Oh man! Oh man! I need a shot of something strong to steady my belly.

Okay, I've done my shot.

Ehem... Not very long ago, I was a fashion policeman. Yes, I was a downright fashion assassin. If you dressed like a Neanderthal, I'd be the first to call you out for it. It didn't matter if you were famous or not. Or important or not. If you dressed like a little bit of an idiot, I felt that it was my heavenly duty to inform you and the world of your idiocy. Some of you were pleasantly tickled, and some of you were tragically offended. A few of you thought, "but who is this Afam to be running his mouth like a villain." I shall show you who I am. By God, I shall show you! I am an honourable fellow. I am incapable of lauding myself over the lot of you. I have a pair of eyes, and I can tell when something is awry, even on me. Especially on me. So without any further ado I give you the, the time, the time, Afam committed Fashion Suicide. 


Who the who is this fellow and why is he looking like someone killed his dog? I mean, he could have tried for a smile at the very least. Smiling is easy. All he had to do was pull his lips apart. The premiere must have been awful. That's the only thing that can explain the sombre expression. As for the clothes... WHAT THE ERRR MERRRR GEEERRRRRDDDDD is he wearing. The trousers are fine, and the shoes are fine too, but the top half. Oh my days the top half. He needs to enter a magicians box and SAW IT OFF!! Yes! SAW! THAT! TOP! HALF! OFF! RAAAAAAAH AAAAARGH!

Let's do this properly. The bowtie's alright, but he should have straightened the shirt's collar. All of the issues at the neck could have been averted if dood owned a mirror. Then what is up with that waist coat and shirt combo? Is he an aspiring waiter? Or is he there as after party entertainment for the ladies, and a few choice men? ... cough... cough chippendales. In all honesty it would have been better if he came without the shirt. That way even though he'd have been looking like a sex offender, he would at the very least have been looking like he had a job. I think he may have salvaged the ungainly Jack Sparrow esque look if he had had the sense to roll up his sleeves a little bit higher. Lastly why is he not wearing a watch? Is he a moron. Time waits for no one, and a stitch in time always saves nine. This chap obviously needs all the saving he can get. NEXT!

Happy Days,
Afam

Live performances are the final frontier of the Nigerian music industry. It is shocking that the vast majority of musicians are content to singing along to their backing tracks, complimenting the digitally rendered vocals with their amateur hoots and yells, but this is changing. The talent pool is improving. This is helped in part by the increasing number of talent competitions in the Nigerian mediasphere. We watch them, we listen to them, and we judge them. We know what they're capable of. This is better, and if not better, then at least more original and sincere than the Dbanj's, and Davido's of the world. And this is one of the reasons why the Ndani spot on performances on the Juice are incredible. Take this performance by Tekno below.

Yes, she kills it. It's soft and clean, and even when she strains she keeps it under control. You can tell that she's got a sore throat or something, but it's still great. This is the standard, and it's time that the industry met it. I am thoroughly impressed. She will go far.

Happy Days,
Afam

Today I'm going to do something that I haven't done. I find fashion inspiring. It is so many things to me. I am not a designer, nor do I aspire to be one. I will make clothes but I'll make them for me. The thing is, no one knows better than me what I need, and I need these things. I need clothes that say sad, and I need clothes that say blue. I need clothes that scream movement, and I need clothes that give space. Sometimes I want to shrink into my shirts, so a slim fitted one won't do. It'll be a classic boxy cut that does nothing for my dimunitive form. It wom't be fashionable and that's alright. People were not made to be fashionable. I was a person before the fashion became the fashion. When my comfort, and what people consider to be good style clash, my comfort will always win. Today I chucked a burberry slim fitted shirt in my bag, and put on my American Apparel raincoat because the shirt wasn't made for people who binge on lunches. My food baby was too big for me to wear the shirt and feel like me. This paragraph has slipped into a pattern, so it must end. I'm trying to do something new here. I'm trying to disrupt the groove. When I put this blog out I don't want to be sure about it's goodness. I want to think about it and wonder what it was.

I saw the collection a while ago. No, I think you could say it saw me. Everything is art, and art speaks. There are words in the seams, just as there are words in sentences. The thing that makes the two of them the same is the feelings that lurk within them. There's the word happy, but anyone could write happy without it seeming happy. For happy to be happy, it'll need something more, something in the space between happy and the words that follow it. It's the same thing with music and drawing. I'm trying to describe things that have no words. I'm trying to describe things that do not need words. The words I use to describe them cheapen the emotions. Words are more clinical than a brush stroke, or a musical note, or a seam. Words form a wave. They gain traction, they build up momentum, and then they burst on you.

There aren't many here that understand that the clothes are meant to speak. They can scream, but mostly it's better when they speak. It's the same way you're not likely to listen to a man who screams at you. A man who screams when he could speak is a fool. He doesn't listen when he should.

I know Ian Audiferen, but I did not know this. His usual clothes are bright, and fruity. They're mostly prints, and for the most part they're overbearing. For several of them, there is nothing within me that they call to. There's a youth to them that I don't feel. I do not need to scream my difference. It is there regardless of what I do. I used to feel that this was criticism, but it isn't. I am Afam. I am that I am. I cannot apologise for that. I am nervous about this one now. This is good. If I am too confident in my work then I am complacent.

The press release was too much. I can scarcely read it without either rolling my eyes or frowning. You can tell that it's straight from the designers head. It is full of itself. It is not self aware.

How do I introduce Ogilvy to the lot of you. He was my best friend when I was at school, and this meant everything to me at the time. At the moment we enjoy, a comfortable, but slightly formal relationship which I quite like. There's duty and discipline in it. Our last conversation's below.
________________________________

Dear Afam,

How's your year of National Youth service going? I hope you're actually doing it, not slacking off, and bribing people to make up for your chronic episodes of "I can't be asked, so therefore, I cannot... I cannot... I cannot... I cannot actually be fucked to do this." One of the things you'll find as you age, is that sometimes, you're going to have to do things you don't actually want to do so that you can get to do the things you do want to do. I think that's enough hard bad man, I'm the baddest most sorted king pin twenty something year old out there talk because I really don't know what I'm doing with myself either. I'm sorted on paper, but do I feel sorted? I don't know. What's your address by the way?

Love,
Gil

Dear Gil,

It's going. It's as you thought, I have become infected with a chronic case of I cannot... I absolutely cannot... be arsed, so therefore, I cannot... I cannot... I absolutely cannot... string together a line of fucks to give about the entire year so far. Living in Lagos is like sipping a cup of apathy slowly, you can only watch as the fucks you give bleed out of you. Anyway, don't worry about me. I'll sort myself out, even if it does mean giving my NYSC mummy envelopes with Happy World Environment Day scribbled across them every month, but let's move on from that.

What do you want with my address? Behave yourself. Some stereotypes about Africa, and Nigeria are actually true. Do not send me anything in the post you blithering idiot, it shall never get here. Say whatever you want to say in an email, or record yourself on snapchat. I've been having nice long conversations with readers on snapchat. It's really quite remarkable. There's one reader who bugs me all the time. "Afam, when's the next blog coming out." "Afam, I'm bored. Entertain me." "Afam, send me the unfinished manuscript for that book you've been writing. " He's read everything! I like him. He's a good chap. His name's ND. You might know him.

Afam.

Dear Afam,

I hear you, but it's gone in one eye and out the other (that's because I read the email you see?). I demand that you furnish me with your address at once. And no, you are not allowed to compartmentalise this message and stow it in the deep recesses of your brain. If you wait a month before you reply me, I will create an instagram account called why we hate Afam. Everybody loves a little shade in life, and as far as I can see you've been denied your fair share.

I'm really pleased to hear that you've got a reader that you snapchat with. I'm even more pleased to hear that you talk to a reader that you do not know more often than you talk to me, your best friend. I'm only being bratty. I know we talk when it's time to talk, not one moment before, and certainly not a moment after. It's magic.

And... I've got news. I'm getting married.

Love,
Gil

Dear Gil,

GO AWAY.

Love,
Afam

Stupid Afam,

Don't be a jealous prick. Weren't you with someone a little while ago?

Gil.

Gil,

It ended.

Afam

ps.

Don't talk to me for a week.


Happy Days...
Jealous Afam..

Since I'm in a fashion mood, I might as well exhaust myself. I was trawling through One Nigerian Boy earlier tonight when I came across an article on Emmy Collins' new collection. I looked at the pieces and my mind came up with words to describe how I felt about them. Of course I could have ignored the impulse, but why should I waste good words?

I am not currently a fan of tailored pieces. It's not that I don't have them, and it's not that I don't buy them, it's just that these things are so basic that any deviation from the classic form immediately strikes me as unwearable. Menswear is difficult because it's all about the tailoring and the fit. Also, the market for men's staples is saturated beyond belief. There are so many retailers that provide good quality basics at affordable prices that the more expensive brands who haven't got names that are as popular suffer for it.

I'm not very familiar with the Emmy Collins brand but after a quick visit to his online store, I can say that his clients are men who love structured traditional menswear pieces with a dash of the dandy. His short sleeve shirts are simpler than his long sleeved shirts and so it is no surprise that those are the ones I prefer. Several of the shirts on offer are embellished to the point of garishness, and this is not a look a subscribe to, but I have seen several men here (mostly Ibo men) who might. And with that said, I shall move on to his look book.










I like it. I like it a lot. There is restraint. The blazer in the first picture fits impeccably, and this is important because even if you aren't going to be wearing the blazer that the model is wearing in the photograph, you want to be able to know that your designer can fit a suit. An ill fitting blazer in a look book is the worst advertisement in the world. The only thing I violently dislike here is the waist coat. My dislike for the waistcoat is as a result of my sudden attack of that waist coat didn't need that extra pocket illness. I'm sure it will abate if the pocket is removed. I like the trousers with buttons across the pockets, but I do not understand why none of them were shown properly. They look like they'd be even better than the shirts.

I don't think I need to say any more, and I've only said all of this because when work is done, it needs to be graded properly. Things need to be explained, and reasons need to be given. Press releases don't do enough, and neither does lying. If I were excited about everything, then what good would my opinion be? My lenses may be miopic, and astigmatic, but they're the only ones I've got, and so I suppose they'll have to do.

Happy Days,
Afam

ps. It isn't timeless. Timeless is a well made white shirt, and I don't see any here.

Orange Culture has a spirit about it. It's young, it's fresh and it's unusual. Bayo Oke-Lawal, the creative director, is bold and fearless when it comes to his work. It is no surprise that he's come as far as he has in such a short period of time. Those who know him often say that nothing beats a Bayo on hype. This is true, he has received the most press of any Nigerian designer in the past year.

 I was excited when I learned that he'd be going to Pitti Uomo. Pitti is probably the world's most important platform for menswear.  However, I was nervous when figured out that Bayo wouldn't have a lot of time to create a new collection for it.

The collection he created is called 'Dovetails.'

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It's apparently inspired staircases in Nigeria. Bayo says, "the imperfection of staircases in Lagos Nigeria doesn’t necessarily take away from its beauty as the imperfect lines, joints and dimensions make each step an exciting adventure, a step into an airy discovery. These staircases have a rustic appearance that reinterprets the natural structure of wood and inspired the prints developed for the collection"

I didn't see the inspiration but Mama Afam did, and this is understandable. I have been sheltered, and protected from any staircases that may harm me. My feet aren't the most coordinated appendages, so I am grateful for this even though it means that I cannot identify with the collection in that regard. Mama Afam on the otherhand can. She took one look at it and declared, "it is obviously inspired by a staircase - particularly those outside staircases in Lagos. With those staircases you never know what's coming next. One step can be going to London, and the next one will be going to South Africa." After she said that, the jagged uneven edges, of the jackets read as true.

As with all things in life, there are things that I like, and there are things I dislike. I like that the orange culture brand has maintained it's freshness. I like that it's loud and audacious. It's youth in revolt. It's screaming against the dominant Nigerian culture, at a pitch that is both disturbing and irresistible. It is non-conformist, and it gives a voice to a specific sort of man. On the international stage its voice is diluted, the same way a Peacock that flares it's tail when other Peacock's are doing the same isn't as stunning as it is when it's doing so alone. I like the t shirt in picture 10. It makes for a solid foundation to any look that requires layering. I like the piece shown in the picture 7. It's proportions are interesting, and the asymmetric lapel is a remarkable detail.

I like the jacket in the first picture. It has a beautiful shape, and it hangs nicely. However, I wish that the sleeves weren't pushed up because I cannot tell how they're meant to hang. I'll say more on this later. I like number 6 and number 8 as well. However, I would have liked to have seen that with a long sleeved plain coloured t-shirt underneath it.

I almost like the piece in picture 12. I would have been a champion if the sleeves did not have the ungainly seam across them. I would have looked at it differently if the last panel of the sleeve wasn't flared. The treatment of the sleeve makes it look like a poorly made kimono.

Now let's talk about the things I dislike. The styling is a problem. If the pieces are styled in a fashion that prevents any potential buyer or fashion commentator from deciphering how the pieces are meant to look, then what good is the lookbook? The pieces have a sportswear feel, so it is a wonder that this theme wasn't capitalised upon. The photography is also questionable. The light is so harsh that, I do not believe that the clothes are as shiny as they appear to be in the photographs.

In conclusion, I worry that the several of the pieces are perhaps too bold for them to be wearable in any culture, and if they are, they haven't been styled in a manner that encourages experimentation with them. We'll have to wait for a magazine editor, photographer, or stylist with a discerning eye for that. It's strong work, whether or not it is strong enough I can't say, but we will find out soon enough.

Happy days,
Afam

Ps. The jackets have a boyfriend feel to them. It would be interesting to see them on a woman.

Gung ho!! That's a personal joke. You know I'm fairly crappy at beginnings don't you. I don't know why but everything needs an intro. And every intro must be perfect. I'm no longer allowed to edit myself before I'm done. This is hard. I write and edit simultaneously. I did it just there. I was goingto write simultanaeusly, but I corrected it as I typed it. I didn't even know I was correcting myself. Life is strange. Humanity is strange. There's so much we all do without realising that we're doing it. Take driving for instance. Gear 1, Gear 2, Gear 3, Gear 4, sometimes drunk, sometimes half asleep, and sometimes while reading novels that are momentarily more important than the road I'm meant to be focusing on. I'm trying to be honest here. Sometimes, you'll see me in traffic, and I'll be reading Eragon on my phone.

Anyway, tonight, thanks to the efforts of Channels television, I was almost forced to part with the contents of my stomach. Normally, I wouldn't mind. I have the eating habits of a plant, or a self harmer. Food is sort of kind of disgusting. I mean, it's a reminder of how weak we all are. If we're so evolved, then why is it that we have to eat? I hate that I have to succumb to hunger. When I'm hungry I'm a senseless beast. I will eat anything, and I mean anything. If we get trapped on a desert island, I'll probably have no qualms cutting you up and eating you raw. You'll taste like pork.

Where was I? I almost threw up on Papa Afam thanks to Channels television. If you've won the best Nigerian Station in Nigeria award eight times in a row, then you should know that just before you display bloodied human road kill, you announce that you're about to display bloodied human road kill so that those of us that aren't especially keen on looking at blood, and guts, and gore, just before we turn in for the night can change the channel. It's just like going to bed to find that your bed has turned into a chainsaw. I might have been alright with it if you hadn't followed that with a video that showed gruesome Kill Bill worthy injuries that a 15 year old girl sustained during a rape. Please have mercy. For Christ's sake have mercy. I understand that life is shitty so the news is shitty, but there's no reason why you shouldn't tell us when you're about to show something particularly shitty.

Behave yourselves.

Happy Days,
Afam

Ah Pants! Pants is the world I use when I mean to say fuck, shit, or goddammit, but I don't use those words on the blog anymore because they're not professional. I hate that last sentence but I shan't delete it because deleting it, will taKE  away from the gunghoness of the blog. I want to delete that sentence too but I shan't. This is sad. I've written about a hundred words without saying ANYTHING. But no matter. Believe it or not - and I know it's fairly unbelievable - this blog is not about my inherent inability to hold on to a stream of thought. I think I might be schizophrenic. No, I'm kidding. I'm not schizophrenic. I just have a severely undisciplined mind. I'm not selling my market well here. Just remember to read my disclaimer at the bottom of the page before you confront me with any of this stuff okay? And my mind isn't undisciplined, it's CREATIVE. One day, when I was daylighting as an employee of Lagos state, my boss said, "But these creatives are not very creative!!!" I don't know what a creative is. I die when people refer to me as a creative. they go, "This is Afam, he is a creative." I'm sorry. What the Escudo ROjo is a creative? When did creative become a noun. I am Afam. I am a phenom. I am epic. I am a writer who cannot afford a photgrapher. I am a lover of life. I have seen the typographical error in photographer and I shall not correct it because, I'm not supposed to write and efit at the same time. 

The faithful famzers among you will undoubtedly remember that a few weeks ago I attended the launch of minimal dreams by Re Bahia at Poosh. The bulk of you won't remember because you are faithless. How could you desert me? Have you seen my views? They are so terrible that if I dwell of them for very long I shall suffer another nervous breakdown, and then I shall be the mad madman Afam, and I can't have that. Don't feel guilty, I've already forgiven you.

Blogging about this one was tricky. You see, I can't promote Poosh because there's no such thing as a free lunch in life, but I want to talk about Re Bahia and they're stocked at Poosh. Why do I want to talk about Re Bahia? Well, back when I was in uni, I had the biggest crush on the creative director, Orire. Everytime I saw her in the library I would gravitate towards her. I was hers for emotional expenditure, but she didn't use me. I don't have a crush on her anymore, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having a little bit of a sweet spot when it comes to her. She sent me the following invitation:

Here we've got Teni Sagoe, and Ore Runsewe who're both wearing Clan. I think I managed to catch them at a good time. The wind is doing good things to Teni's hair, and that's always good. All the hair on her head's hers, and that's even better. Ore's a naturalista sister  and that's great. With the recent natural hair and anti weave movement, I'm thinking that in the next twenty years, the vast majority of black women will be carrying hair that's completely theirs, and that makes me happy. They both look nice don't they.

Do you remember Feyi? She's got such great skin hasn't she? The day she bleaches will be the day I marry a goat. I wouldn't not like to marry a goat, so Feyi please don't bleach. The shawty next to her is Aisha. They were both working with the Stylehq at the time, and they were taking over the poosh hashtag. I let them have it. I can't fight everyone. And the Ramblings of a Madman is a boutique service. You can't rush me.

I chose this one because of Feyi. I keep going on about her skin, but I only do it because it's true. Black really is beautiful.

Denola (aka Handsome dude) and Makida. He was trying to hide from me but I warned him seriously. I said, "Please. Please. Don't let me knock you out with this camera." Okay that didn't happen. I was trying to make something up, but it wasn't working out. They'd make a ridiculous couple don't you think. I'd be skiing off their children's cheekbones. #childabuse

My sweedest girl Onyinye, and Dozie, whose name I couldn't remember on the day. It's the worst thing when you're talking to someone and you can't remember what they're called. People who come up to you, expect to be introduced to the person you're hanging with and all you can say is, "introduce yourselves." #oluwaisinvolved

And this is Kecy, who writes as well. He's been on bellanaija a few times. I technically don't really like other writers. I get super competitive when it comes to this. If you write something great I'll take it personally. I'll congratulate you for it, but I'll go in on myself for a week and a half. It's important that I get better you know? I can't stay in a rut.

The only new person in this photograph is Ayodeji Rotinwa. He aii. Lok at me being all American and stuff. Clap for me. Clap for me I say you bloody maggots. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. I am the King of the world. Forgive that aside. I said forgive. Forgiveness makes you better looking. They look like they were having a stellar time don't they? Must have been the Champagne.

Ian? Why now? Ian is the only one in the photo that isn't in the photo. He's a designer and his stuff is great. He's got an incredible eye. I don't think I've said that about anyone I've blogged about. I am so impressed by his lookbook. The quality of the work is evident in the images. I look forward to a closer inspection of the clothes. Ian, are you gerring me?

Clap for me. Clap for me I say. It's a classic.

And this right here is Lisa of Jewel by Lisa's shoe game. Her shoe game is deep.

Zara Okpara's bag... nice, nice... I don't knead to say much. Yes knead. Yes. Shut up. I've got to keep myself entertained.

The wizardry is in the detail. It's conservative, and it's clean. #rebahia for the win.

These shoes were on SATC. Na Afam Spot am. When I say that people in Lagos are moneyed, don't look at me like I don't know what I'm talking about.

This one makes me smile a lazy smile. It's so hopelessly sweet. It's like too sweet cake. I love too sweet cake. I'm sorry Papa Afam is lecturing about his conspiracy theory on the popularity of some anti malaria drugs in the market. Yes, where was I? I think they look lovely. She's especially romantic in this soft as down gown. I think it's chiffon. I think it's silk chiffon, but I can't say for sure. Orire, help a brutha out.

Not every picture got a paragraph beneath it, and I didn't hate anything. After picking up my hatchet and attacking people at random, I've decided to put it back in its box. No dollar no hatchet. And not on the Ramblings of a Madman. I'll do it for your magazine, or your website or sommat like that. Later Famzers.

Happy Days,
Afam