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adamoyeah Last 15 Minutes Of Fame on 21/12/2006

created	05/10/2006

viewed	4527 (since 01/01/2007)

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me,

Male	39

Location	Johannesburg, SOUTH AFRICA

Profession	writer

Company	At some point I decided I wanted an extraordinary life

Status	Taken

Orientation	Homo

Hometown	Johannesburg

Website	www.aidsafari.com

myself,


style	transient

favourite fashion moment	live deconstruction on a public runway

least favorite designers / brands	tommy hilfiger

music	electro afro disco acoustic

literature	naipaul iyer theroux marquuez rushdie

art	marlene dumas

sports	runway

travels	50 countries and counting

and i

what am i looking for
Network
affiliations
field	art, design, fashion, film, finance, internet, literature, media, press / publishing

role	agent, production, marketing

area	all

blurb

la memoire vagabonde

life is a journey. mine has been an unlikely one, starting with a pilgrimage through 20 African countries to write my first books, The Wonder Safaris, and The Art of African Shopping. I dont know how fashion became such a big part of my life, perhaps because dressing up -- something so silly -- can actually tell us something deep about ourselves. So after 50 countries, I found myself immoblie, and needing to make the hardest journey of all, my Aidsafari. Its strange from the most ghastly experiences the most beuatiful opportunities arise. After Aids, cancer, TB, and more, I found myself alive, with my life exposed in a raw revealing memoir. Life, ever since has become increasingly interesting. I write plenty, but Im also a bit of a wangler, so yeah its been India and London FW this year and now (for my sins) I am Fashion Director for Miss South Africa, where I hope to remove a couple of trails and crinolines, but most importanmtly right now, is the development of a road movie, which you can read all about or be a part of on Aidsafari.com. For my recent (only 4 iQONS) adventures and report on London Fashionweek, watch this space ... X Adamo

AN UNOFFICIAL REPORT ON LONDON FASHIONWEEK ... EISH!

We have an exclamation in South Africa for when things are just so beyond sanity you cannot but shout: Eish! ... And so I find myself, at Heathrow, at 6am, on September 17th with five full collections, a gazillion African props, hundreds of ostrich eggs, mannequins, and a crew so wonderfully diverse, we could only be South African. We are: Bongiwe Walaza; Gideon and his muse, Jodie Stinson; one of Sun Goddess’ designers, Asanda Madyibi; Gerda Potgieter from the Fashion in Africa Project; Lunar’s Karen ter Morshuisen and her husband, Paul Harris; Events Promoter, Jeannie Millington; Amanda Laird Cherry; Alinah Missouri from SAFW, our gorgeous model, Nancy Simashela, and me. Eish!

I shudder at customs. Do the eggs have bird flu? Will everything be confiscated? The official glances at an invitation letter of invitation and the half-ton of schmatter and nods, “Off you go mate.” Phew! Two hours and R5000 later, we arrive at London’s Natural History Museum to set up our stands. We are running on zero sleep, but we set to work building 40 square metres of South African ambience. I wolf down a panini. Nails, Prestik, countless metres of Da Gama print, and by 6pm we’re done! Finally I hit my hotel. Tomorrow, the shows begin, and I am multitasking as a journalist and events convenor -- strategy: make friends with the foreign press and buyers at the shows and channel them to the South African stand.

Tracking it back, this domino fashion trail began at Durban Fashionweek last June (Have you even heard of Durban), where I met my two favourites of last year, the demented and genius, Indian designer, Tarun Tahiliani and the fabulous, wicked and sublime Indian fashion writer, Bandana Tewari. At India Fashionweek this April, Bandy said, “You must come to London.” And so I set to work mailing the British Fashion Council. “By the way,” Benedicte Bro enquired, around July. “Do you have any designers in South Africa?” Gulp. By the next morning, I had spammed her inbox with images of South African talent. “Thank God,” she exclaimed. “We thought you’d send us curios. These are beautiful clothes that we want to wear!” Before I knew it, they had selected five designers, and South Africa Unthreaded, the first-ever, official showcase of South African designers in the global fashion market, was born.

What followed was a movie -- cast with British eccentrics, disorientated South Africans, and a strict Ms. Tewari, giving me impromptu etiquette classes on how to work the British Fashion pack. We buy The London Telegraph’s Hilary Alexander a mini Moet and introduce ourselves. Bandana glares at me, and we exit. “Don’t overstay your welcome,” she winks.

Getting into London shows can be equally hellish. If, after a few e-mails to the relevant PR companies, you have no response, you have no choice but to wait politely at the door with your VIP guest pass and hope the door-Nazi is in a good mood. A minor faux pas on my part was parading Nancy in sky-blue Lunar silk at the entrance to the Natural History Museum. Of course, we didn’t get into to the show, but the paparazzi went berserk, and shots of Lunar’s work are now scattered worldwide.

Though Gareth Pugh was one of the key shows on my list, for some reason -- my hair or my wonderful Amanda Laird Cherry suit – the vicious Mandy Lennard queen at the door wasn’t taking to me. The Russian security guard, who had come to like me for the Galliano moustache the MAC crew painted on me daily (“I vant von of zose”), whispered in my ear: Zey told me zis guy’s not getting in! The next day, I swore I’d wear a t-shirt and jeans, but somehow, my Dutch 17th Century settler garb and Nguni-hide wrap threw themselves onto me – which did me no good at all.

For days, I had been intrigued by Diane Pernet, who sat, daily, front row, in a tower of black locks, dark glasses, scarlet lips and a mantilla.
Eventually Bandana and I introduce ourselves. “I have a new blog,” Diane whispers mysteriously. “A Shaded View on Fashion. You should come and visit me sometime.” Well I did, and have been hooked ever since, and Diane will hopefully be making her way to South Africa next year with her fashion and film festival, You Wear it Well.

Back at the stand, the Japanese and Shanghai buyers are going mad for Gideon’s work and not only place orders, but insist on donning his Boer War inspired lace collection and trotting around the Exhibition as Asian Voortrekkers. Next, pandemonium strikes with the arrival of the High Commissioner, Her Excellency, Lindiwe Mabuza. The door Nazis won’t let her park her Jaguar at the entrance and she threatens to bolt, but after much coaxing, agrees to circle the block and we escort her in, in full head-wrap and boubou. She falls in love with Sun Goddess, Lunar and Bongiwe Walaza’s work and declares, “I am a bit of a fashion designer, myself! Why don’t I collaborate with you guys on my clothes!?” A coup. Well kind of ...

I should be at the stand to meet British Vogue’s Michelle Duguid, who wants to shoot some garments, but I must hurtle to Earl’s Court to try and wangle my way into Armani’s show. It seems a little obscene that, as an award winning Aids writer, I can’t get a ticket to the premiere of his Aids Collection, but I do finally get my book to Mr. Armani’s PA, and we hope to bring him out here for next year’s Positive event with the aim of raising Aids awareness for South Africa.

On the final day of an insane week, watching Boy George’s tacky B-Rude collection, I land up next to Tia Browsh, one of Charlize Theron’s stylists in LA. “Why doesn’t Charlize wear South African brands?” I ask. Tia looks at some images online, and adores Abigail Betz, Stoned Cherrie and Holmes Brothers. “It’s simply a matter of crossed wires,” she says. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to.” South African fashion could not hope for a better ambassador in Hollywood.

The week taught me many things. I went to London, not to visit the queen, but intent on securing South Africa House for a show next year; but by the end of the week, I was rethinking. As a national showcase, the foreign press and buyers may not take us seriously. “Don’t over-exoticise your culture,” one buyer expresses. “They’ll think it’s a biltong and wine promotion.”

Back home, we are rightly preoccupied with issues of identity and representation in fashion, but the foreign market couldn’t give an ostrich plume where you come from. The minute you wave a national flag, they look as though they might faint. As Benedicte Bro commented on visiting the South African stand, “You don’t have to be so African in your aesthetic. The shwe-shwe print is too hard for our market. Give us the same amazing designs in softer fabrics and you’ll sell. Your identity will come through in your garments, because it’s in your soul.”

And so, after countless decadent parties, some petty dramas and some rave successes (including rubbing shoulders with Tom Ford), this crazy, exhausting adventure was rich with learning. With the right corporate and government support and a long-term commitment, South African fashion will crack the international market. But, most of the time, we sit here, arrogantly assuming what the world wants from us; by actually going there, schmoozing the fashion royalty and learning from them, that guess has shifted to a strategy: I may take some different designers next time, but the buzz around London is that South Africa has finally arrived! I’m tempted to scream ‘Viva’ -- but, on second thoughts, let’s keep the African toyi-toying to ourselves.

MISS SOUTH AFRICA

Perhaps it is in retrubution for something I did in my past life that I find myself as Fashion Director for Miss South Africa. So what do you do? Take a bunch of nervous lasses in crinolines and mega-trails and try and pair them with some decent deisgners. Unfortunately, i find myself in the midst of an old school production team. They play me the opening track, its a crummy remix of Holiday. Dont you think its got wonderul bounce? they ask. Er, no. I play them some of Martin mashapa, a 20 year old hairdresser from Soweto with a flamethrower of a voice and they're hooked. Go listen to Martin's relase Tsatsi, the track WHY could kick on dance floors soon. Its as though Grace Jones was (finally) reborn as a young Xhosa queen with a blond mohican. Anyhow, now I just have to get rid of the lovely boats and nautical theme for the swimwear sequence. I am pushing old visuals of Eiko's with gilrs shot against burnt red dunes and putting all the girls in muted metallic swimwear. Wish me luck .. oh and if you were wondering, as Fashion Director, I cant enter... but I did leave the most misinterpreted word in fashionout of the brief: Glamour. So yeah, i AM doing God's work down here. OK, back to work on an Aids portal. One thousand South Africans die of aids each day... so a little simple information may help. As for our retarded Health Minister, Manto Tshabala Msimang who has been dissing antiretrovirals, well, she's in hospital. Must remember to send her a beetroot. Don't you love the way Susana Baca sings Damien Rice's Volcano in Spanish... sometimes a single song makes it all worth it, dontya think?
Anyway, I'm out... Adamo

OCTOBERESQUE

House parties are happening in the Southern Summer. DJ BEN from Paris was spinnning Old Skool disco at my Octobersque Party on Saturday. Then Martin Mashapa started belting the a capella -- from his new album Tsatsi -- mail me for an mp3 -- its aswesome... The crowd was so jumbled it could only have been South Africa. Why did we all land up dressing up? Cos we always do .... The gold horny pic is just one of many. Come and visit us sometime... Adamo

MARIE CLAIRE PRIX DE LA MODE

I just spent Friday in Cape Town judging Marie Claire Magazine's Prix de la Mode. It is very challenging choosing one designer and one emerging designer for your country, but seeing as its based only the past years shows it was apossible and a good exercise ... and the winners are ... Well seeing as I'm sworn to secrecy until Feb 07, why dont you have a peek at safashionweek.co.za and mail me who YOU thinnk should have won .... since this is a worldwide competition I have suggested that all marie Claires shouid run a featire on the winners from their numerous editions around the world, Id rather meet thirty new designers than see more of the same ,,, isnt that what were trying to achive here ... X Adamo

MORE MISS SOUTH AFRICA

Well it is nearly December 9th, my first beuaty pageant. I have nervous girls asking me if theire dress is going to win them the title. I guess a lot of guys would love this job and my str8 friends are all trying to get in on the contestants; some are sweet enough, I just dont think theyre reday to save the world yet and I need a holiday ....

A MESSAGE ON WORLD AIDS DAY

And it is world Aids Day again. I dont know how much better teh world is delaing with Aids. In my country, 900 people still die every day from this virus. I dont think my government really wants them to live, or even knows how. Just last week, I saw a report that doctors and nurses had been arrested in th Eastern Cape for selling HIV blood. This is so people can inject themselves with it and qualifty for the 60 Euro temporary monthly disability grant. Can you conceive of anything so hideous. Utter ignorance or utter destitution. We have no idea how much 60 Euros a month can mean to a rural family in Africa -- well enough for their lives, because that it what they're paying with. There are no ARVs for them in their region, and for them, Aids remians a death sentence. I got my CD4 results back last week. Despite three years of fighting to get better and that everyone thinks Im better because I look better. My test came back at 115. This officially means I have Aids. When it rises above 200, I will be HIV positive again.
I was asked recently to be part of Khomanani 3, The government's Aids programme. After fighting from the sidelines for the past three years, I thought long and hard about joining the enemy camp, as it were: Better the devil you know, right? Eventually I decided against it. At this stage I feel more confident working with corpiorates and NGOs than with a government invcreasingly appears to wnat people with Aids dead. The crazy thing is that if I was poor and had landed in a government hospital with a cell count of 2, when it was that, they would not have bothered giving me drugs; they would have written me off for dead, And so I suppose I am the living dead. What can I say? No-one needs this virus. Its hell. I still suffer pain 24/7 as a result fo my choices. Even within my relationship, I feel stigmatised. These things do not go away. But for those of us who are lucky enough to be here, we can help change some of them.... X Adamo

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