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.

slip-ons-sneakers-street-style-15

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.

black-mini-dress-and-sneakers

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.

c4e87615117d4e0f9170f71860a5ec08

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.

http://justthedesign.tumblr.com/post/103989992454/carmen-hamilton-is-wearing-a-black-dress-and-bag-from-sp

Check out this blog beeteedubs

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.

Knock-knock, It’s Spring!

Shit!

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.

SPRING IS HERE! SPRING IS HERE! SPRING IS HERE! SPRING IS HERE! SPRING IS HERE!

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.

YAY SPRING, WELCOME TO MY CLIQUE, BETCH!

Enhanced by Zemanta