Some need protection from their fashion dreams
SOME years ago, an individual I know — whose identity shall be withheld to protect his dignity — decided that he wanted a hairdo he had spotted in a video by R&B crooner Peabo Bryson, titled Can you stop the rain?
When he conferred with me about his plans, I vocalised my misgivings about this drastic decision. You see, the hairdo was a greasy mess, closely cropped at the sides and back, with a high, curly crown in front. I pointed out to my friend that the hairstyle looked semi-decent on Bryson on account of his pear-shaped head — but that he, on the other hand, had a much squarer head.
Besides, I argued, some hairdos really work on millionaire pop stars with dedicated hairstylists to fix them every two hours. I pointed out that while I thought Prince’s hairdo in the Purple Rain video looked cool on stage, it probably wouldn’t work out when disembarking from a minibus taxi during actual pouring rain on Durban’s Russell Street.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, my friend picked up his Bryson LP and headed for a salon next to the Pinetown taxi rank. It didn’t end well for him. People in the taxi were surreptitiously sniggering. Children on the street were openly pointing and guffawing.
The truth is he looked ridiculous: like a Tufted Titmouse that had taken a Helios cooking-oil shower. It was painful to watch and I swear I never laughed even once. (*Makes a mental note to visit a confessional before Easter has passed.)
An older, wiser neighbour took one look at the follicular disaster and remarked quietly: “But what kind of sick, twisted hairstylist allowed anyone to leave their salon looking like that?”
Since that day, I’ve seen hairsalon owners flatly refuse to give someone a hairstyle they wanted. The first time I saw this was in a downtown Joburg salon in 1994. The Nigerian owner, Big Jeff, shook his head violently and said: “No no no, mah sistah, I can no do
Big Jeff shook his head violently. ‘No no, mah sistah, I can no do dat airstyle wit your air’
dat airstyle wit your air. Next ting you tell people Big Jeff did dat and mah reputation goes down.”
Initially I thought Big Jeff was being rude, but the more I thought about it, the more I started thinking: “Wait a second, the giant has a point!”
Years later, when I met Mrs N, she told me that this is a standard practice at good salons. She recalled seeing a woman pleading with a salon owner to have her hair peroxided, but he steadfastly told her to go elsewhere because, with her dark skin tone, she would look absurd if he complied.
This got me wondering why more establishments don’t refuse transactions for the customer’s own good. Come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Have you never seen an individual with a hanging belly and love handles and thought: “Whoever allowed him/her out of their boutique with that body-hugging top should be arrested”?
I have a friend, Maswazi, who dreams of becoming president and establishing an actual SAPS unit called the Fashion Police. In his vision, its officers would roam our streets and malls, giving out citations and fining clothing franchises that allow people to buy inappropriate garb.
Say a shopper tried to buy something and the sales assistant tried but failed to discourage him. The assistant would then press a hidden Fashion Police panic button and “Voila!”, the force would appear.
“Sir, I’m afraid your dimensions are incompatible with those jeans. Which part of ‘skinny jeans’ do you not understand? Please put the item down and step away expeditiously!”
I have another friend, who weighs about 150kg. He likes to place huge orders at grease joints and as the cashier rings up, he says: “Have you seen what I look like? Are you really going to give me all this grease? Don’t you think you people have done enough already?”
It was just a joke, but fast-food outlets don’t want to be associated with obese people anyway. That’s why their adverts are just big, fat lies.
Let that marinate for a few seconds. How many obese actors have you ever seen in fast-food ads? How many actors with bulging bellies and phuza faces do you see in beer ads?
It should surely follow that these are undesirable consumers and can be refused the goodies. No? Did someone just ask: “What about their constitutional rights?”
Hey, I’m all for constitutional rights, but your right to abuse alcohol should not impinge on my right not to have to stare at a politician’s phuza face on TV every week. I refuse!
Okay, maybe I’m overstating the point, but I still think it’s an interesting idea. Though it might also work against me: with these matchstick legs I’m perched on, I may never be allowed to buy shorts again. LS