The Sauti Sol Meet and Greet party was poised to be a challenge for me, and even before I arrived I was trepidatious. Lately I have come to be a bit uncomfortable, especially in the new generation celebritysphere. I myself, am a former celebrity. I don’t mean I am any less kickass than I have always been, but I come from an earlier generation, where celebs were valued for their hilarious blog posts, and not for their swagg.
Then came Swagg.
Now if you have jeans that are not too small to go all the way up, if you shave the whole of your head evenly, if you do not wear sunglasses unless there is some sun to validate the decision, then you may not be considered for celebration.
And it is not just fashion and glamour or their dearth. It is that these days people don’t expect a celebrity to be as… financially mild as a lot of us newspaper columnists/scriptwriters/bloggers are.
I don’t have enough money to be glamorous. I had enough to be cool, but even that was before this loan came long to drag my nutsack off inch by inch month by month.
I’m not complaining about this. I had a good run. I’m just saying.
So, I don’t know how I will go to Sauti Sol’s meet and greet and behave in an appropriate manner. I can’t fawn and be all fannish and OMG TOTALLY OMG because of two reasons.
- I am not a fan. I know they are good, I know their music is extremely accomplished and that they are very skilled and their work is deeply enjoyed by very many people, but it is just not really my cup of tea. I don’t drink tea. I drink Gorilla Summit Coffee because it is the finest product the soil of Kanungu has ever brought forth that is not a female human being like Annette from the bank. I swear Annette. The only thing about this loan that isn’t excruciatingly painful.
- I am also talented. Shyaa. Besides, I drop a new single every week. You see me also there? I also have lyrics.
So the options were to either act like they are peers, compadres, equals. Which is ridiculous because they are being swarmed by stray pheremones from all corners. Every step they take they are wading through potential dropped knickers. Meanwhile, I am just here. Me. We are not equals.
So I could act like I am unimpressed, but then again, let’s be fair. I do appreciate talent when I see it. Listen, Bieber is a jerk, but I will not deny him his props as an entertainer. Bebe Cool is a jerk, but I will not deny him his props as an entertainer.
Iggy Azalea is a black-faced, insensitive, clueless, gormless, disrespectful phony, but I will… no, fuck Iggy Azalea. Fuck her.
If I was to meet Sauti Sol, I will have to at least nod and give the “Well done.”
And that is when it hit me. The strike of lightning. Right there.
I look in the mirror and there it was.
Look in the mirror and see, right there is the answer. It was there, staring you in the face.
I have gray hair in my beard. And two white strands in my mustache.
Sauti Sol, on the other hand have six packs, which any man who has earned his white strands knows, are things for young people.
So there is the plan. I shall wander around the premises, schmoozing with the usual suspects, the PR and marketing and showbiz executive types who I know at these places, and then when I the time to greet them after meeting them, I shall drop my glasses and say, “Ah, you are the Sauti Sol boys. Excellent. I have heard you sing your songs. They are very good. Well done, son. Well done.”
That’s Uncle Swagg.