The Snob and The Social Reflex: Part Un

Am I frowning? But, boy, is it bright . . . Oh right, I have shades on. Am I still frowning?Urgh, it’s the public.


Please feel free to mention how absolutely dressed down I am, blending in so as to not have to garner any unsolicited attention from locals.Yeah right. We know the only blending in I’m good at is the blending in that involves the bronzer on my cheekbones and the blush on my cheeks. Now THAT’S what I call a natural transition. Do you think maybe I should’ve highlighted just above the cheekbone? Or a darker contour in the . . . Well, contour above my jawline. Hold on, I’m veering off.

Does it help that my schedule won’t allow for me to manage these cuticles, and so yes, they’ve got my attention in this place, surrounded by people who could also probably use a manicure. What an utterly boring distraction. When am I getting a grooming buddy?

So last November, I got myself (after much consideration and motivation from two of the closest non-women in my life, never again) a pair of sneakers!!!! *Gasp* Yes, sneakers. Why am I gasping? Why aren’t you? Well, you see I haven’t owned a sneaker since 5 years ago when it made sense to be so colloquially dressed, walking about, identifying as young and carefree. Of course, the pairs were well embellished. One, black padded quilting like a Chanel purse, the other with pink accents and a pink sole, and the other, a regular Converse high-top except for the doodles/grafitti that it was decorated with. Yes, they were all bought like that, picked out of a selection of bland running shoes. You see, I don’t think sneakers are shoes, I think of them as more of a necessary tool, like prescription medication (shoes for like, running and stuff?). So planning my outfits around these sneakers gave me a bit of a headache. Not to mention I had to learn how to walk in them, how ironic. Bite me.

So this is world’s apart from the postural exercise I’m used to. The ‘tuck in your butt, point your toes, drop your shoulders, hold in your core, hold your gaze in a thin, long imaginary line shooting straight forward’.

fancy outfit and sneakers

Nope. It’s basically ‘walk’. I found myself lifting my heel for no reason, arch-less, ball-less, stepping of the one foot followed by the other. Like . . . A boy.

Hey hey! The plus side. I can walk REALY fast, heck I can run! Do you know how exciting that is? Other than the fact that I might NEED to run (from something/someone, most likely for something, like a bus, out of the way of an asshole driver (read: right of way) or because I’m in a hurry or all of a sudden I realise that if I run now, I won’t have do those lunges later!). Reality is such a pain in the bunion.


Sigh, anyway. Or whatever. Sneakers.

They make feel a little less poised than I want to (maybe ought to) feel, a little less feminine, a little less entitled, a little . . . Low maintenance. Like a sliding door as opposed to a vault. Like an A4 page with a feint and margin as opposed to a taupe woodgrain wallpaper sprawling across 5metres . . . Like I can’t be excused for not knowing the meaning of the new slang word doing the rounds. Like ice, melting in a glass of room temperature water . . . And my feet still hurt.


They also make me feel like I should know the lyrics to A$AP Rocky/Drake/Kanye songs or perhaps just the names of pop artists and their shenanigans to begin with (Getting there), they make me feel like I can actually dance in a place other than in front of the mirror in my room. They make me feel like I’m drinking, like a lot more water than I am, they make me feel like college kid identifying as young and I guess I sort of am. It’s as if I’m not wearing shoes . . . I won’t repeat that prescription part, you know what I mean.

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I will never complain about the glamorous discomfort that heels provide, about the sway aiding the one already created by my waist-to-hip ratio, about the stuttering footsteps, the walking carefully down a flight of stairs, the hand I might need getting across badly maintained pavements, the sloth pace, not even the ankle I might break by walking carelessly. I mean, I said “never” right? Like, what do you want from me?

Shout out to all the snobs who drab away in flat colloquial shoes for necessity only to get home and slip on your favourite pair of heels to maintain that sought after arch in your foot and just revel in wearing something that was made for poise, statement and flair. Until your whole schedule of excuses to wear heels fills up, soak it all in.

And the next time you go out for a jol and your insensitive friend (we all have one) tries to hurry you, followed by, “Why are you wearing heels?” you have my go ahead to answer in a mini tantrum “Because I FUCKING WANT TO!”. Just do it.

P.S. Pictures of other people because I mean, I’m not ready to be photographed with sneakers on, like . . . Also, they are killing it. Go girls.

Over and (running) out.

The Snob.

The Snob and The Help

Are you mad at me? I don’t blame you, it’s been a while since I had a seriously snobby post, so you probably should be pissed!

Anyway, you know the people who get paid to do the shit you don’t want to do . . . Saving us from dehydration in the form of letting us not sweat over domestic shit. They rock up and get rid of most things dirty until we help them keep their jobs by making them dirty again. Yes, the Help.

Mmm yeah, there are so many ‘wonderful attributes’ here so we’re going to categorize . . . a little.

The Help and English: As in the help and no English. The language barrier is annoying at times and sometimes for me it’s just an excuse (a great one) to not have to really talk to people, because you don’t understand me and I don’t understand you and small talk generally just doesn’t interest me. It does become difficult though when you actually want to express “Uhm, why did you iron my black jeans? Because now they are GREY, I would’ve bought grey jeans if I wanted grey fucking jeans!” or “Where’d you put my lip balm?” like honestly. How do you say ‘lip balm’ in Afrikaans or Zulu? It’s so retarded, I end up randomly saying ‘Ooh’ or ‘Ah’ in every emotion that they can be said in. ‘Ooh’ (apologetic) when I’m walking over a wet floor, ‘Ah’ (understanding) when I realise she wants me to put the teaspoon in the sink and all the other shit that I say with awkward breaks between words, trying to figure out how you say it in whichever language.

At least I don’t have an old woman busting into the bedroom (anymore) where I am sleeping with minimal or no clothes on, picking things up around me while I pretend to be sleeping to avoid an awkward moment like ‘AHHH!’ (surprised, annoyed). Also when she finds me in bed on the weekend she asks if I’m sick, it’s like “Really? No dude, it’s the weekend and I’m gracefully sleeping off my hangover instead of waking up and having a cranky parade all over the place”, of course I can’t figure out how to say that.

The lunch we make her is always the same kind of nice, whatever it is. It’s not amazing, delicious, the best. It’s always ‘nice’ or ‘very nice’. It’s funny but we know she liked it . . . Because it was ‘nice’, haha.

Dinners revolve around what day she’s coming, I know it sounds silly but we’re more likely to make something other than a sandwich or something that requires sauce, oven dishes, lots of chopped vegetables that need to be cooked separately in separate pots, a sieve, a grinder, five wooden spoons, etc the night before she comes rather than the night after she leaves. Obviously that means we can just go to bed and by the time we wake up, all of that shit will be gone. TADA!

Then there’s the obvious shit like not knowing where they put your shit, which can range from stuff you can forget for a week to really important stuff like . . . My favourite hairclip and my favourite necklace and the skirt I wanted to wear out and a driver’s license. the dogs toys, goddammit, where are the dogs toys? This dog is getting REALLY CRANKY! Where are her toys?! This is actually a seriously mindfucking, whiplashing occurrence. When I was little, my helper cleaned my room and I had to go a whole school week or two not knowing where the fuck a few of my books where. Not cool. A week is a long time to be in shit with your teachers, walking around with an exam pad and having to copy a whole week of work into different books! Ah!

The wardrobe is another thing, I can’t stand having blouses folded into a cupboard, knitted sweaters hanging because it ruins the knit pattern, ironed denims, ironed stretch fabric, pleats ironed into my fiance’s trousers (the one’s that don’t have pleats, leave them! And the one’s with pleats at the waistband have unfinished pleats which you aren’t supposed to iron all the way to the hem.), ironed leggings, missing bra straps, muddled clothing (and those light linen shorts that crease so easily that are still folded into the cupboard instead of being hung, so every time I take them out, they are already creased which naturally adds 20 minutes to my getting dressed time – 15 minutes of freaking out and 5 of ironing) . Every now and then someone walks out of a room asking “Is this yours? Have you seen my . . .?” haha, and some of my blouses are on my fiance’s side of the rack and some of his waistcoats on my side. I figured no one can do my wardrobe other than me, I want shit in order, colour coordinated, blouses, tops, skirts, dresses, jackets, coats, shorts, belts etc. That’s just how I want it, so I re-do it every now and then.

The Precious Pans: Yeah, the teflon coated, non stick variety that aren’t supposed to be scratched . . . Well, they get scratched, somehow the heavy purpose steal wool is the only way to wash a pan. We thought we were making everyone’s life easier getting those pans, apparently not.

The BLEACH: I literally have a headache smelling the amount of bleach being used for surfaces that don’t actually have stains that need it. Obviously using bleach on fabric makes the fabric weaker, but I’m not sure if that’s common sense or if one would know that after a career of using different detergents, hmmm.

Very interesting people and sometimes funny too. Like the gardener/handyman using a watering can to wash the car! I laughed at that for days, what was he thinking? ‘Ooh, look at this big flower, let me use the watering can!’. Also the sadness that I experience when the gardener mows my flowers ūüė¶ maybe they look like weeds, but come on, they are (were) so PRETTY!

Even though I know I can do all this myself, one needs to appreciate help. So much energy getting pissed off when one doesn’t listen to you and ruins, loses or throws away your shit just seems like the price (on top of the price) to pay, not that it’s something one should tolerate but people get over it. Until I get my very own Dorota, with her cute accent, calculated anxiety, nurturing personality and basically an older Polish woman who’s ‘got your back’ then you know, whatever, do what they can’t do by yourself which, of course, defeats the point.

Later Snobs.


The Snob’s New Year’s Resolutions!

okay, first of all, how retarded is that phrase ‘New Year’s Resolutions’? Not ‘solutions’, ‘resolutions’. Strange, like oh again! Anyway, here are mine. Keep in mind, I’m like, talking to myself.

1. Work out, you lazy bitch! No seriously, working out is fun and the rewards are a hottter body so why the fuck aren’t you doing it? Huh?

2. Bottles are nice unless they’re filled with emotions. Stop it!

3. Stop wearing that gorgeous blazer with EVERY outfit, duh.

4. Wear those oxblood-red shoes, scared bitch!

5. Dance more, boring picky bitch!

6. Write more, uninspired bitch!

7. Don’t allow people to waste even a second of your lovely time, I mean really.

8. Shut up sometimes. (I’m a straightforward person, waiting for someone to get to the point simply bores me and then I’ll have another point and I realise they haven’t yet made a point, if I can do it so can you, but hey. Maybe I have to wait, yawn . . . Yay, let’s be positive)

9. Wear what you want to wear, it’s my body and my clothes not OURS!

10. Tame your criticism. It’s that getting to the point thing, I don’t like going around the bush and that pisses people off, weirdly enough. People like the cushioned blow which means you have to speak to everyone like they are pussy little girls with no self esteem and analyse everything you say, so “That top isn’t very flattering” has to turn into “Oh, the last time I saw you, you were wearing this pretty top, that style really looks good on you. And I love your pants!”- I don’t even think that bush is big enough for some people. Perhaps they should just accept that I’ll tell them straight.

11. Expand my blogger network. Bloggers can be so shy, I don’t know what it will take.

12. Love love love.

13. Make stuff. (more stuff)

14. Lookbook-my lookbook is gathering dust, so sad.

15. Take more photos.

16. Indulge in fashion like a squirrel with nuts!!!!!

I would say ‘stop bitching’ but usually when I bitch about something, it’s because that something needs to be bitched about so excuse me. Either way, I hope everyone has had a great year or at least an adventurous one filled with real shit because that’s what happens.

xoxo. The Snob.

Excuse me while I slip into something NEW!

Yay, we’ve done it guys. We’ve reached those last few days of the year.

I don’t think anyone is really like, “Oh my gosh, I can’t wait until the end of the year!” but either way, it’s somewhat exciting. What was with the people who thought the end of the world was a few days ago? That just showed us who the gullible, stupid and easily swayed people are among us, didn’t it? You can probably tell those people that the sky is falling and they’ll gasp and believe you. Weird.

Also, my body decided to force feed me a cold, my nose and throat started acting up just before Christmas, not that I care about that specifically, just that I couldn’t go out days before everything closed and the city became something like a dark town without me painting the walls red. Not fair. With all that being said, I still got to have some nice quality time with the one person I always talk to on purpose, haha. Oh and Christmas, bleh, for me and a lot of other people it’s like having an Oscar night when you didn’t even watch any movies this year. Commercial storm.

So, the new shit. A snob always has to have something new right? First of all, I’m changing my blog theme pretty soon, it’s not WIDE enough and since I adore the look of my other blog – Cigarette Incense – I’m thinking that same minimal thing just fucking works and so, why not? (I’d like to space this out but the spaces are SOOO BIG!) Second, major style change. I do this kinda thing every 6 months if I have the time, it’s also just natural because I have like mental ADD and I can’t keep looking in the mirror and seeing the same thing. I have to excite myself, how weird? But yeah, there is no way I’m having the same ‘look’ forever. I’ve been blowing up Polyvore, making lookbooks etc, I shared that with you! You can comment! Please comment, I don’t bite, even if I do I can’t exactly bite you through your screen!! Another thing, wait for it . . . My hair. Oh what a touchy subject (gasp), no really, it’s loose right now and everyone’s like “It’s so pretty”, which I appreciate, it’s just the thickest stuff you’ll ever touch. If you want to be pissed off in a flash or a mental and physical workout, just try combing, brushing, blow-drying my hair into submission. She’ll tell you straight, to fuck off. When I get my hair professionally done, I hear heavy sighs and grunts from hair stylists. I always warn them beforehand (literally) but they never get it until my hair whispers to them “Hey, I’m a bitch”, that bitch is responsible for a broken nail and a destroyed manicure which happened in the same hour (and the stylist had gloves on). See what I mean? So like, blow out? Straighten? Braid? SHAVE? I’m not about to be a snob with dreadlocks.

I figured, I should put my face here. Outfit posts and more event posts, and stuff I make and my lookbook is gathering dust! Okay, just so you know, I like to say ‘and’, I know it seems like I’m retarded or can’t make sentences, it just sounds like everything is accumulating, which I like. Try it sometime.

I’ll be posting a New Year’s Resolution List! Yes, I will. It’s more like a ‘To-Not-Do’ list for most people unless you form those habits early and guess what? You have accomplished your goals. If my February, you’re still eating those fries, pulling that face when you see someone you don’t like, then forget, you’re probably great just the way you are!

To my WordPress family, hope you guys had a stunning year. Cutest, talented and most welcoming individuals.

Oh mu gosh, I didn’t shit on anyone in this post! You just wait.

xx. The Snob

Andrew Mons for Augustine

When I received the invite for the launch of a new Male Muse and range for Augustine (ANDREW MONS for AUGUSTINE – [Save the Date]), I took it seriously. Very very fucking seriously.

I remember when it was my dear friend Jerome (Homme Jerome for Augustine), I was as proud as a Doberman mom hearing her puppy growl for the first time! Like ” Wow, look at you ūüôā “. It was a¬†party well hosted, with mostly well-dressed and well-mannered entertaining individuals. So this time, I freaked out completely (the excited,ecstatic¬†kind),¬†planning my outfit, scanning for tiny little white dresses, in fact I was sure as hell that I’d rock up in a little white dress and¬†pastel accessories until the dress I made was too short and became a top instead. After a whole month, yes MONTH, of¬†planning , ‘saving the date’ as if it were a birth control appointment,¬†playing dress up the night before, laying items on the bed during my¬†pregame with my boyfriend (the one¬†person who knows that if I’m¬†planning an outfit a month before an event, it’s something we’re definitely going to), the day had finally come! I settled on an outfit that had nothing to do white and went all Isabel Marant (brown suede shorts) meets Balmain (some type of embroided sheer navy blue waistcoat and a black cropped blazer with gold buttons). One thing you MUST know is that this outfit probably wouldn’t hang anywhere else,with envious eyes of bitches who don’t give a shit to work out but give a shit to comment on someone that does and shows off ¬†her hard work, this was another kind of crowd. Appreciative,I guess and I was¬†proud of myself when the comments were along the lines of “I love your top, it’s so risqu√©”, which was exactly what I was going for.

Now for the muse and the range! Oh wait, did I mention the drinks buffet? Snob’s favourite, I don’t know if there was any other buffet but it wouldn’t have interested me or anyone else,pfft.

pastels and prints= win!

If you missed the patterned belt loops you probably weren’t invited.

Love the trimming on those shorts and the fabric of the shirt was very un-golf-shirty which is great.

Hiding the tattoos under a shirt that night, I see.

Should I continue saying anything? I will, obviously. We met Andrew pretty late in the night but the few hours spent talking to this colourful individual were definitely notable. He had a more serious toned conversation with my boyfriend than with me and the crowd – being able to make that switch between bitchy, funny, intelligent and laid back to level-headed business creative is a freaking desirable social skill. We did however have a conversation about the stresses of blogging, shit isn’t easy (I’ve been writing for 4+hours). By the way, those dungarees- I know it’s a menswear range but I could really see myself wearing them with my heeled oxfords, a sheer blouse and a bib necklace!

Okay, honestly I know the photos I took aren’t of the best quality. I had to choose between my handbag and my Nikon DSLR which are the SAME SIZE, that and trying to hold a drink and a cigarette and trying to take a photo with that beast, so naturally I chose my handbag and cigarette (and unfortunately not-so-great photos). Anyway, I have photos of the lovely snobs I met :), you know that if I remember your name after a half day hangover which I slept off and had iced-teas for the rest of the day, then you’re really mighty cool. So big shout outs to my fellow snobs: Leeroy Duke-dressed in Andrew Mons, Lisa- girl is beyond crazy, Gareth- I still remember your hair, Justine- owner of the shop and I realised she changed her hair colour and she has such a lovely speaking voice, Justin-the blondie who had Jerome’s lighter (gotcha), Jason and Shelly-cute cute cute cute cute! And of course Andrew Mons.

Jerome and Justine looking dashing at the Homme Jerome launch.


Jerome and I.

I’ve given up on my captions for now because my laptop is acting ghetto, but our little party got swarmed for a while, and somewhere in those photos are the betchiest, most fabulous people I met and my lovely fiance. Also, I apologise for anyone in these photos who does not look gorgeous, because you obviously are (if your name is listed). I can’t leave you with that, can I? No fucking way, here’s my favourite campaign picture . . .

Fucking Brilliant!

And a video. Your Personal Style Bitches!


Gossip Girl Season 4

Excuse me. I know it’s been a while, I’ve had what I actually don’t mind calling ‘writer’s block’, the external kind. The kind that’s most annoying, like “Why am I sitting in this room with this girl, she’s like quite literally staring at my back (and sometimes at my front) and it’s truly annoying being stalked by the present past who is, like, staring at my back (did I say that?okay).” Once I beat that with the classic (figurative),”You can’t sit with us!”, it was cool. So hey, the snob is back.

Also, I was writing about something-you’ll see later- when it mysteriously didn’t get published. That pissed me the fuck off, I had posting trauma for like, two days! Scary stuff, putting in so much effort just for shit to get deleted. Anyway I’m sick of writing about how the internet has been BETRAYING me ( so I’ll stop.

Ooh yesterday, my friend (who’s in he city for a month) and I texted about fashion and clothing and shoes and accessories and other girl stuff almost the whole fucking day! If you read my post about Spring you must know that this friend is actually a PERSON and not a season. Moving right along, I forgot that I could do that! Seriously, it’s fun. it’s like smoking an exclusive girl power/fashion joint! It’s a little evil army of terror candy-coated in prettiness, giggles and ‘oh my gosh, you won’t believe!’. Speaking of things that you oh my gosh won’t believe . . . Of course you won’t, because that kind of conversation is exclusive,duh! What you should know are that those things make us fucking crazy! The official, diagnosed kind, not that anyone ever notices. OCD and paranoia do just fine in society, hence the show Gossip Girl, oh and our lovely friends HELP us become crazy by letting us know we aren’t crazy,”Oh my gosh, I totally understand!”. It’s ironic, but it works. It’s something that makes us high maintenance, fast talking, fast thinking, bitch slapping Queen B’s instead of the doormat, do everything that you say,’does my ass look fat in this?’,walk all over me, annoying girls that guys with low self esteem like. See? Good. My best friend’s head is full of secrets and it’s inflating, she gets to minimize when she tells me though. See what I mean?

Knock-knock, It’s Spring!


No really, it’s a mix between “SHIT” and “YAY” for a girl, well for a girl like me. Honestly, I don’t have to be like,’SHHIIIT!’ but it’s fun.

It’s been a cold ass Winter, it freaking snowed in Johannesburg when we thought Winter was over. Winter was like, “Those shorts? Oh no you don’t”. Anyway, Winter doesn’t exactly have the best social etiquette, she’s the bitch that never wants to go out and wants you to wear your coat indoors. In fact, she wants you to wear your stockings under your high-waisted pants making it ever so hard to pee. And for a girl like me who must’ve descended from a strange breed of lizard-humans, having cold hands that need to be in pockets or gloves or something ALL THE FUCKING TIME. It’s that time that you cringe when you have to put ice in your drink but you know you can’t stand to have a luke warm (double,hehe) vodka and cranberry juice. She leaves us poor smokers outside (street side) of a restaurant, putting our hands over the candle on the table, shivering in a spot where it takes forever for the waitron to get to you because they’re all inside where it’s warm. Oh yeah and then there’s that long walk inside to the bathroom when I already have to tug on the million layers of my attire just to piss. Did I mention the long walk . . . With heels and buckling knees? Maybe that’s why Anna Wintour’s ¬†last name rhymes with ‘WINTER’, because she’s a stocking-wearing-fur coat-wearing-acquired-social snob with a half-smile.

Then there’s the hobo-looking-hoodie-wearing-bunch of man-children and well, the occasional gorgeous coats. Gorgeous coats and cuddling with my lovely BF (can I show off here? No? Damn) are officially the best things about Winter.

Moving on >Spring is here . . . Oh wait hold on.


I just feel like there’s way too much to say on my sort of ‘crushing on the new season in class’ that I actually have to send it a note to meet me at break time for an ice-cream chat. It’s like that new girl who you want to be friends with, she has great style and is so bubbly it’s ridiculous, and even though you might not have much in common, you know she’ll just brighten up your day. If you have no idea what I’m saying . . . I’m dedicating a whole other post to SPRING.


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