Fear and clothing: All het up about making a little cross


Fear and clothing: All het up about making a little cross

A weekly reverie on the vagaries and charms of fashion


Perhaps like me you find yourself in a state of some anxiety. Popping Birals like smarties. Dropping CBD oil  like you’re taking a cup of tea. Breathing deeply into a brown paper bag not because you are on a plane struck with turbulence but because your life feels like the plane and all the panic stricken people on it are shouting hysterically in your head.
I realise this column has veered more towards the fear than the clothing lately, but who can blame me? Even the clothing is adding to my anxiety levels. Last week Levi’s sent me a VOTE T -shirt. Wear it they said, take a selfie, post it on social media and encourage the people to – well, VOTE.
The VOTE T-shirt precipitated something like an existential sartorial crisis. I love democracy and all – but who the hell would I vote for? Perhaps now that Julius has joined the polo club and the son of the soil stomps the divots in Inanda as well as the hearts of white monopoly capitalists, I could have voted for him. He could propose me for membership and we could  dine in red overalls and berets up at the clubhouse. I have always been partial to champagne socialism. Now I could do prosecco populism. Or something like that.
Then we have to talk about the phone spam. The only person blowing up my phone lately is Musi. Everyone else WhatsApps politely. But the DA – damn insistent – pring pring – guess who?  Like your maiden aunt calling with unwanted advice. There is a reason my phone is on silent and I don’t take voice messages – that stuff is anxiety inducing. You know what else is anxiety inducing – crossing the road in Joburg. You cross anywhere at your peril . So fix the robots  first – and then call me – OK, Musi?
So did that mean I should vote for Cyril? I didn’t know if I could – I feel like an abused wife, coming back for more punishment because the guy has turned on the charm offensive and is now showering me with gifts, attention and empty promises. He is going to do better – everyone says so. Nothing against Cyril – but you know what they say about repeating the same mistakes endlessly …
Hence anxiety. Hence fear. Hence no clothing. But thanks for the prompt, Levis: I had a vote, I did not squander it. I just had my anxiety attack quietly in the voting booth.

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