En pointe

6pm. Gardens. Ballet.

Those three words herald in a momentous change in my life. For the past five years I have neither attended nor watched a Ballet class, despite having danced for fifteen years of my life.

And today it all changes.

No more stuffing leotards and tights into the very back of my cupboard. Today is the dawn of a new era. Today, I will dance again.

Dramatic intro aside, I am pretty excited to get dancing again. Besides the instant physical transformation I have imagined will take place (emphasis on imagined), I can’t wait to express myself through such a beautiful art form.

Inspired by all things ballet-related, below Henry Leutwyler's exquisite photos of the New York City Ballet, which I pilfered from Kingdom of Style.

The Farce that is Women's Day

I had neither internet access nor the energy to blog yesterday so this post is a somewhat delayed bitch about what a joke yesterday's public holiday is.

So Women's Day was yesterday, for those of you who are unsure of why you got to skip work and sleep late on a weekday. It is the day on which we commemorate the 20 000 women who marched to parliament in 1956 to protest against the Pass Laws of Apartheid. 


And while it is admirable that we celebrate this important day in the Freedom Struggle, let's be real for a second. We dedicated a day to the portion of the population who are no more liberated by the media, or the current government, or the binds of oppression, than previous generations.

Women's bodies are still manipulated by the all-seeing Male Gaze, binary thought and prejudice pervade the media and the corporate environments, the female figure is still being primped and preened and forced into unnatural shapes for the sake of looking attractive for the opposite sex, and women continue to change their bodies rather than their clothing, in the name of Fashion. 

 Beauty is still our currency, and without it, we have no value in this male-run economy.

We are rewarded for self-discipline (skipping that meal, going to gym), punished for failure to adhere to Beauty's codes (wax those 'unruly' eyebrows, shave your underarms, get that Brazilian) and made to feel abnormal if we are having too much sex, not enough sex, or not enjoying sex (or choosing not to have it, or even worse, being a virgin).

Today, more than ever, we are the most fervent participants in patriarchy.

We spend most of our time fighting the natural urge to eat and have sex, and are both rewarded and punished for doing so. We judge our female counterparts who 'slut around', eat too much and 'let themselves go'. And yet we hate our friends who have slept with an 'acceptable' amount of men (even worse, if they have slept with women), have eating disorders or spend 'too much time' on their appearance. We oscillate between being comfortable with and hating our bodies, and spend hours analysing every ounce of fat that appears as our twenties march on. We spend so much time focussing on our appearances that we do not LIVE, do not have FUN, and do not concern ourselves with topics of conversation and experiences that actually MATTER.

And besides the media's, men's and our own obsession with our appearance, we have to contend with the real possibility of being assaulted, raped or falling into an abusive relationship. (Which is another can of worms all together which I am not in the mood to open now).

It is ironic dedicating a day to Women in a country like South Africa. While we have a rich history of female activism, and a mile-long list of incredible, female achievers, we also have some of the highest rape and gender-based violence statistics in the world. Let us not forget that a South African woman stands a higher chance of being raped than being educated in her lifetime.

So while you enjoy your Friday off work or your trip up to Oppikoppi, spare a thought for the women that are raped and beaten, for the women who hate their bodies, and for the all the participants in this horrible system of female hatred, and in whose name yesterday's 'Women's Day' was dedicated to.  

Women's Day is a farce, just like everything else 'dedicated' to women in this country.

At the risk of sounding bitter, while it is a Man's World, there is no Women's Day. 

Don't read this if you didn't wear socks today

Cape Town is cold, very cold. It's chilly enough to wear layer upon layer of unflattering Winter garments, but unlike our Northern counterpart, we will not be greeted by snow, but rather, wind and rain.

We've got all the shitty parts of Winter and none of the perks. Living here in Winter is like banging your head without it bleeding - there is nothing to show for any of the suffering!

The wind is so strong that it sounds like a banshee has been let loose in the streets. She's tearing at our buildings and running her fingers down our windows. Bed is the safest place to be but the Daily Grind is keeping us in the path of this icy monster.

Well that's how I feel anyway. Every morning I find myself putting on a few solid layers of clothing in the hope of not freezing to death in my office. A combination of knitwear and denim are my armour; an assortment of unflattering beanies my shield against messy hair. And yet, when I climb on the train, there are people wearing denims and a cardi, or pumps with no socks. NO SOCKS? HOW DO YOU SURVIVE?

So ja. I kind of hate those people who don't have to wear ten layers everyday to survive the cold. I hate them even more when their less-than-ten is like, one. It's not fair. 

The above 9gag cartoon kinda sums up these feelings pretty well.

Button up kids, Summer is a looooooooooooooong way away.

I am not my hair

As of late have developed a fond dislike for my long hair.

It gets in the way. It falls out and gets all over my clothes. It is constantly in my face and I find myself pulling pieces of hair away from my eyes and off my jerseys more than a couple of times a day.

The bottom line is: long hair is fucking annoying.

It looks pretty and guys dig it (haven't spoken to many lesbians on the topic although this could sure be an interesting conversaton-starter).

And you can plait it and use to express yourself.

But that's about it.

I am pretty sick of my identity and femininity being tied to this dead protein that grows out of my head.

Last night I dreamed that I shaved it all off and went dancing. I felt free. 

Below, a few of my favourite women who have defied hair-convention.