Deviant reality
SOMETHING about the word “diva” seriously grates my carrot. I think it might be the way it’s used interchangeably as a compliment and an insult. Two years ago, for instance, the City of Joburg hosted a musical event titled Divas of Democracy, aimed at “celebrating the critical role that women have played in achieving our 20 years into freedom”, as one of the organisers put it. That makes a “diva” sound like someone of tremendous gravitas, though it’s also just an all-purpose term for someone in possession of a vagina and a pair of singing-pipes.
The alternative sense in which people employ the word “diva” is, of course, to describe a difficult woman — or, occasionally, a gay man. There is no precise equivalent with which to slur heterosexual men. Diva means something akin to “princess”, which is to say a woman of forceful temperament who knows what she wants. I’m going to be wrapping up this little sermon on feminist semantics shortly, but it’s interesting that “stop being such a princess” and “he’s an absolute prince” have such wildly different meanings.
The latest divas to enter public consciousness live in Johannesburg, and can be found on SABC3 on Mondays at 8pm. Divas of Jozi is a reality show featuring six “sassy, larger than life women”. (Please note that they are “larger than life” only in a personality sense.) To continue to quote from a press release which caused me mild physical distress: “The Divas of Jozi relate to almost every woman out there, the entrepreneurs, the single moms juggling a career and parenthood to the lucky women living the cushy life of having bagged a filthy rich husband and all the perks that come with it.”
I am apparently one of the few women out there who does not fall into one of those categories, and if I keep writing columns like this one, I suspect my chances of bagging a filthy rich husband and living a cushy life are diminishing by the day.
But will I be watching the show? Without question, while I mainline Skittles and contemplate where it’s all gone wrong for me. One of the show’s drawcards is that it features self-appointed “Queen of Dainfern” Puleng Mash-Spies, who has been a woman in need of a reality show ever since a stunning appearance on South Africa’s gone-but-notforgotten version of Come Dine With Me. Mash-Spies joins the likes of Sorisha Naidoo, who happens to be the wife of Vivian Reddy — the businessman who provided the surety for President Jacob Zuma’s bank loan for Nkandla. There’s little chance of confusing the Divas of Jozi with the Divas of Democracy.