Day 5 - The Idea

I stay in Walmer Estate, which has a pretty orthodox, Muslim community. The shop up the road from me, Ali G’s Videos (I kid you not) is owned by the orthodoxest of the orthodoxes. The old lady who sits behind the counter in her ever-present scarf shall be my first victim. Here’s my plan. I will dress in full Riezness (hair, clothes, accessories, the works), walk into the store, analyze her expression, then go home immediately, don my intervention suit and go back to the shop to see her reaction. Then I’m going to repeat the process at the Waterfront. I’ll take my clothes with, change in the men’s room and observe how people respond to me in each context.

I’m going home now then to the Waterfront later today for some last minute shopping for my little brother’s matric ball tomorrow, so my itinerary’s sorted! Gotta run! Shit wait… I’m in flip-flops. Gotta umm… jog!

Day 4 - The Watch

This watch is bugging me. The sleeves of my qurta are long and nobody but me sees it… but I know it’s there. And even though I’ve convinced myself that the reason I’m wearing it is to tell the time, deep down I think I know the real reason. It’s the same reason I do my hair every day. Yes, I still do it. Don’t you judge me.

I’m fighting the process. Resisting the intervention. Desperately clinging to little secrets that make me feel like I’m not selling myself out. Nobody will fucking see my hair. I know this. My watch is more a piece of jewellery representing my dire desire for flash than a functional means to measure time. I know this. Yet here I sit in class, cleverly concealing it from plain sight as if this somehow made my project authentic. Who am I kidding, really?

Anyway I’m having trouble analyzing people’s reactions towards me in my new, anti-Riez persona. That’s purely because I haven’t been seeing many people, to be honest. I wake up early, hide from my family as I get dressed (are you still judging me??), rush off to campus (which we’ve established as an inconclusive context), have class until late afternoon then go home and get undressed before anyone sees me. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I intend to show them. Promise.

I have an idea to investigate the above problem, however. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow! Watch..... this space.

Day 3 - Two Things

I realized something today. Well… two things, actually.

Thing Number 1

I’ve been GHD’ing my hair every day since the intervention started, even though I wear a beanie every day.

Thing Number 2

I’m still wearing the watch. Doesn’t feel right. Dunno why.

Now I know for a full fact that the only reason I still feel the need to do my hair is purely because of morbid, obstinate loyalty to my normal, pre-intervention dressing ritual. “Why the hell am I still doing this?” I asked myself. And almost before the question echoed off the walls inside my head I had already shot back at myself with a very interesting answer. “I am scared that if, for any reason, my beanie should come off my head, people will see my curly hair and I will be embarrassed.” I’ve actually programmed myself to believe that the natural texture of my hair is somehow inadequate and inconsistent with my desired body image. Hmmm… 

Day 2 - Secret Dressing

It’s ridiculous how chilled yesterday was. Here I was, expecting my amazing metamorphosis to somehow cause the world to part! Surprise, surprise…

It didn’t.

I suppose the context of my environment wasn’t very conducive to planetary transformation, to be honest. I rocked up to school, hopped off my Vuka and made my way through the crowd of students gathered outside the campus steps. It was the first day of the intervention for everyone, so people were expecting to see the madness that unfolded. They all sat there chuckling at one another’s appearances. Not really the best scenario for information gathering.

Anyway, today I got dressed in secret. Nobody saw me yesterday but everyone was congregated upstairs for breakfast this morning. I dunno, man. I don’t want them to see me like this for some reason. I don’t know why. Is it because I’m embarrassed? Am I too proud to see the smug look on my dad’s face as he sees me, perceiving me to finally be caving to his ideals? Suddenly the uncomfortability of this intervention is very tangible.

Day 1 - The Fraud

Even though I prepared myself mentally for this "dressing-down" business last night... I, in my half awake/half asleep stupor went about my normal, autopilot Monday morning ritual: Yawn while I get out of bed with my eyes closed; rub my eyes all the way to the shoilet (my toilet is also a shower); pee; bump into furniture like a drunk man as I make my way to the kitchen upstairs; breakfast consisting of corn flakes and strong, black coffee; back downstairs to shower (in the shoilet, of course); out the shower, engage rigorous towel-drying procedure; roll-on; underwear; body lotion; GHD my hair while in my underwear; full body deodorant; get dressed in an inexplicably meticulous order: left sock, right sock, t-shirt, jeans, belt, boots, earrings, watch on right wrist, leather strap on left wrist, black beaded rosary around neck, silver pendant bathchain around my neck, Vega access card around my neck; perfume; grab Vuka keys, helmet and schoolbag; head for the door...

Crap!

The intervention starts today. Rewind at lightning speed and don my fez and all black qurta suit. A qurta is a long salaah top. Salaah is the prayer of Muslims. As I'm walking out, I pass a mirror and realise the back of my mohawk is still visible from under the fez and... I still had my accessories on. I paused for a moment to ponder this...

This process is already embedded in me. My hair has always been my biggest source of vanity. These accessories I embellish my body with on a daily basis make me feel comfortable and attractive. If someone were to see me dressed this way walking in the streets, they'd immediately notice my fashionable hairstyle underneath this holy facade and know I was a fraud. Here I stand, supposedly humbled in appearance, in front of one of a hundred mirrors I'd normally check myself in everyday, and what am I doing? Checking to see if I look okay. I feel like an idiot. I take my fez and accessories off and cover my hair in a plain, black beanie. I keep my watch on. I mean, I'll need to know what the time is, right?

As I hop onto my Vuka, my salaah pants hooks on the key on the side and rips at the crotch. Greeeeeaaat. Talk about a bad omen. This is gonna be one interesting day.

Salaam Alaikum!

Haha...

And welcome to my first entry. The purpose of this blog is simple. I intend to document the 10-day Creative Development body intervention I have been assigned for my first project as a second year Multimedia Design student at Vega The Brand Communications School. The documentation of this intervention forms my Critical Studies segment of the joint project.

Our module of study is named "The Body (un)comfortable" and revolves around our own human bodies, how we observe and perceive it as well as how others observe and perceive us. The aim of this particular project is to firstly unpack our own body image, locate our comfort zone, physically remove ourselves from it by means of a 10-day body intervention and then critically analyze our findings. In a nutshell, get uncomfortable with your body and document it all.

First off, allow me to tell you the characteristics of myself that I chose to exploit for the purpose of this project. I am a 26-year-old man who comes from a traditional, Muslim, Cape Malay home in Cape Town. My family is fairly religious and I, myself, am the complete opposite. I find that religion separates more than it integrates people. I'm extremely spiritual, though. I believe in a supreme force at work beyond our comprehension and I live my life according to my beliefs. This, however, is not congruent to the teachings of my religion. So I am seen as somewhat of a rebel in my family. I especially tend to rock the religious boat with my rebellious attire and radical hairstyles. I mohawk, I accessorize, I fashionize. That is how I have always been.

THE INTERVENTION

The choice of intervention was pretty simple once I evaluated this particular facet of my persona. So for the next 10 days I am going to acquiesce. I am going to embrace and embody my polar opposite body image. I will become what they want and make myself supremely uncomfortable in the process. I will mow my hawk, unfashionize and I will dress down into traditional Muslim garb. Accessories denied.