Thursday, December 10, 2009

The social scene

Here are some of the characters around the social scene. Names and incidents have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, so no one will be able to say: "That's me! She must be writing about me!"

But feel free to add your own comments and characters ....

The Brakky-ass ends every sentence with the word "Bru" (or "chaaana"). Even if the person he is speaking to is a girl. Brakkys are called this because: "I'm from Brakpan, bru!" or somewhere similar. Brakky are described as "salt of the earth" because what else can you say about someone who is ugly and their mother dresses them funny? Brakky-asses show off more butt-crack than a regiment of plumbers. They are always pulling their pants up because of this. Their hair looks like the rats have attacked it in the middle of the night, and it is usually dirty blonde. They look like they don't bath because they are a muddy colour. They are addicted to physical violence and believe that it solves everything. "I'm going to moer you stukkend!" is a favourite phrase. They are a bit genetically challenged and have weird looking families. Was the family dog involved? They have dead cars in their back yard and "lappies" in the flowerbeds. Brakky-ass women have hoarse voices and are always pulling on a cigarette (which they bummed off someone). Their children also have hoarse voices, maybe because Mom drank and smoked a lot during her pregnancy. Brakkys like to play loud house music and throw bottles out of cars. They should move to Australia because they would fit in, but the Australians don't want them.

Some of these are Tsotsis in a dress. The pink rand rules, baby. The Moffioso control the social scene, and the gay scene. Lesser Moffia are known as "moffalinas", who are hoping to move up in the ranks to be Moffioso kingpins one day. The moffalinas need to find a rich patron to do this, but often they have moffalina divorces which are meltdowns of note and the neighbours have to call the police. There is no dignity in love or the death of it. Many of the Moffioso are in event management, fashion or party planning but they can be found in every sphere, even business and sport (but this is kept very quiet). They have extremely influential clients, make obscene amounts of money and are highly successful in whatever profession they are in .They have superlatively great taste if they are true Moffioso. Their houses are always in the decor magazines. You want them to take over your life, tell you how to dress and how to do up your house. It's good to have the Moffioso on your side because when they like you they are like purring pussycats. Otherwise you are dead meat. The Moffioso are very big in Cape Town. They get involved in all the doings of the Mother City, but you will find them everywhere, even in places you might consider quite homophobic.

The Botox Queen looks like he/she has been bitten by a poisonous Amazonian tree frog. He/she is swollen, puffy and shiny to an alarming degree but boasts triumphantly about how much Botox he/she has has injected. One day they are going to exhume Botox Queens (BQs) from the early 21st century and wonder about what human beings are prepared to do to their own bodies, like the Elizabethans putting lead on their faces or Victorian women wearing corsets that broke their ribs, caused them to faint and distorted their shape. Botox Queens are complete plastic surgery junkies and love to have "work" done. The trouble is, none of this makes them look better. They in fact look hideous and scary, due to being pumped full of tetanus infection poison. The pain is always worth the gain, though, as the BQs try out the new third-degree burn treatment that is guaranteed to make them so much younger and more beautiful. Although I am sure that Botox is not biodegradable. So the BQs may look better than Tutankhamun after 2000 years.

The BEE-atch is easy to spot. She's literally covered in bling, from sunglasses to handbag to fake nails and drives an obscenely expensive car (like a BEE-MW convertible). She loves to lunch and calls her girlfriends "darling" and everything is "stunning". She singlehandedly keeps Sandton City in business and tells everyone how much things cost and how she bought it in Paris or Milan. The trouble is with all this newfound money is that the BEE-atch is not a very nice chick. She ignores poor people and beggars at robots and never gives the car guard any change. She bosses her staff and bullies them relentlessly before going off to lunch (again). She's rude to her household staff too and doesn't pay them. She has a packet of Simba chips on both shoulders which should make her well-balanced but it just makes her rude and arrogant. She loves putting people down, as they haven't "arrived" like she has. She disses other African countries because they don't have money. The BEE-atch loves to tell everyone about her roots but doesn't ever want to go back there. She was a Mbeki-ite when he was president but now she just loves President Jacob Zuma to bits.

The PWS (Publicity Whores) throw themselves in front of every passing camera. You know them by the way they Facebook themselves (check out their profile pictures, there are now about 14 367, not counting their blogs and personal websites). They Twitter, they tweet, they Youtube themselves. They love being in Heat magazine. They love being the subject of tabloids scandals as it pushes up theur profile. The PWS are always voor op die wa (pushy and first in queue). They love being photographed with Famous People. They have a collection of Famous People they have been photographed with. There are more Famous People they are salivating to get their picture taken with and they will not rest until this happens. Journalists, as a rule, do not enjoy the PWs much because their editors impose a ban on the PWS after a while and it can get a bit sickening, all this me me me. PWs are always so transparently hungry for more. Pictures, editorial, column space, even a fake obituary column would do. And when can we meet Oprah?

The GFPs live in Sandhurst or the northern suburbs, never in the East, West or South (quelle horreur). They always look like they have had expensive dentistry done as it hurts to smile, or maybe they just have razorblades up their ass. They have little soirees where there is no food. Just red wine and Lots of Cupcakes. The cupcake is the GFP contribution to worldwide cuisine. They are more English than the English and their daughters and sons marry money. Lots of them live in Cape Town. Their friends are MDs or CEOs, never ever middle management. The women dress like Squirrel Nutkin, all gingham and baskets(although they do love their Chinese jackets for the evening and an artistic splash of colour with ethnic beads). When they are older they always have coiffed white hair, wear pink linen jackets and have "good bones". They love doing up their houses and talk about "dek-aw", not "day-cor" like rest of us plebs. The GFP have more money than God but they always look unhappy like they have sucked on a lemon. They are most polite when they are at their most mean. They never talk about their problems. What problems? It must be someone else's problem, never theirs. They are perfect. Even if they do need to be defrosted.

We all know the Barker Haineses of this world. Everyone knows their name, they are the most powerful captains of industry in the world, if not the universe. They use their clout to buy, borrow or steal impeccable credentials. Their net worth is splashed across the financial pages. They are charming, they love the ladies, particularly the beauty queens, models and trophy wives. But do not cross them. These guys are more ruthless than Lady Macbeth if you get in their way. They are deeply, deeply scary. They can send thugs to your door at the drop of a hat. Never inquire how they made their money or question their authority. They will destroy you. No one can stand up to them, they have too much money and power. They are at all the parties ... the A list events all over the world... even if they are oh so dodgy. They always make the social pages. From Vanity Fair to Tatler to you name it. It's enough to make the PWs green. The Tsotsi in a suit always makes sure that the suit he wears is the best money can buy, it's usually Italian tailoring and a perfect fit. If you have to work with the devil you have to keep up with his sartorial style.

*PS: If Zapiro is feeling generous, perhaps he would like to offer to illustrate some of these characters for me. But no showerheads, please!


Craig said...

Too true Sarah "darling" but you failed to mention the PAPARAZZOs and PRESS themselves. :) Happy Christmas to you. :)

cheektochic said...

I am a bit of a PW myself ... that sums up some of us press don't it?

Blogger said...

This was very enjoyable. It seems the kugel spirit lives on, even if they left in droves for Perth.