Patrónise me

One of the greatest perks of working at CLEO is all the fabulous invites that pop up in my inbox. The sad and somewhat embarrassing truth is that I sometimes feel too tired/fat/ugly/frumpy to RSVP ‘yes’ so I’ve learnt to be selective in what I attend – not to appear snobby but to rather make sure I represent feeling at the top of my game (or at least somewhere in the middle of my game).

Events I know I’ll always enjoy are Patrón parties so when our PR pal Toolz (aka Brand Ambassadors’ Thulane Hadebe) invited me to the launch of Patrón Silver I knew I’d be there. It was a who’s who of fabulous people and despite taking over an hour to get ready, I immediately felt yucky when I saw Poppy Ntshongwana, Bonang Matheba and Pixie Bennett all looking tiny and camera ready at the rambling Houghton estate. Unfortunately I couldn’t hate them as they were all friendly when Pippa and I launched ourselves at them to get pics for our July Fashion Stakeout.

Guest spilled out onto the lawn, while sipping on Patrón Silver, mixed with Appletiser (a Patróniser if you will), champagne and later, cranberry juice, served from ice bars dotted around the venue. As a premium vodka, Patrón has an image to uphold and the VIP treatment and breathtaking view of the Jozi night lights did just that. That said, there was nothing pretentious about the party and I got to hang out with some really awesome people I’ve only met through email.

Later, I negotiated my way around the swimming pool decorated with floating water lilies to the checkered dance floor to watch Flash Republic. Tamara Dey’s leopard print jumpsuit may have been dubious and the power only tripped twice but no one cared. Her voice is even better live and the band played all their hits and more while we bobbed along happily in the warm night air.





Afterwards we took a trip up a narrow staircase to get to the roof of the mansion for a 360 degree view of the city everyone should experience once in their lifetime. Leaving the party on a high note with a cute mini bottle of Patrón Silver in hand, it was short golf cart ride back to my car and reality. Thanks to Pippa Alcock for being my wingwoman and Grant Difford for taking all the pretty pics.

A festival of rams.

It’s been a week since Jo’burg’s RAMfest which is the time needed to recover and process the 12 hours spent in the searing sun with friends, drinking vodka and Red Bull, eating Chip Stix and watching band after band − pretty much my idea of the perfect day out.
The weather was good to us (almost too good as evidenced by the red necks and noses the day after) and Riversands gets two thumbs up as a venue close enough to civilization to get cell phone reception but just far enough into the middle of nowhere to avoid noise complaints.

Here’s the good, the bad and the ugly of RAMfest 2011:

THE GOOD
The festival was world class in terms of organisation. I never spent longer than a minute in a queue for food and drinks, the “bathrooms” were clean almost until the end (which as anyone who regularly attends these kind of events knows, is an impressive feat) and the everything ran on time.


Props to the organisers, stage hands and sound engineers for an unbelievable platform that lit up like a spaceship once the sun went down. Without sounds like a hippy, it felt like we were part of something special when it became dark enough to appreciate the structure and sound which echoed through the estate. Even surrounded by hundreds of people, there was something very intimate about singing along to international bands we thought no one else knew about. Having already spent a week in South Africa, both Alkaline Trio and Funeral for a Friend seemed at home on our soil and their sets were fun, casual and a dream come true for those still sober and strong enough to enter the mosh pit.

THE BAD
There’s not a lot I can honestly complain about so let me take a moment to be overly critical. The line-up remains a mystery to me. I felt ashamed that a unique and acclaimed band like the BLK JKS who fill venues overseas, were given the dismal first slot of 11am when only a handful of people were there. Yes, their sound is unlike anything you’ve heard before and therefore not commercial enough to get a lot of radio play but watching them in action gave me goosebumps.

Too bad most people were still asleep at home during their set. There were also a couple of bands on the line-up (I won’t mention names for fear of being pelted with rotten fruit by die-hard fans) who don’t appear to have done anything new in the last couple of years. I completely understand their appeal to band-aids who’ve been with them since the beginning (Lord knows I’ve spent much of 20s watching the same bands sing the same songs) but with so many new and exciting acts out there, I have to wonder why they made the list.

THE UGLY
Die Antwoord. Before you reach for the rotten fruit again, hear me out. Putting them in “the ugly” section is a compliment and no doubt what they’re going for. I’ll be the first to admit that I was keen to see them again. I originally stumbled across them at Oppikoppi two years ago just before they hit the mainstream and assumed someone had slipped something special into by brandy and Coke.

Now armed with some insight and info about Yo-Landi, Ninja and DJ Hi-Tek, I was curious to check them out with fresh eyes. And I’m none the wiser. In fact, I get the distinct impression they are having a good laugh at our expense. They are probably just as surprised as anyone that they’ve been able to take this zef act as far as they have and can’t believe they’ve managed to sucker so many people into paying for CDs and concert tickets. In what may very well be the most successful art school project ever, Watkins Tudor Jones and his better half Yolandi Visser have immersed themselves into their crass characters, getting nice normal people to sing along to their degrading lyrics and making a fortune. It’s genius and I applaud them for it but it doesn’t mean I want to see them again.

So, what do you do?

I love Fridays, especially those that fall after another successful deadline. Yesterday we sent our April issue to the printers with only the usual glitches. Nothing tastes as good as a collective CLEO sigh of relief feels.

People often ask me what magazine editor does and I usually laugh them off with something like: “wear Prada and drink champagne”. The truth us that even I don’t always know what I’m doing but let me explain as best I can.

Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a parallel universe because we plan so far in advance and I’m often working on three issues at the same time. This week we looked into our crystal ball and planned our June issue, while signing off the April issue and getting started on May (all of which are going to be fabulous by the way). My head is spinning. I can’t decide whether I should be wearing shorts or coats, whether Roxette is hot or not and if letting your roots show is a hair do or a hair don’t.

We discuss features, fashion and beauty while deciding how things are going to look, sound and feel. We plan photo shoots, interviews and competitions all the while trying to keep costs down and quality on the up and up.

Once a month, I sit down with our advertising team to discuss upcoming issues and ad opportunities in the magazine. I’ve often read reader complains of certain mags having too many adverts and not enough content and while I agree that content comes first, people don’t always understand that it’s the advertising that pays for the magazine and without it, we wouldn’t be able to sell CLEO for a mere R19.95. Good advertising isn’t a compromise. It should be something that offers a service, gives value to the readers and makes them think: “I’m so glad someone told me about that sale/sunscreen/cell phone special”. When I was younger I used to pour over beautiful ads for perfume or jeans, cut them out and save them somewhere to inspire myself on bad hair days, fat days and down-in-the-dumps days (don’t tell anyone but I still do this).

I’m also constantly in touch with readers on Facebook and Twitter. I honestly do want to know what you’re up to, what you like about the mag and what you want to see more of. It breaks my heart when people complain about not receiving their subscriptions or prizes and while it’s not always under our control we do try to sort it out, I promise.

We listen to everything you say, even if it’s that you want your granny to be on our cover. While I’m sure she’s as lovely as you say, deciding on our cover every month is not something we take lightly. It’s taken me a long time to realise you can’t please everyone but I’ll be damned if I give up trying. So please don’t stop sending through your suggestions for cover girls. Just don’t be sad if we don’t pick you, Oprah or Courtney Love.
Now for the most unglamorous part of my job: sorting through emails! I get hundreds every day and honestly, not all of them I reply to. There are the mails from PRs wanting to get their clients in the mag (some are perfect for us, some are for tile grouting services), sometimes they want us to publish pictures of glitzy, celebrity event we weren’t invited to (um, no) and sometimes they want our features lists (why they think we would give away our bread and butter I don’t know).

Then there are the many, many intern requests. We can only accommodate so many people and often only for a few days at a time. I know how invaluable work experience is (I myself spent a day at People magazine a million years ago and now I share an office with them) so here are some “don’ts” for those who do send us requests. Don’t cc other magazines on your email, don’t confuse us for another magazine, don’t forget to use spell check (especially if you want to be a writer), don’t send your autobiography (if your cover letter is too long I’m probably not going to get to the end), don’t get your mom to phone or email on your behalf, and don’t harass my brilliant PA and office godsend Melissa if you haven’t heard from us. Of course there are moments of Prada and champagne, goody bags and rock stars but mostly it’s lots of hard work, brain storming and coffee-drinking. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.