Please don’t wear these. Please.
You may be on my side and think to yourself ‘Who in the name of Jeff Goldblum would wear that?’ And I wouldn’t blame you…
But I see these things.
These noxious curios are snappily named ‘African Butterflies’, surely by someone that resides in America and who conveniently slaps on some beads, a symphony of beige and brown and some scary masks and declares it ethnic.
And I see them all over the show…
In the checkout queue at Clicks, accompanied by a polyester polo neck, a plastic vice on a prim chignon that makes me want to pry it apart with my bare hands and shout ‘What the fark are you thinking?!’ Or on wandering, innocent tourists who know no better… who have been duped into a curio – something authentic and earthy-hued to hold their blonde curls in place while they stride Kloof St in sensible shoes and stripes, sure to shake them loose at Carnival Court later that night, and hope against hope, lose the offending torture device somewhere on the dancefloor.
Lord help us.