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Culture, Leisure

The Mean Jeans

by Dylan Muhlenberg / 29.04.2013

The irony of using people with large social networks to promote a campaign is that whenever one of those people mentions a product drop or a gift or the VIP treatment that they’re experiencing courtesy a brand, they invariably lose some of their followers. I know this because I’m on the inside. A tastemaker. A trendsetter. A seeder. An opinion leader. And I am also a very jealous man.

The first time I tweeted about the Levi’s 501 project I lost 5 followers. They came back after a while, they almost always come back these twitter masochists, and I can’t even stay mad with them because I do the same thing. I hate it when the same bloggers brag about their swag and I keep refreshing my mailbox and checking my phone like a girl after a first-date, waiting for that call, which often never comes… But not this time.

This time I got the call! Remember how Montle Moorosi was robbed in that Steri-Stumpi competition, and because YOU failed to vote Tanga he didn’t get to go to Ibiza? Evil triumphs when good men fail to act.

You aren’t good people though, we all know that, which is why my tactic is not to encourage a fanbase to vote for me, but instead I’ll rally my competitor’s enemies and convince them that a vote for me is a vote against their particular blogging bugbear. Strong-arm tactics, yes, but this is my only option. I’m guessing that with big fanbases comes an equal amount of enemies – tall trees catch the most wind and all that – and so I’m going to embark on a smear campaign. Hopefully the spite vote is as large as I think it is.

So in order of most threatening to not bothered, these are my competitors, and just some of the reasons as to why you shouldn’t vote for them. Instead knock a nail into their coffins by voting for me. Which you can do here and at the bottom of this page: (you’ll be glad to know that this isn’t one of those hit-generateing comps where I’ll spam you every day for a week, you don’t have to like any page or signup to a mailing list, it’s just one click, and once you’ve voted for me you’re done, we’re done).

Sergio Ines is an effeminate wisp of a man with a beard far more beautiful than my own. He is a living, breathing Ken doll. A clotheshorse. A dandy. A nancy-boy with one facial expression, thousands of lapel decorations and not a single pair of socks. He dresses like a Christmas tree, has more accessories than Barbie and busies himself with the type of frou-frou filigree usually associated with florists. His idea of a casual shoe is a brown leather number sans heel. His hair gel could fix the broken bridge in the Foreshore. His grooming routine has ended the lives of millions of small woodland creatures. Yes, he dresses better than me, no doubt, but does turning yourself into your own hobby capture the spirit of Levi’s 501? I think not. The first 501s were dug up in mines. The only thing this guy mines is a Pinterest board. Where will Sergio’s jeans be found one day – a tanning bed, a bowl of Rissoto, neatly folded and hung up in a closet?

Dan Nash is what happens when you grow up aspiring to be Seth Rotherham. Not only is his blog the poor man’s version of 20V (in the sense that Newlands, Sacs and holidaying in Plett is one LSM percentage point lower than the Atlantic Seaboard, Bishops and holidaying in the South of France), but he probably also hasn’t paid for anything since the advent of the internet, too. And why? Guy’s major contribution was turning himself into a brand and then attempting to stop cars from driving through that yield sign near the Gardens Centre. That and teaching white people how to wear their beanies like white people. To paraphrase his ex-girlfriend: Nash is a philandering cheat who uses charity to tick things off of his own personal bucket list and probably has an STD. What kind of man is that? Not a Levi’s ambassador I think. Leave him in his Wranglers.

Andrew Berry is a cheap Cobrasnake knockoff, Thunda.com in skinny jeans, and will probably be diabetic by the time you finish reading this. Indeed, the good life has taken its toll, and only ol’ Berry-boy could make a pair of 501s look like a pair of 511s. Also, the guy dresses like a Nascar driver with all of his sponsor’s logos competing for space on his ever-expanding person. Except he’s so conflicted that he’ll show up in adidas to a Puma event. Both Levi’s and loyalty begin with an “L”, but the only “L” that I see in Berry’s future is the one I’m making with my index finger and thumb, which I’m now holding up on my forehead. Berry is in bed with everyone. Well, everyone except for those attention-seeking shoot-me-girls that Paul Ward spirited away with his bigger lens and then proceeded to schtup.

Max Mogale sounds like a black person’s name. This is Cape Town, where things like that not only get you bounced from Asoka but also make it nearly impossible to win competitions like this. Fortunately there are urban initiatives like that Play thing Max won last year. So there you go, Max has already had his time in the sun. Let’s give someone else a chance, eh?

Marco Riekstins is handsome and has the ability to wear clothes well. Congratulations, Marco. Thank you for adding to our culture.

Roy Potterill owns a pair of Levi’s older than those in the Levi’s Museum. The overseas flight will make his ankles swell, his gout act up and wreak havoc on his rheumatoid arthritis.

Grant Payne is from Durban. What, does he blog from a dial-up banana? He also can’t walk past a reflective surface without shooting a selfie. What a narcissist. Forget that guy!

Okay, now look at me; the most well-rounded and ideal candidate of what is clearly a very poor bunch. I’m not going to lie to you; I’m one fascinating motherfucker. Did you see that first photograph of me standing on my motorbike like that – what a guy! Plus I enlisted top-photographers like Dylan Culhane and Andrew Brauteseth to shoot some of my looks. These guys weren’t cheap, let me tell you, but I’m THAT committed to this project.

Look, I’m not asking you to love me, just like me more than those other guys, okay? If I win this I’ll take my wife to San Francisco/Sao Paulo where we’ll enjoy a second honeymoon and fall in love with each other all over again. The trip will be a welcome respite from shit nappies, exhausted overdraft facilities and a social life that peaks when we get invited to braai at our friend’s house in Blouberg. By not voting for me you’re robbing my beautiful wife of this epic experience and essentially stamping these other guy’s passports. Do the right thing. VOTE MUHLENBERG, it just takes one click. Do it!

Ed’s note: After Tanga-gate, the Super M Ibiza fiasco, we vowed never to do this. Pimping out our audience so one of our own can win a prize while building audience for a brand is a spurious endeavour. But then Dylan wrote this and dissed all our competitors in the blogosphere so remorselessly, we simply couldn’t help ourselves. Apologies.

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