The sun was out a few weeks ago. It seems a myth, but it was. That glorious, glaring globe shining down on us, creating a façade veiling us from the reality that is the chill and sleet that actually ought to be with us. And there we were, confused as to what to do with all the warm clothing and boots stocked up in anticipation of frosty times ahead.
Some complained, as we ever do, that this global warming thingy should stop getting its knickers in a bunch and toe the line. We’d had enough Vitamin D since January.
I hadn’t. Or rather my eyes hadn’t. No, I’m not that masochist fella who weirdly gets pleasure out of staring at the sun with my naked eye. No, you have to understand that this sleepy town isn’t slumbering in matters of activity alone. This encroaching laze seems to stretch its lulling fingers through every single element of life, and most importantly: fashion.
From the Mama Mboga and her “Seng’eng’e ni Ng’ombe” t-shirt (Pole kwako if your significant other wears this to bed. Lingerie natzing!), to the hormonal teenager still ensnared by the latest fad. Need I say that most of this fashionista wannabes can tend to be a not-so-rare source of comedy on the average day?
Then there are the ones who get it. No, not gerrit, I mean GET IT! Those who innately have a touch for the more exquisite, sophisticated and mostly simple yet alluring forms of dress. Some have it as an acquired taste; there’s nothing to it.
Mind you, I’m all for decency and stuff. The kind who likes it all covered up…the more skin shown the shorter the term of interest. The more you leave to a man’s curiosity, the greater you hold their attention. No need to be all trashy and slutty up in these streets. Just keep it relevant, sexy, and alive. I sure as heck don’t even know how to define alive so don’t even bother asking me what that means.
So you must understand when in the middle of this usually frigid month, my eyes beheld works of nature’s beauty. Sundresses: floral, patterned and whatnot, the whole thingamajig without having to get into details. Sijui these days I hear sijui peplum mara sequined mara pear-shaped what not… I swear sometimes the world of fashion is best left to those who care for it. Now what do fruits even have to do with anything? Do I get to eat them?
Ah, but I digress.
Here stands a man, stuck in a drab world of grays and blacks and navy blues. Before him, swaying with gusto and ruffled in the wind is the work of a seamstress that seems to call for your attention. Not in a “Weeeh, kss kss” way. No, in a more “Hello there, mister” kind of way. Okay, wait, that sounded way more attractive in my mind.
And this, in a town where chicken are foreseeing a holocaust (poor things), is sure to be a head-turner. I don’t know what it is here, or maybe I just haven’t travelled enough, but men really need lessons in a perfected art called ‘U-sniper”. It’s all in the subtlety, this ogling business is best left to the Muite-types; wide-eyed and all that.
Sundresses are sexy, especially when worn in the sun (predictably). They’re a rare commodity now. And thus I mourn, till the sun rises again, to ease my eyes of this drab and monotonous world of furry jackets and sometimes uninspiring boots.