RIP Tata Madiba.

You'll always remember what you were doing the moment that you heard Nelson Mandela had died. It's one of those odd, life-changing split-seconds, in which the world stands still, and jumps on to the same page for a little while. You cannot deny the relevance of a man who helped heal the wounds of a country in chaos. 

Being 24-years-old, I never really endured the shackles of Apartheid. My friends are neither Black, nor White, nor Coloured, and I have been gifted with the opportunity of being surrounded by people of different colours, sizes, shapes and sex. Would this have been a legitimate thought if Tata Madiba had never lived? No, probably not. 

There have been many times in my life, in which I have been burned by the flames of fake friends, sour relationships and downright foolishness. The post-mortem of these life-changing incidents were conducted with strength and forgiveness, which I partially owe to Nelson Mandela. 

Watching a man live his life without an ounce of bitterness was a luxury, and subconsciously shaped my decisions whether I knew it or not. We learn to forgive others when they do not know any better, and to simultaneously pick ourselves up.

No time for grudges, because "resentment is like drinking poison and hoping that it will kill your enemies". 

I can date whoever I want. I can love whoever I want. Yes, there will always be people who are against your game, but we will never be arrested or condemned for choosing to lust after someone whose skin colour does not match our own. Take away Madiba, and I would probably have been kicked out of the dating pool about 3 times by now. 

Nelson Mandela taught us that we should never treat ourselves as inadequate, and that playing things small does not help the world. Right now, I am in a position to pursue my dreams, because an attitude of ambition and love has been ingrained in me. If I had never heard of a man who defied the world's expectations, I am not sure that I would be who I am today. 

You're just an ordinary Indian girl from Durban, who are you to think that you could one day be famous?  

I'd probably have heard that long before I could even envision a life of creative indulgences for myself! And, that would have broken my soul. My point is that Madiba fed me a sense of self-belief and persistence, so that I could live the life I was meant for. Without him, I would never know what it feels like to pursue my dreams and feel truly liberated.

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising everytime we fall." Rest peacefully Tata Madiba. And, thank you for shaping me into who I am today.

British Fashion Awards: A Fashion Recap.

The British Fashion Awards. 

Champers, Marc Jacobs, Kate Moss and Harry Styles at the same glitzy table? Because its fashwan baby.

I love? Clemence Poesy. Rita Ora. Lily Donaldson.

I hate? Rosie Huntington-Whitely. Those two-toned pants! 

Kate Moss Kills it on Playboy.

Kate Moss is the ultimate Playboy bunny on the cover of magazine 60th issue! 

Velvet bunny ears, French cuffs and silk stockings. Enough said. I love this lady and it seems as if she's at the top of her game (again). 

Sexy, cheeky and reto! This is what Playboy is about, so forget about trailer park bimbos and the classy work of Beverly Hills surgeons. Sexy sophistication is back.

Kate Moss: A Turkish Delight in Vogue

Kate Moss and actor Chiwetel Ejiofor appear in this month's US Vogue in a downright classy act. This is high fashion at its best, with designers such as Tom Ford, Prada and Dior making an appearance in the spread shot by Mario Testino. 

My fashion dreams pretty much look like this - beautiful clothes, understated glamour, sophisticated locations and the charm of getting lost in a foreign city.

Lets get fancy. Kate plays the quintessential city girl, with a sense of refinement and urban lust, while Chiwetel seems to be her well-dressed co-star. Visually, this is drop dead gorgeous and had me lusting after a trip to the Souk. Exquisite. 

Live Fast. Die Young.

Most of us woke up this morning to the tragic news that actor Paul Walker had died in a car accident yesterday. He was only 40, had a string of adrenaline pumping films to his name, and seems to have died far before his time. 

Live fast, die young? Scrolling through Facebook all I seem to see is R.I.P inscriptions, followed by the motto "live fast, die young", which seems to be some sort of copacetic way of saying that someone lived a good life. 

You took risks, had lots of fun, basked in the glitz of glamour and didn't suffer through the bitterness of old age. Aspirational? I don't know. I'm all for living in the moment, grabbing spontaneity by its hairy balls and not giving a fudge about what people think, but I'm hesitant to believe that taking risks stops at 40. 

We're obsessed with the notion of dying with a good-looking corpse. Narcissism? I'm not sure. Perhaps we're simply terrified at the prospect of reaching the bingo table at 70, with the realisation that we didn't live life in the fast lane, and consequently didn't tick off our subconscious bucket list? Eventually, a tenacity for ambition becomes an obsession with models, bottles, champagne and cocaine. Symbols of success. Yes, you reached your peak and have the bitches to prove it. YOLO baby. 

I honestly don't believe that you have to live fast to live with no regrets. I've hustled my way to a point in my life whereby I'm sorta-kinda-probably happy, and I've done so without any regrets. Friday night cocktails are a must, but I don't drink to forget who I am, where I am or what I've done. I started this journey because of a passion for being at the top of my game, and yes I've wanted to prove the haters wrong. But, I've never believed in risking your life just so that you can prove that you live with no regrets!  

That fine line of life and death is certainly an adrenaline rush, and is probably the sexiest seduction trick ever invented. You're alive and you feel in control. But, in essence, you're not. If you feel that you have to risk your soul to get to the top, then you're not alive. You're not in control; you're simply a fool. 

YOLO is not an excuse to act stupid, and live a glorified existence of fast cars, Patron and half-assed lust. It kind of leaves yucky skid-marks that stop you from living the life you're meant for. 

I'll never starve starve myself in an attempt to be hungry, and you can be damned that I'll never ever waste an opportunity to live. A youthful mindset and a mature psyche. Meet me half-way baby.

The Beckhams cover Vogue Paris

Victoria Beckham has the opportunity to guest edit Vogue Paris recently, and seems to have done it in her typical manner of elegance and grandeur. And, naturally darling David Beckham was along for the ride! I love this December/January cover, which spills sensuality, decadence and sex appeal in a romantic embrace. 

'David and I have been through so much together. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re so proud of each other.'

The magazine is a staple French fashion bible, which basically means that the Beckhams have their preened fingers on every aspect of the world. I love the subdued nature of the shoot, barely-there makeup and nude lips, which compliments Victoria's emerald green dress beautifully. Smouldering. That's all.