Apples That Fall Too Far From Their Trees

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To not confess how I screamed and screamed when my friend invited me to go with him to the South African Fashion Week would be a disservice to my embarrassingly giddy excitement.

The minute he told me that the invite was only viable for the next day, I started mentally planning my outfit. I even did my hair that same night (which hadn’t been combed in weeks).

In just a matter of 24 hours I’d transformed myself into someone I believed to be deserving of such a prestigious invite.

My love for fashion has always been something my mother could not understand. I’d hog the TV remote for hours at home, completely focused and mesmerized by only one channel, Fashion TV

I couldn’t understand it either, I’d never developed any kind of attachment to any of the clothes I wore. My mother never failing to remind me, how I lacked the style I seemed to deeply admire.

She was right, clothes to me have always been just clothes. Yes, some have been much prettier than others but those that weren’t, I still wore with pride. My mother always yelping with great discomfort at what she regarded as a defect on my part.

I’d sit drooling in front of our television screen, there was always something about the clothes that called out to my deepest still undiscovered self.

That discovery would happen years into my mid twenties, when suddenly I’d start desiring a deeper and more meaningful relationship with what I chose to wear. It was an intuitive switch that happened all on its own, probably triggered by old age. It was time to look at myself and deeply interrogate what I chose to dress myself in.

Being at the SA Fashion Week intimidated me just as much as it stupidly excited me. I was in awe of the intricate beauty of those who attended, even the outfits that looked too comfortable of an option to wear still whispered sweet whimsical nothings in the air. It was an intoxicatingly beautiful night, I just knew every outfit had been chosen with special intent.

In just one night of my attendance, Johannesburg proved to be a glorious Hub of style and I felt I was finally being let in on the glorious secret that helps them put it all together.

Fashion is a beautiful art, a creative expression and the most sincerest declaration of who we are or who we choose to be. Shame on me for ignoring myself the pleasure of exploring it all earlier on in my life.

Photo By: Lonwabo Zimela


Are you anything like me, an Apple that’s fallen too far away from its tree? What does your mom think about your style and what do you think of hers?

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