Originally on bellanaija (http://www.bellanaija.com/2013/05/22/what-happens-on-twitter-stays-on-twitter-right/)

Twitter is the most remarkable invention, for never before has there been a more efficient thought catalogue. Journal and diary pages, are so long and empty that they appear daunting, and your Facebook friends would unfriend you if you shared every thought you had as it occurred to you. But Twitter is just right. On Twitter you can be anything and anyone. You can be Chimamanda’s forehead or  Desmond Elliot’s crooked tooth. You can be depressed, angry or hilarious. And you can be certain that whatever kind of tweeter you are, you will find your tweetfam.

While all of that is certainly delightful, it seems to me that the bulk of us have failed to adapt principles that are widely thought to be common sense in the modern day and age to our online proclivities. Both good sense and society speak out most fervently against turning our mouths into miniature caricatures of Usain Bolt. We have failed to transfer this logic to our fingers.

Several times a day, we flock to Twitter to share details of our lives and discuss trending topics like Beyonce’s alleged second pregnancy. E! Online say that their sources have confirmed that the King and Queen of all bees is pregnant, but last weekend she shared a sharp message on her Instagram that spoke out against all rumour millers and beehaters.

We strive for the RTs, and the followers with as much verve as a social media specialist who does the same thing for a living. We tweet certain things for laughs, and we whet our wits thinking up barbs to throw at celebrities and other complete strangers. It has been said that the walls have ears, and that we ought to be careful what we say for we never know who is listening. On Twitter, I’ll tell you who’s listening, the whole world.

A week and a bit ago, ms_kasharna1 commented on one of Rihanna’s instagram pictures. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be remotely worthy of a mention anywhere, except that she wrote that Rihanna’s family looked retarded because of drug and alcohol consumption and this led Rihanna to stitch a picture od ms_kasharna1 to that of a goat, and post it on Instagram, and Twitter. The poor girl was so overwhelmed by the electronic assault of Rihanna’s navy that she had no choice but to protect her Twitter account and delete every picture from her Instagram. While I think that Rihanna should have refrained from displaying such a remarkable level of immaturity and cattiness, I also believe that ms_kasharna1 should not have commented if she did not consider the slight possibility that there might be retaliation.

Furthermore, the inclusion of unprotected tweets is now standard, journalistic practice. This means that racist, homophobic, anti-semitic, and hateful tweets that demonstrate a generous portion of bigotry are fair game to everyone and anyone. What’s worse, you cannot deny them, or state that they are mere allegations or unproven accusations. They are written confessions, immediately accessible to anyone with an internet connection.

As long as @OdumotaHasABigHead and @ShineShineBoboForTheLadies can be attributed to you, you can and may very well be held accountable for every tweet or picture that comes out of them. As such, it is infinitely better for you to air the worst of your opinions at home than it is for you to tweet them. If you would not be proud of anything you write online if it were to be exposed on a public platform, then you must refrain from posting it, for chances are that it might.

Happy Days,

Afam

Lanre Aluko (@Jazzofficial) is a 21 year old fashion blogger, musician, singer, song writer, personal shopper, and employee of the Bank of America. He runs a blog (http://lanrealuko.blogspot.co.uk) where he documents his hustle, one outfit at a time. It is perhaps this that has gained him the most notoriety, for several of his clothing choices are so compelling that once they have been seen, those who have seen them are forced to discuss them and what they may or may not imply for the rest of the day.

Rather than contribute ill formed thoughts to the rumour mill, I decided to ask him for an interview, that we may better understand the reasons behind his choices. I didn't expect him to agree to it, for those criticised as violently as he is, are often reluctant to discuss the reasons for their criticism. 

I wasn't at all surprised to find that he was guarded. After everything that has been said about him, it is admirable that everyday without fail, he releases pictures of whatever it is he is wearing, knowing full well that his adoring public may not be adoring at all. It is this that I find inspiring about him, not his sense of style. The only thing commendable about his sense of style is that he has one. Being stylish isn't synonymous with being fashionable, trendy, or tasteful. But it is likely that if you were to see him out and about in the real world, and not on your laptop or phone screen, you wouldn't dislike his outfits as much. He has a certain confidence about him that makes me believe that he is extremely capable of pulling them off. Of his critics, he says, "All I can say is there are some passionately crazy people out there. It's sad that I use all my energy to chase my dreams while some use all of theirs to follow my progress and hate on little ole me." He converts their crazy into further motivation. It is no surprise he is so composed, for he lost his father just before his final year exams at Loughborough. He describes the loss of his father as his greatest struggle, but even in that he is positive. 

"It was awful, but God has a way of turning our pain into blessings! It was the period where I learnt to love myself and move on in life. I started this journey by losing 60 pounds"

60 pounds is approximately 27 kilograms. 

He counts learning to love himself among his greatest achievements, and I agree, for if you cannot love yourself flaws and all, then you cannot expect anyone else to do the same. This is perhaps the reason why he is so fond of Whitney Houston as it was she who popularised the lyrics, "learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all." He calls Whitney Houston and God his greatest inspirations. 

His dreams are numerous. While most would expect that he reduce the number of his artistic dalliances as he advances, he focuses on all of them with a single minded intensity. "Fashion is 'Lanre Aluko'. It's simply who I am, and so is music. They're both parts of my core, and my heart! I am just being myself."

Last week, comments made by the CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch, Mike Jeffries, in an interview by Benoit Dezinet for the Salon magazine in 2006 went viral. 

“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely"

http://www.salon.com/2006/01/24/jeffries/

The first time I heard about this, I thought to myself, "He's just gone and done the dumbest thing!"..."#EPICFAIL"

I think in hashtags now. How on trend is that?

The problem here isn't that the brand is exclusionary. Everybody knows that the brand is exclusionary. It is impossible to not know that the brand is exclusionary. I have only ever been to one Abercrombie and Fitch store, it was crowded, the music was loud, it was dark, and it reeked of perfume. There was so much going on that I didn't notice that all the employees in the store were ridiculously good looking. I can't tell you that they were, but that's a safe assumption to make. They always are, aren't they? It isn't surprising that I didn't buy anything from the store. In fact, I have never bought anything from an Abercrombie and fitch store. It was clear to me then as it is now, that the Abercrombie shopping experience isn't for everyone. However, I was unperturbed by this slight set back so I sent my parents to do my A&F shopping for me. Things were better that way. Mama Afam, would leave the A&F store assured that she had done right by me, and I would delight in the fact that I owned something I thought was cool, without having to pay for it. 

And the clothes are cool. Let's not be twats about it. They're well made, they look good, they age well and they feel good. They are also not for everyone. They've honed in on the 18-24 year old muscular, athletic, flip flop wearing and good looking men of the world with an aggression that is astounding. Jeffries says they only hire good looking people, "because good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people. We don't want to market to anyone other than that." But we all knew this already. We've always known this. This is the underlying thought behind most brands. Everyone on some level wants to be hip, cool, trendy and stylish, so brands try to tell you that they are, or that at the very least they'll help you get there. The key thing here is that it is widely known but never said. To say it is taboo. We must be completely accepting of everything in public and extremely calculated in private. The thing that's most interesting about it, is that the brands themselves are the both at the helm of things and at the receiving end of things.

it's something like this. If you do not understand the doodle, then skip ahead. They're the doodles of a madman. It would be surprising if you found them comprehensible. The doodles of a madman seems like a good blog title. I'm going to wordpress to save it.

When they declare something awesome, we absorb it, then we think about it, then we come to see it as common sense, then we tell them that it's awesome and they make more of it. It doesn't work everytime, but when it does, you've got a branding phenomenon.

Jeffries' comments have inspired a public attempt to make Abercrombie and Fitch the number one brand of Homeless apparel.

The first people to do this were the creators of the blog Abercrombie Popular.

They started their campaign on the 11th of May. I quite like this actually. He styles that t shirt out. I don't know that a t-shirt with Abercrombie and Fitch written across it has ever looked so good. I don't know that the accessories will look good on me but I want! I want! For more pictures go to http://abercrombiepopular.tumblr.com/

They were closely followed by Greg Karber, who made this very catchy video below.

The video has since gone viral.

I'm conflicted about this. Fitching the homeless would belittle the reasons for my charity. If anything it's selfish, because it's become less about your need to cater to the needy, and more about your need to dissociate yourself from a brand that you no longer agree with. If you are in a position to give, then you should give unreservedly. You shouldn't turn your charity into a weapon to punish someone else, the very idea of it is wrong.

At the same time, I do not want to be associated with a brand that's seen as douchey. It's okay when people speculate about the douchiness of a brand but it isn't okay when the CEO comes out and proclaims its douchiness. So I think I'll leave my Abercrombie and Fitch clothes in my closet until I can no longer wear them. Hopefully when that time comes my charity won't coincide with a war against the brand.

Happy Days,
Afam

My good suit is a thing of wonder. I do not think that it has ever been worn without compliment.

My jacket was resting on my chair, so don't think I left my studio looking like that. The black shirt's from asos, the bowtie's from the tie-rack and the shoes are croc loafers from Johnston and Murphy. It just occurred to me that there is no creationist argument for animal conservation. If we have dominion over all animals then we have every right to kill them all, don't we? And we need not really think of the future generations because even though Jesus said that we must love our neighbours as ourselves, we cannot love neighbours that do not exist. So I'm sorry guys, it sucks to be you.

At seven on the dot, I, Afam, the incredibly punctual, strode into the University of Manchester's Student Union, climbed the spiral stairs that led to the first floor and made my grand entrance at the Student Activities Centre. This must be very confusing for you, because the bulk of you do not know what the sauvignon blanc I'm on about. 

I have decided to stop using pokemon names in place of expletives. From now until I decide not to, I will substitute expletives with wine related things. For example...

What the Chateauneuf du pape are you doing here?

Actually... it does sound a little bit daft. I might stop. 

The Student Activities centre was to be the champagne lounge for the event. You know; the bit that you chill in and drink while making small talk before you walk into the main hall. Except that in this case there was quite a bit of small talk without the consumption of anything liquid.

I was completely unperturbed by the lack of anything vaguely resembling a social lubricant. My springy step was no less springy, and my eyes were no less twinkly. Rather than concentrate on my growing thirst I made a beeline for Pubey. Pubey is a friend of mine and it is no coincidence that his name is somewhat reminiscent of pubic hair. I'm not trying to be mean but he possesses the most extraordinary head of butter beer coloured pube like hair. Every time I look at it, my cheeks develop the irrepressible desire to kiss my ears and my one dimple reveals itself. While I was perfectly alright without the aid of a bevie Pubey was not so fortunate. In a fit of desperation he twat the following at me:

"Hurry!! I'm awkward and alone!"

The past tense of tweet is and can only ever be twat. It isn't tweeted. Tweeted is such an uncomfortable word. Never make a word that requires two syllables when one will suffice. To exert your mouth needlessly is sinful. I'm sure you'll find something similar to that in the Bible. 

Enter Pubey and Afam

Afam: Nice tweet

Pubey: Oh! You saw that.

Afam: It made me smile a little.

Pubey: What can I say? I needed some Afamlovin'

Afam: You know I don't love publicly.

Pubey: Do you want to go get a room then?

Afam: Yeah sure! Somewhere on Uranus.

Pubey: I think that's far enough.

Afam: I'd see it go farther still. Don't start what you can't finish.

Pubey: So do you think you'll win? 

Afam: God no! Do you think you'll win?

Pubey: It would be impressive if I did.

Afam: How do you mean?

Pubey: Well, I wrote half of my articles during pre-drinks, and I wrote the other half when I was too hungover to function. 

Pubey and I were nominated for best magazine journalist of the mancunion, the University of Manchester Student newspaper.  We met during one of the few awkward silences in the weekly fashion section meeting in October, but our friendship only gained traction after he followed me on twitter (@Afam20). We live tweet The Voice Uk every Saturday without fail. Yes, this is my idea of a jolly good time, and it's even jollier when I have a drink in hand. 

Our conversation ended there for at that moment that we were joined by our editors, Prince, Jay and Libby. Why, you wonder? Don't worry the answer is only words away. You see, it would have been infinitely ill mannered of us to discuss our less than standard working habits in front of our bosses. You must leave your bosses ignorant of your working habits. There's really no need for them to know about your 10am naps in the toilet, is there? And if they do, that's just poor form. After saying hello, I dismissed myself and went to meet Jet and his friend Cassius.

Enter Jet and Cassius

Afam: How's it going?

Jet: Quite well actually. How about you?

Afam: It's awful. I hate making small talk without drinks. What is one expected to do when there's an awkward silence? You can't sip the air you know.

Jet: That's a good point. You're dressed well.

Cassius: I agree, but did you forget to wear socks?

Jet: Keep up with the times Cass, he detests socks.

Cassius: Really? Isn't that unhygienic?

Afam: I don't think so, but even if it was, the sight of my ankles more than makes up for it.

Jet: Those are rather nice ankles.

Afam: Thank you. I call it my anklage.

Cassius: Thank you for revealing your anklage. It is almost preferable to a cleavage.

Afam: High praise indeed.

Jet: What do you think of my look?

I gave him the once over and commented on the only thing he was wearing that I felt was worthy of comment. That is not to say that he looked awful. It is just to say that it was a little bit bland.

Afam: I love your shoes. They're blue suede brogues, aren't they?

Jet: Yes you ought to invest in a pair.

Afam: I would but I've already got a pair of brogues and I don't think I've got enough space for two.

Jet: How many pairs of shoes have you got?

Afam: I think I've got 18. Is that too many?

Jet: Hardly. I've got no fewer than 25.

Cassius: I've only got 6.

This got me thinking, "What's the acceptable number of shoes for a young man to have?"

I've got a pair of casual sneakers, 3 deck shoes, 2 boots, 2 espadrilles, 2 leather flip flops, 4 formal loafers, a pair of casual loafers, a pair of brogues, and 2 sports trainers. The problem with me is that as my feet are no longer growing there's really no reason to give away or throw out shoes that I'm no longer fond of. Furthermore, as I grow more fond of my shoes the longer I own them, it is incredibly difficult for me to part with the more battered pairs. I resole them when I can and if I can't immediately, I replace them but hold on to the originals until I can resole them.  I'm also more than a little bit of a hoarder. I see myself owning several more pairs, not because I need them, but because I can't bear to part with the ones that should be given to Captain Reginald as chew toys.

Captain Reginald is my 6 year old Rottweiler; one of his favourite scents is eau de pied; closely followed by eau de arse 

The captain and I had just finished a good old wrestle.

For the good of all young men I decided to do something I haven't done in a while. No, I don't mean shave my armpits. The last time I shaved them I was 16; they haven't really grown back since. I decided to carry out a SOCIAL SURVEY!!! I find these things incredibly exciting; just as exciting as picking my nose in public. I started my engine and sent out a flurry of messages. These are some of the replies I got back.

BFG:
You all remember BFG don't you? He's the vanguard of the Famourage (This is the Afam entourage. I made it up myself. I feel really clever now). He isn't the most avant garde human being in the world, but  what he lacks in innovation he makes up in steadfastness. He has 15-20 pairs of shoes.

Sir Jafaar:
Sir Jafaar is also a member of the famourage. Sir Jafaar is a fop, a dandy, a popinjay, a poseur and a peacock. If there is anyone in the world who can make me want to own a pair of mustard yellow trousers it is he. I know that this doesn't seem that significant but it is. Yellow is too much for my mild sensibilities, the radiance of it invokes in me feelings of such disgust that I dare not describe them. Sir Jafaar has 35 pairs of shoes.

Pubey:
Yes, this is the same Pubey from earlier. He has 11 pairs.

Kappa:
Kappa was my junior at the boarding school I went to before Cheltenham. I am not yet ready to utter its name. I feel like the moment I say that I went there, I will be greeted by an apparition of my disciplinarian and my old bully. My old bully was truly a despicable character, but he bought me drinks at the Radisson so all is forgiven. Yes, I am that cheap. My disciplinarian had the tenacity of a dog with a bone. Even if you were to evade him, he would find you and reward you with a few well placed slaps for your commendable efforts. However neither of them is responsible for my most bizarre memory from school. The culprit is one ex Jesuit brother; I suppose that I should be pleased that he is no longer a brother. He whipped my arse with a belt when all I was wearing were my very white, very tight Marks and Spencer hipsters. I was only 16 at the time. Kappa has 6 pairs, but this is understandable for Kappa is still quite young.

This, I think is the closest I've ever come to really kinky fun. 

Henny:
Henny and I were both researchers on my school's Target 2.0 team. I would explain what Target 2.0 is but I cannot be bothered and this blog post is already long enough. He was the one that alerted me to the fact that I no longer sounded very Nigerian. He has 15 pairs.

Some of my twitter followers were good enough to reveal how many pairs of shoes they had. 

8 RT @afam20: guys! how many pairs of shoes have you got. I need to know!
— Tej (@TJOKaro) May 5, 2013

Well... RT @afam20: So four pairs? RT @kunledecastro 1 pam slips 1 bathroom slips 1 choe RT @afam20: guys! how ... m.tmi.me/UfWku
— Hank Moody Jnr(@KunleDeCastro) May 4, 2013

Pam slips are leather sandals, bathroom slips are bog standard flip flops and choes are shoes... I'm not really selective about my followers. #AfamForThePeople

It would seem that the average young man owns 14.3 shoes.

I cannot remember precisely how we extricated ourselves from that lull in the conversation. A good conversation is meant to flow like water through a series of pipes. It's meant to flow here and meander there. A good conversation must skip between the shallow and the deep, and the serious and the mundane, without pause. After Cassius admitted that he had 6 pairs of shoes, a blank descended upon us, for Jet and I weren't prepared to discuss the reasons why we had so many. We had to contend with the thought that we were shoe mongerers and hoarders. I'm not uncomfortable with the thought that I am a shoe hoarder but I suppose it's the same way a discontent man with everything feels when he meets a very content man with nearly nothing. Our eyes became glazed and we let ourselves into the dining hall in silence coloured with bland comments about the interior design.

The hall itself was wonderful. I did however notice a fundamental flaw in the planning of things. There were only two bottles of wine per table of ten! I was alarmed! In situations like the one described above an individual is confined to one glass for the duration of the meal. If he were to have any more, the rest of the table would turn to look at him like he was not only overly fond of his drink but also incredibly selfish. I marched myself to the nearest bar and ordered three shots of tequila to get me going. There is no liqueur as despicable as tequila. It is the foulest, most sickening thing in all the world. It is perhaps a little masochistic of me that I consider it my go to drink for fun times. It's almost like I feel I must pay for my drunkenness with the foul taste of the enabler. I strolled back to the venue with a sway, maybe even a light sashay, added to my usually springy and perky step. I arrived at my table in time for a third questionable conversation.

Enter Anna Marie, and I

Anna Marie: Can you believe that they're proposing that there be a Men's officer for the Student Union.

Afam: And why shouldn't there be a men's officer for the Student Union? I cannot see why there is a women's officer in the first place.

Anna Marie: It's because women need an additional voice for the consideration of their issues.

Afam: Do men not have issues too? If we expect the existing frame work to deal appropriately with men, then we must expect that it deal appropriately with women.

Anna Marie: But the world is run by men. Women earn less than men. We need someone on the Student Council who will fight for us unreservedly.

Afam: So do we.

Anna Marie: But you don't! Everything in the world is run by men. You even control our standards of beauty. You objectify us and belittle us.

Afam: I disagree. I think human beings in general have an inherent tendency to objectify the people they want to fuck.

Anna Marie: I cannot believe you just said that. You are the very definition of a chauvinist pig.

Afam: I think that's taking it a little too far. You misunderstand me.

Anna Marie: I do not think that there was much to misunderstand.


I realise now that I was wrong. I treat women as equals. I always have and I probably always will, but that isn't the same for everyone else in the world. I shouldn't impose my standards on the rest of the world. 

After tempers and tensions died down, the conversation around the table found it's way to less controversial material, children.

Enter Jet, Cobelle, Anna Marie, Cassius and I

Jet: How many children do you want to have Cobelle?

Cobelle: I don't know. I think I should be fine with four. I guess I'll know after I find myself in the Gambia.

Cassius: You're volunteering in Gambia over the summer aren't you?

Cobelle: Yes! I'm very excited.

Afam: You'll do well to take care when you're on the beach.

Cobelle: Why?

Afam: Well, there are men there.

Anna Marie: And why should that be an issue?

Afam: Well the men there work out on the beach, hoping to catch the eye of some young or old woman for good times.

Elena: If Cobelle wants some Gambian fun, there's no reason why she shouldn't.

Afam: I'm not sure that she wants Gambian fun that she has to pay for.

Elena: On the bright side, maybe she'll come back with a nice mixed race baby.

Cobelle: What!!

Elena: I love mixed race babies! I'd love to have one right now.

Jet: That can be arranged. We've got Afam here. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to offer his studly services.

Afam: I'm already raring to go, plus you'll fulfil my dream of having a bastard.

Cassius: Sounds like you'd be killing two birds with one stone.

Cobelle: But why would you want to have a bastard?

Afam: So that my bastard could go and have a bastard, then I'd be able to say here's my bastard and my grand bastard. I got the idea from the song of ice and fire. 

It is lucky that the universe and I were working in perfect synergy on that evening, for before the people sat at my table could react, the award announcements began. I waited with bated breath and full bladder as the names were called but my name was absent from the list. I didn't get to read my hastily put together acceptance speech and as you can imagine, I was devastated. I really wanted to win. My shoulders sloped as I walked to the bar to drown my sorrows. It is perhaps best that I end the saga here, for after my sorrows were drowned, I didn't make much conversation. I danced like a dervish instead.


Happy Days,
Afam