2:45 pm

You're Invited to Fani and Patrick's Market

The Waiting Room while still retaining it's disheveled living room appeal was transformed into a bit of an afternoon market this weekend featuring a myriad of intriguing buys and activities. Obviously the vintage clothing  aspect of the event is what drew me , but I was surprised to find some other cool things on offer by way of hot dogs and lemonade and an exquisite pile of art books being sold by a dude who said he "had too many". Lucky him. and Lucky me I guess, as I walked away with a hard cover compilation of Cezanne's works.

The thing that made me the most happy, that usually makes me the most happy at these things was the overall atmosphere created by the music. Very rarely do I ever hear some of the music I love beyond the tiny white earphones that are semi-permanently plugged into my ears, so it was cool to hear some King Krule, Earl Sweatshirt, The Internet, Mac Demarco and the like vibrating from giant club speakers. Very cool actually. So the afternoon was spent weaving between vintage aficionados, flipping through curious books, occasionally taking a break to sit in the sun, and beginning the rotation again in the hopes that "the one"would finally be spotted.

That's the thing with vintage shopping. It's a patient process involving a lot of sifting and searching, talking about sizes, prices and wondering if said item would match with anything in your current closet. I love it. I love the concept of finding something and breathing new life into it, interpreting the old and unwanted to the modern and new, and most probably owning something rad that no-one else can lay claim to.

But before I start going into a long thesis about the joys of vintage shopping, I would like to add my two cents about something that's been on my mind for a while now.


It's been a topic of discussion for a hot second seeing some of my friends (official groove activists) fighting against racial segregation perpetuated at certain clubs and festivals and calling for some radical change. The blatant culprits have been called out and called to order, which is brilliant, but my concern kinda lies with the not so obvious culprits of this.

 In Cape Town especially, there seems to be some tension around 'wavy' spaces and events which are usually and automatically associated with whiteness. A kind of double consciousness is observed with many of my black friends who may enjoy certain types of alternative music or activities but are then faced with the challenge of navigating spaces that are white dominated and at times uncomfortable. Having to be one of 7 black people at a gig, one of 12 black people at a gallery, one of 5 at a 'cool' hangout spilling with white people, in AFRICA is a little weird. So a level of skepticism or cautious optimism is always felt before entering places where Little Dragon and Jungle are played just as loudly as in my room.

I'm happy to report though, that the demographics of this event were more balanced than most and that I didn't have to get my girl Mini on the phone.

I walked away with a new old black dress, a new old book and new new favourite study break activity.

Here are a couple of shots I got while switching between human interaction and being behind the camera.



Photography: Refiloe Mokgele

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