. I'm just fortunate enough to always find star buys.

Ok, Stay Stylish.

Look of the Day: Leather & (neon) Laces**

Gone are the days when trainers were only reserved for the gym and tarmacs. Trainers have made appearances at several fashion weeks and street-style blogs. With major sports brands like Nike and Reebok splashing colour all over their Free-Runs, Air Max and RealFlexi's, it is kind of difficult to resist. Today I am wearing my new pair of Reebok RealFlexi's with a pair of leather pants. I love this combination of neon colours and how this pair of Reeboks just pops against the rest of my outfit.
#Reebok #Neon #Leather

Same Dress. Different Girl.

I have featured Bonang Matheba on my blog before as one of my style icons, so you can only imagine how flattered I was when I realised that we have the same dress. I wore mine on the 'red carpet' at one of my residence formals in 2010.

In Joan Rivers (Fashion Police) speak this would be a "*Beep* stole my look!" moment, but I must say that it's not everyday that you unknowingly share the same taste as one of your style icons.

I'm calling it - this is one of the highlights of my fashion career!