Nice Niche.

"Life is a box of chocolates", Forrest Gump's mother told him. What she neglected to add is just how massive this box of chocolates is. Then again, Forrest was a rather simple lad and this extension to the life lesson may have confused him.

We can attempt to sample every chocolate in the chocolate box of life but given our time constraint (death) it would prove to be an impossible and silly task. Furthermore, there are ALOT of chocolates. That's why we treat life in the same way we would treat an ordinary box of chocolates. We find our favourites and then stick to them. If you present a pack of Quality Streets to me, I would have already decided upon my selection before you had even opened the packet. This is because when it comes to Quality Streets, I know my niche.

A niche by definition is a situation or activity specially suited to a person's interests, abilities, or nature.

To quote Anna (Misty): "The expression, 'Jack of all trades', is not so much a compliment as it is an insult". It reaffirms and relates to another expression: "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride". The two go hand in hand. No one is ever great at everything. However, we are all good at some things. Therefore the more time we spend wasted on the things we are not good at; the more we impede our growth and prosperity in the things we are. But your niche in life is not solely dependent on where your talents lie. It is rather a combination of ability and interest.

One can be good at one thing and enjoy another. Ability does not always translate into enjoyment. I, for instance, am a rather good swimmer. When I was younger, I would put in the bear minimum amount of training and end up placing in the top three nationally. Did this make me enjoy the sport more? Possibly. The feeling of accomplishment and success is never going entice a negative emotion. If you disagree with this sentiment, take it up with Maslow and his hierarchy of needs. But it didn't convert my hatred of every minute spent in the pool to something more positive. So I put the swimming costume and goggles away and said farewell to my aquatic sporting torture.

"You could have been and olympic medalist", my grandparents constantly remind me.
Yes, I could possibly have been. A suicidal olympic medalist, but an olympic medalist nonetheless.

Some food for thought: If you're really good at something but despise every moment doing it, you're likely to not get much better and improve. On the other hand, if you're rather average at something that you're passionate about and love doing, you'll probably end up in a better space than the afore mentioned bloke. Talent can take you so far. After that, it's up to you. The proverb, 'practice makes perfect', holds true for most sphere's of life. The more you do it, the better you get at it.

So this niche thing; Im still trying to figure out for myself. I know where my interests lie and I know what I'm good at. I just can't decide upon the best combination for myself. I need to find it fast though. Let's wrap this up with a quote: "Above all, be true to yourself and if you cannot put your heart in it, take yourself out of it." Them words so wise it make you wanna slap yo mamma!

Pirates of the Caribbean...should have left it at 3

We all the know the sound track and have probably seen at least one of the films. The Pirates of the Caribbean broke onto the movie scene in the year 2003 and was so successful that the franchise churned out two more box office hits. It was said to be a trilogy and the story was finally wrapped in the last installment, At World's End. A few years later plus Disney's optimistic ambition and the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean was given the green light. This time, however, we would not be seeing the original cast sail the seas, search for hidden treasures and emerge somehow victorious from heavily outnumbered sword fights. No, this time it was left all up to Jack. My apologies, that is, CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow. Jonny Depp brought this character to life, putting the cool in pirate becoming a fast film favourite. This fourth istallment of the franchise was to focus on the character Jack Sparrow in the appropriately titled film, On Stranger Tides. This tide was indeed strange and not in a good way.

I was sceptical as whether or not this movie would be worth the R45 I would have to pay to watch it. This weekend I decided to put my prejudice aside, paid R20 parking at the V&A waterfront, got my overpriced popcorn and sat through the entire film. It's a lovely feeling, proving yourself right. What doesn't feel as good is paying the R100 it took to do so. The movie was, as I predicted, a train smash. Sure, the acting was satisfactory on the whole and the visuals and effects were impressive but the plot, if you can call it that, was a shambles.

There was a plot, a potentially good plot, that was butchered. Without giving too much away, the movie revolves around the fountain of youth and the numerous crews' pursuit in finding it. The story line felt slow at stages and a bit disjointed. It became predictable towards the middles and the more they fought the more frustrated I became. How many times can one man outsmart and outfight when outnumbered. This was the case with the film's hero, the beloved, Captain Jack Sparrow. Countless times he found himself in trouble facing an army of armed opposition. In each instance he somehow managed to get out of the tricky situation unharmed, leaving a collection of wounded opponents behind him. I know it's the movies, but come on.

In amoungst the wreckage of the plot, there emerged a side serving of romance. This could not possibly have been more insignificant and cringe-worthy. One of Captain Jack's crew 'maties' ended up falling in love with, wait for it, a mermaid. These beautiful creatures were a cross between America's Next Top Model and Twilight. They were sexy sirens of the deep but when aggravated turned part-vampire it seemed. It was obviously love-at-first sight since the romantic duo had exchanged possibly 5 words between each other before they were willing to risk their life for one another.

I realise it's Disney and with an age restriction of PG one can't expect much. But don't go and set the bar so high with the initial trilogy and then produce a sequel presenting as much tact as an Adam Sandler movie. Suffice to say, I wouldn't recommend this movie to anyone. It's not worth the time, the money or the disappointment.

You don't speak English? Shame, you must be stupid.

I was fortunate enough to go on holiday with my family to Italy this past Summer Holiday. It was a skiing trip so naturally we ended up in Livigno. This is a skiing town that's brought to life during the holiday seasons with tourists coming from all over the world looking to glide down its snowy white capped mountains. You would think since this is a town relying on its tourism for business that the inhabitants would be welcoming and friendly. (Two very important traits in the service industry). Alas this was not the case.

We traveled with two other families and amoung us all the notion was unanimous, Italian people are rude. When we ate in restaurants, the service was bad (not to mention the food). When we shopped at stores, the assistants neglected us. When we parties at clubs and bars, the people in charge were inhospitable. The list goes on and on. Furious with the unwelcoming nature the Italians presented, our tour group stuck together and continuously complained. For good reason, however.

After contemplating the unusual and bizarre behaviour of our Italian hosts, I came to a realisation. The reason for their unwelcoming, unfriendly and inhospitable ways had to do with the fact that we "no speak Italiano". More frustrating to them was that instead, we spoke English. Imagine a foreign Italian tourist holidaying in South Africa approached you and began to engage in a conversation. Their limited English would heavily impede their ability to get their message across to you and in turn understand your confused response. But they would do it a manner that said - hey man, I don't really know much English and I'm sorry you have to deal with this, but let me try anyways.". Because of this timid, almost embarrassed manner in which they string together their "English" sentences, we choose to respond to them as if we were speaking to a child. We speak slowly and simply using elaborate facial expressions and animated hand gestures. "You (pointing) need to go (fingers walking) over there (pointing)". It's degrading. But they take it because they're the foreigner and you're the local.

Now, switch the positions. You're and English speaking South African holidaying in Italy. You approach one of the locals and dive straight into: "Sorry, do you know where the nearest pub is?". (Obviously they should be able to speak English, it's the Universal Language!). Confused, they respond in Italian. They clearly didn't get what you were saying. Furthermore, how ignorant of them to expect you to understand them. So you ask again, this time using the animated expressions and gestures. Where (shoulder shrug and confused look) is pub (drinking action mimicked). After this interpretive dance routine, the Italian seems to be getting rather annoyed. Why? Because you just made them feel stupid for not being able to speak your language. The comforting reality for them is that hardly anyone in their local area can. So they adopt the attitude - get an Italian dictionary, or go back to an English speaking country.

After this epiphany I decided it was time to invest in one such dictionary. And you know what, if this were Facebook, Italy would have "liked this".

I don't speak slang

Bra, last night was a lank sick jol, bra, epic smut with my floss. What is that? What does that mean? Surely there are easier ways of communicating the grandeur of the previous evening’s festivities. I’m not saying that I’m completely against the use of slang. It just eludes me how people can use it so often in the space of one sentence. Slang has penetrated the English language and cemented it’s prominence in the vocabulary of the wannabee surfers and try-hard hipsters.

Do I use slang? Yes, occasionally I do. It’s good to keep up with the times and know what people are actually saying when they feed you a mouthfull of gibberish. But slang should be used with caution. It should be the small hint of spice in an already delicious dish. Slang is there to complement your vocabulary, not to dominate it.

People can get too attached to slang and end up relying on it to communicate. This translates into a neglect for the English Language and people begin to flounder when faced with having to string together a sensible sentence. But the way people speak has changed a lot over the years. I would find it rather disturbing and slightly amusing if we all spoke the way they did in Shakespeare’s time. So I’m not saying we need to halt the evolution of human speech.

Slang is also used too loosely. Because slang words are fabricated, their definition is hard to pin down. Take, for example, the word, “vibe”. “Vibe” can be used in various ways to mean different things. “Last night was such a vibe.”; “Are you two vibing?”; “What’s you’re vibe tonight?”; "Let’s have a vibe at your place this weekend.”. Basically, the word “vibe” can be slotted in to replace the words: good time, flirting/courting, plans and party. Imagine you were to actually construct a sentence using all those words but substitute them with vibe. It would not make sense. The thing that frightens me is that people exist out there who would do such a thing and think nothing of it.

Slang is a wonderful thing. It really is. I find it to be an expression of one’s creativity since, after, all that’s essentially what it is – People creating new words or new ways of using words. I just don’t want the English Language to be forgotten about. Let slang be a device used in moderation. As in most cases, “less is more”. Don’t let slang rule your tongue. People have a lot of interesting and important things to say. Why not say it properly?

'Punch a taxi driver in the face' - day

They hoot, they swerve, they shout, they speed, they overload and they multiply, but can they actually drive? Legally, that is. Taxi drivers in South Africa are the excrement under my shoe. They dispel any concern for etiquette on the roads and cause drivers unnecessary anxiety and road rage. They pack their Toyota “busses” far past their capacity and drive without concern for the lives on board or surrounding. Their negligence is the source of so many traffic accidents yet they continue to pursue their aspiration of being the most inept drivers on the road.

Yesterday, my father was cycling in Port Elizabeth along the beachfront. This is something he does regularly, being the fitness junkie he is. He probably left the house that day expecting to get some exercise under his belt with the added bonus of catching some fresh air. He wouldn’t have given much thought to the possibility of being assaulted by a taxi. He should have, however. While cycling along the side of the road, a delinquent taxi driver decided, in his mindless haste, to swerve (as they do) into my dad. Their intention was unclear but taxi drivers can’t be held capable of actual thought. My dad was knocked off his bike and fell to the ground landing with his arm under the taxi.

Luckily the taxi driver stopped before he could do more damage, got out his vehicle and helped my dad to his feet, all the while apologising profusely. If that sounds fabricated, it’s because it is. Taxi drivers don’t stop. They probably don’t know how to. So, over my dad’s arm he drove, completely oblivious to the destruction left in his wake. Luckily a driver (with a license) saw the incident unravel and stopped to assist my injured father. Apparently the taxi was inches away from murder.

So what’s to be done now? Do you go to the police? Do you get the insurance details of the taxi driver? Do you act surprised when you find out the taxi driver can’t even spell insurance?

Taxi drivers are traffic menaces. But we can’t blame them since they don’t know how to drive. If you were to place a 7 year old child in the driver’s seat, hand them the keys and tell them to “go wild”, you’re asking for an accident to happen. But, do you blame the child? No, children don’t know any better. You blame the person who allowed them get behind the wheel. This government is beyond help when it comes to the leniency with taxis in this country. They are always too full, too fast and too reckless. But, they provide transport for the masses so they can be justified as being ‘necessary’. Another thing that can be justified as a ‘necessity’ would be drivers having obtained a legitimate driving license. Also, justice could be thrown in there, but who am I kidding.

Face the fats

If you don't get this print ad, you're a moron. In all its simplicity, it communicates the insight in a recognisable, funny and relateable way. The visual is very effective in collaborating the insights: if you're overweight, you're unhappy about it and if you're overweight, you most likely want to change that.

In a perfect world, we would all have bodies resembling either that of Brad Pitt in Fight Club or Gisele Bundchen in, well, life. But this world is far from perfect, I'm afraid. You see more Rosie Odonalds and John Goodmans slumping around in our painful reality.

But it doesn't have to be this way. No, Speed-Fit provides the opportunity to combat the unhappiness attatched to being overweight by getting in shape. They promise a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, you're just going to have to run all the way there to get it.

The visual of an overweight man's stomach resembling, in all its spectacular irony, a sad face provides a bit of comic relief. The comedic appeal of the ad entices you to pay some attention to what's written in the lower, left-hand corner. "Unhappy with the shape you're in?". People who have an issue with their weight or physical appearance look at this ad and think: "Yes, I am.". The humourous nature of the visual is dissarming and allows you to have a laugh at the situation depicted while still being able to relate to it.

So many advertisements concerned with improving your physical condition involve barbie and ken wannabees. They blindly promise that if you make use of the product or service being advertised, "you too could look like this"! I find those adverts mindless and insulting. This print ad simply states the obvious and offers a solution. Also, it's a concern if your stomach is capable of expression.

Its ok, rather you drive.

I love the show, Top Gear. At the same time, I'm not the biggest fan of cars. I like them. I like my car. I wouldn't mind a nice new car. Do I buy the latest issues of the various car magazines every month? No, I don't.

Back to Top Gear. This show may be all about cars and subjects related to cars but that isn't the source of the shows entertainment value for me. It's the blend of the show's presenters, activities and humour that give it its pulse, in my opinion. A key characteristic possessed by most of the Top Gear viewers, I presume, is that they can actually drive a car and enjoy driving. I don't particularly fit this mold.

I can drive. I've been legally driving for almost 4 years now. But if ever there are more than two people with a driver's license present in a car, you're most likely to find me sitting in the passenger seat. This was not always the case, however.

In the beginning of my new found, car driven independence, I was besotted with driving. I had just passed my license test and was ready to take full advantage of all the perks that little signed piece of paper had to offer me. If anyone ever needed to be lifted somewhere, I would drive them. If the parental units forgot to buy something from the shops and wanted to go back and get it, I would run, no, drive that errand for them. If anyone ever needed a "designated dave" come "sober cobra" come "Mr responsible" to lift everyone home after a night out, I would...not necessarily do that.

But you get the picture.
You can finally drive on the open roads secure in the knowledge that you're not breaking any laws and don't require a big "L" on the back window and mum in the passenger seat. This is what people term: "the honeymoon phase". Its new, fun and exciting but pretty soon it'll pass. Then sets in the reality that driving is not all its cracked up to be.


Once the novelty has worn off, driving is exposed as the tedious task it is. Traffic is a complete nightmare. The continuous stop-start motion you experience amoung a see of seemingly stationary cars can be nauseating. This would be the perfect time to drift off and hang out in dream land for a bit but alas that is not an option. God forbid the person in front of you moves a few inches forward and you don't reciprocate by covering newly available ground. Road rage is also a reality amoungst drivers. Every driver on the road has the mindset that they're the best and if ever something were to go wrong, it would be on the other drivers behalf. The hooter is a road-rage-driver's best friend. They also feel the need to prove this sentiment over and over again.

Back to my point. I'm a competent driver. I just don't enjoy being in the driver's seat clasping the steering wheel. If I need to get from A to B and someone other than myself is willing to make that happen, then by all means, take my car keys. I'll be content to sit back in the passenger seat, play around with the stereo and watch the outside world fly by while you deal with traffic lights, road rules, pedestrians, other vehicles and the clutch.If we really all enjoyed driving that much - it would be a lot easier to get a cab.  



 

"It did it by accident"

Ok, I know this print ad is boarder line cheesy but I find it charming. It could be the use of colours or the photography? Most likely its appeal stems from the hyperbolic nature of the ad. I enjoy a good hyperbole.

The ad is for Vitamins for children. The image here displays two kids playing an interrupted game of cricket while observing a plane falling from the sky. The plane appears to be crashing. Any guesses as to why the plane would be crashing? Personally, a kamikaze pilot isn't the first thing that comes to mind. Also, that would make for a terrible print ad when children and vitamins are involved.

Of course, it was the children who accomplished this feat, the one holding the bat in particular. We assume from the images provided that the reason their cricket game is interrupted is not because they suddenly noticed a plane crashing in the distance. No, their game is interrupted because they have no ball to play with. Where is the ball you may ask? Probably in the turbine of that plane.

So how did that cricket ball get all the way there one has to wonder. It's simple; the boy holding the cricket bat hit it there. ALL THE WAY THERE! This is quite an accomplished distance for even the professionals. Here's where we get our big clue. Look in the bottom right hand corner and you will find the logo and slogan for a children's vitamin product. Tah dah! The reason for this kid being able to send that cricket ball flying off in the distance and send a plane crashing down is because he took the before mentioned vitamins.

I think this ad, although completely exaggerated, communicates the message in the right way. Children hate taking their vitamins. I know I did. Children also have an astounding imagination. For this reason, a kid would look at this ad and actually believe that if they were to take these vitamins, they too would gain such extraordinary ability. But children don't buy vitamins. That's their parent's job. And hopefully their parent's aren't children themselves. But parents understand their children and would be disarmed by the charming humour of this ad. It would also create some good leverage for a parent trying to get their kid to actually take dam things! 

This one time, at gym camp...

If you're an avid people watcher like me, then drop everything and get over to your nearest Virgin Active. Here lies the breeding ground for the interesting and bizarre.

I recently joined the gym, Wembly Square Virgin Active to be precise, and have been astounded by the social dynamics infested here. I am a swimmer and enjoy the more aquatic side of exercise. This has impeded my ability to people-watch due to the fact that the swimming pool is on the lower level of the gym and I spend most of my time under the water. Today has been different, however. I was stuck in the tedious 5pm Cape Town traffic and decided to do an about turn revisit the gym where I had just come from.

This is now peek hour, meaning people...LOTS of people. So I decided to hang around and just merely do some observing, a favourite pass time of mine. This time I went nowhere near the boring pool but instead upstairs to the land lovers. Here, I was greeted by a watering hole for a collection of different breeds. I'll paint a picture for you.

We have on the one side, the beautiful 20-something women bouncing up and down the treadmills and exercise bikes accompanied by the older crowd trying desperately to keep up. These girls don't just throw on their gym clothes, hop in their car and arrive at the gym. No, its obvious that a lot more effort has gone into their appearance for their performance that day. I say performance because that's the impression one gets while watching them. Their stage (the treadmills) is perched perfectly alongside the railing of the second level of the gym in the center above the pool providing optimal viewing pleasure for their audience. Their run is not so much a plow forward but rather a graceful hop accentuating the flick of their hair and the movement of their assets. All the while they are flanked by the 40-somethings trying desperately to hold the youth being exhibited. 

Turn now to the weights section. Here, vanity can be considered a mild, understated description for the breed under study. This area of the gym is wallpapered with mirrors. BIG mirrors! A ballet studio probably has fewer mirrors. Testosterone pollutes the air and giant men in tiny clothing can be seen completely fixated with their own reflection. I could probably parade around the weights section in a purple Barney suite and nobody would pay me the slightest bit of attention. The environment here is stained with a perverse ambition to be bigger than the guy next to you. Ironically, these people wouldn't be able conduct such a comparison as that would require their attention being directed toward someone other than themselves.

 

Then there are the old people. They're not here to improve their image or build self confidence but rather to hold onto life. They don't confine to a specific area of their own, instead they're found scattered around the gym trying everything. I admire these folk for their zest for life and ambition to stay alive and healthy. However, this admiration dissolves the minute I walk into the changing room. I'm not accustomed to any form of change-room etiquette but I'm pretty sure it would dispel birthday suites as a dress code for these fossils. Don't get me wrong, I love old people. Their sage wisdom and matured outlook on life make them essential beacons of guidance for the youth. I just prefer them with their clothes on. For example: In the sauna, is it really necessary to do your post work out stretches? Could they not be done in a more private setting without the involvement of a reluctant audience?

I'm sure my perception of the gym and gym-goers alike may seem to be somewhat patronising. Let me remind you that I, too, frequent the gym. Therefore I consider myself to be one of the many specimens under study here at Virgin Active. People-watchers surely look at me and critique how I conduct myself during my exercise regime and probably have a good laugh. What I want to know, is this:

People who go to the gym are there to improve themselves. 

This must surely mean they are insecure of concerned about something to do with their appearance. 

Why then would one choose to address this concern in a public exercise facility?

My understanding is that people choose to endure the grueling exercises, watchful eyes and inevitable comparisons for the promise of better health, improved physical condition and an overall self esteem boost in the end. The pain surely must be worth the gain.

   

 

Its a dog's life

 

I'm an animal person, specifically a dog lover. Cats I can't stand, but that's off topic. Back to dogs. We all love man's best friend. There's method behind the madness with regard to that sentiment. Dogs are our furry friends who love and adore us. They're always happy to see you when you arrive home, they obey your every command, give you all the love and attention you could ask for and, if you’re lucky, bring you your paper and slippers every morning. But why all this adoration and obedience? Why do they sit when told, are quite happy to sleep outside and respectfully comply with the various house rules. The answer is simple. 

Dog loves food.

Man has food.

Man gives food to dog.

Dog loves man.

When training a dog, the only incentive for it to actually obey commands is the prospect of getting a treat as a 'reward' for being a "clever boy". Dogs are not clever. They're rather stupid if you ask me. Stupid and hungry. 

If I were a dog and my owner told me to sit for their own amusement I'd tell them to sod off and then pee on the expensive carpet for good measure. But like I say, dogs are stupid. In this print ad, however, we assume the opposite. The insight captured here is that our pets see everything that goes on in our homes. Because they can't speak; they can’t spill our dirty little secrets. That doesn't necessarily mean that they can't do some crafty exposure. 

The print ad depicts a woman in bed greeting her husband who has just arrived home from piloting a flight. They are accompanied in their bedroom by their dog and a pair of feet belonging to, we presume, a 'special guest'. The dog has exposed this 'special guest's' hideout by pulling at the curtains and thus brutally exposing the wife's infidelity. But dogs love their owners? So why on earth would this dog do such a thing?

"BAD FOOD, BAD DOG."

The catch phrase ties is all up nicely. Quick recap:

Dog loves food.

Man has food.

Man give food to dog.

Dog not satisfied with food.

Dog not very happy with man. 

This woman has obviously not been feeding her dog the quality food it deserves and the dog has rebelled by displaying her affair to her husband. The moral of the story comes down to this: Keep your pets happy by feeding them the right food. At the end of the day, its better to have them on your side.

Strength in Numbers

Advertising is a competitive industry. The success of one brand’s advertising translates to the hindrance of the success of that brand’s competitors. After all, the whole motive behind advertising is to persuade a brands target market that their offering is superior to that of their competitors.

This Coca-Cola print ad does a very blatant and obvious job of communicating just that. Pepsi and Coke are two of the biggest players in the game of soft drinks. Suffice to say these two don’t necessarily like to “play nice”. Depicted here is a beaten and outnumbered Pepsi can lying defeated on the ground. Surrounding it is a crowd of unharmed coke cans smugly towering over the victim.

You don’t have to be Einstein to deduce that the Coke cans beat up the poor Pepsi can. The outcome of this battle signifies in all its simplicity that Coke trumps Pepsi. But it’s not enough to just say, “We’re better than you!”. No, that wouldn’t completely sway an audience. In order for that statement to have any credibility it needs facts supporting its claim.

Imagine a playground littered with school kids. These kids have all been given one of two lunch boxes, a blue one or a red one. One day a kid with a blue lunch box insults another kid’s red lunch box.  In playground world, this signifies war. Naturally to reds rally together to oppose the blues. The question of who wins now depends on how many reds there are to blues.

In the print ad, the coke cans have an advantage in their numbers. It’s this advantage that led to the termination of that poor little Pepsi can. But why would there be so many coke Cans and only one Pepsi can?  The answer is simple. Coca-Cola sales are far greater than Pepsi sales.

To sum it all up, if ever there came to be a “can war” between Coke and Pepsi and they both gathered their infantry, it would be a blood bath for Pepsi. A very light and humorous way of depicting such a brutal outcome, wouldn’t you say? 

Sex sells but nobody wants to buy it

In today’s complex and evolved society, there is one common denominator that links us all. It captures our attention and is the driving force behind our mundane lives. It corrupts us, excites us, enthrals us and subconsciously controls us. This ‘thing’ is sex and in times like these it’s considered to be ‘not such a bad thing’. The media is littered with it. From the likes of Lady Gaga and Madonna parading around on stage in less than their underwear singing sexually laced anthems, to the cleverly crafted advertisements we see in magazines that subtly play with our dirty minds. 


Children are becoming more aware of sex from a younger age and with the internet’s abundance of pornography it’s no wonder they’re found locked in the bathroom accompanied by their laptops and iPads. The supposed awkwardness surrounding sex has seemed to somewhat have disappeared. The sex talk used to be a conversation a parent would have with their child explaining the birds and the bees. Today, children no longer need to be told about sex because it surrounds them.  Adolescents spend hours in front of the mirror perfecting their appearance before slipping out at night to try and ‘come right’ with the less familiar gender. University students reconvene after nights out from partying to swap stories regarding their sexual encounters, the guys issuing high fives and the girls giggles of excitement. The forum for sex and topics concerning it has grown immensely and extended into what used to be considered not so kosher territories.

My mission this week was to involve myself in an uncomfortable and awkward situation. Many possible activities came to mind but I chose to take an alternative route and rather create such a scenario for myself.  My destination – Clicks pharmacy, health, home and beauty store. From the surface, Clicks may seem to be the most inappropriate place to conduct such an experiment. It is an ordinary store frequented by ordinary people buying ordinary things. 

This is all true. However, some ordinary products are found to be more awkward that others when purchasing them. Such products concern those of a sexual connotation. The majority of people these days find it uncomfortable buying something as simple as a condom. They usually attempt to avoid this awkward transaction by disguising it in their shopping basket amoungst a number of ‘normal’ items.

My question is: Why does it have to be so awkward? We live in a society where sex is praised, so the fact that you are actually having sex (or hoping to do so) should be something to take pride in, right?

Clearly this logic does not extend to the customers at Clicks, myself included. On my visit to the store, I interacted with sales personnel while pretending to be interested in a variety of sexually concerned products. My interest ranged from the morning after pill, to condoms, to lubricants and even male performance enhancers. Despite my disguised detachment from the product for any personal use, I still found myself feeling incredibly awkward and uncomfortable throughout the conversations I had with the various Clicks employees. I felt I was blushing the entire time while Sharmain, a shop assistant, was explaining to me the different types of lubricants on offer and their unique benefits.


Even while browsing through the collection of condoms on the shelf I felt I was being considered a complete pervert. According to the ‘sexpert’,  the rimmed condoms provide extra pleasure for one’s partner, while the magnum is the safest bet for contraceptive practice. The alternative, only when necessary, would be the morning after pill.  When it came to requesting this “I’m too young to have a baby” pill at the pharmaceutical counter, I was politely informed that as a male I could not be the one to purchase such an item. 


That was one of the many catalysts to my feelings of discomfort, the staff’s professionalism.  You almost want them to have a laugh  while serving you just to acknowlege their understanding of the awkwardeness attached to such conversations. It would have made me feel a bit more relaxed and slightly less judged.

What it all come down to is the question I posed earlier – “Why does it have to be so awkward?”. 


People will always be private beings. We enjoy our space and despise our dirty laundry being aired in public. Sex may have a profoundly casual prominence in our society, but this sentiment doesn’t necessarily extend to our own “sexcapades”.  Despite sex’s celebrity, the intimacy attached makes people very protective over it.  Bottom line is, you don’t want every Tom, Dick and Dirty Harry knowing your business, especially when it involves cherry flavoured lubricant. 

Is Diesel Stupid?

This is a very effective print ad. And the fact that the woman depicted in the ad is topless has nothing to with that. Well, not entirely. If you were to browse through a catalogue of print ads, this would be one of the few that actually catches your attention. This accomplishment can be credited to perhaps the bold colours, bold text and certainly the bold move on the woman's behalf. But after the ad has captured your attention it now faces the more difficult task of keeping it.

Certainly when one is faced with bright pink, bold text screaming, "READ ME" - one will do just that. Here's where the genius comes in. "Smart may have the brains, but stupid has the balls.". Quite catchy, isn't it. But what does it communicate to us as the audience? When you think about it, the phrase seems rather cleverly worded. It's effective and communicates the message in a smart, understandable way. But what it actually does is, it makes people WANT to be labelled 'stupid'. Which ties in perfectly with the Diesel brand's slogan, "be stupid".

The irony of this print ad is too hilarious to ignore. The ad appeals to an audience requiring the intellectual property of a moron, i.e. the stupid people. But at the same time, a stupid person would not be able to understand, never mind appreciate the print ad. Through this ad, Diesel has somehow convinced the intellectuals that being stupid is cool and fun. And what better way to be stupidly cool than by investing in a pair of over-priced Diesel jeans.