This is not something I’ve done before, mind you. I bought him on Saturday afternoon, for R550, and what an interesting experience it was. I felt like, all empowered and stuff, expressing the power my corporate salary confers upon me and using it to turn stereotypes on their head, yadda yadda, and all in the name of a good cause.
My Wits gender studies lecturer would have been so proud.
The people behind ReadSA, an organisation dedicated to the promotion of reading in South Africa in general, and the reading of South African literature in particular, decided to do something a little different in order to raise funds. The result was a Hot Man Auction, hosted at the Melville abode of a German arts benefactor.
Zukiswa Wanner organised the event, while our long-lost friend Ndumiso Ngcobo, who has deserted us for the fatal charms of the Sunday Times, shared duties behind the mic. The dooswyn was Robertson’s, the chips Lay’s, the nuts mixed. The male talent on offer included a self-described warrior-nerd, a Zimbabwean model, a poet, the journalist who spilled the beans on John Hlophe, and a participant in Kaya FM’s Two Strangers and a Wedding promotion.
The poet and the warrior-nerd fetched top price, though I will confess in the case of the latter that a) I put in the opening bid of R500 and then proceeded to bid against myself, b) this may well have been due to the quantity of aforementioned dooswyn I had by then ingested and c) I had inveigled my hot man friend into doing this in the first place, and felt that the very least I could do was increase his market value.
So, what did I learn from the experience? Well, I did get to meet two poets (this was exciting because one doesn’t get to meet too many poets in the ad industry, unless they’re supplementing their income with corporate gigs). I also learned that it is not a good idea to imbibe Robertson’s dooswyn in any quantity, though, since this was something I’ve known for years, I only have myself to blame. (I was also reminded, as if I needed reminding, that Nurofen is no good for hangovers. No good at all.)
I think that we might have raised more money if the auction had been held in Cougar National Park (also known as Dainfern, Lonehill and Fourways) — although, on second thoughts, we may well have required the intervention of riot police, so perhaps it’s just as well that the assembled guests consisted largely of women who didn’t feel entirely comfortable with the idea of purchasing a lunch date.
Which is a pity, because R550 doesn’t buy you a lot these days. An hour or two at a spa, perhaps, or a fraction of a trolley at Woolies. A nice-ish pair of shoes, maybe, and they’ll only give you blisters. Money donated to a charitable cause in order to procure the company of a fine example of what the Y chromosome can achieve is, in contrast, most assuredly well spent.
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