Thursday, 21 February 2008

The tiresome twittering of The Times

Scanning the newspapers this morning for signs of bad taste, I was rewarded with two more examples of articles featuring well-heeled Jo'burgers trumpeting on about their own exquisite flair. (Clearly the folk at The Times paid no attention to my recent post complaining about that newspaper's obsessive reporting on who's got what toy).

We have, today, an interview with an interior designer (fave watch: Maurice Lacroix; fave labels, Bvlcari [sic], Versace and Vespa) and, a few pages on, in the 'I Love My Shop' section, a piece of puffery about Frankie & Fred, a new boutique selling things for discerning children.

"I have travelled extensively, and have continuously been looking for clothing, toys and gifts for my own children," confides the shop's owner. "Every item in my store has been chosen by me on the basis that it... 'works' for my own children... For fashion, I stock Diesel Kid from Italy and Cakewalk from the Netherlands and, for babies, Zutano from the US... It is such fun watching boys with their Diesel jeans and girls feeling great with a Cakewalk outfit."

Cakewalk? Boys with their Diesel jeans? Shopping continuously looking for toys and gifts that "work" for my children?

Am I living in the same city - no, on the same planet - as these people?

Each to her own, I guess (I'm a Mr Price kinda girl when it comes to dressing my kids), but what I can't understand is why The Times thinks its readers are remotely interested in the spiritless squandermania of Johannesburg's haves (and I include so-called Black Diamonds in this category, just in case you think I'm having a go at white girls).

Whatever happened to Local is Lekker? What about interviews with local artists and craftsman who are using their creativity, their initiative and their own two hands to make beautiful things that put bread on the table?

How about giving me an insight into the real lives of ordinary people? How about interviewing a poet, or a hobo, or a street musician, or a street child for that matter? I don't care who you choose - nurse, undertaker, teacher, paramedic, painter, philosopher or plumber - and I don't even mind if you mention what they bought at Stax last weekend. But for pity's sake, give me someone with rolled-up sleeves.

Stumble Upon Toolbar

No comments: