Insight-driven growth for business and lifestyle

I woke up early this morning—probably around 5 a.m.—with a craving for hot chocolate. I didn’t have any in the house, but I think I’ll pick some up later today at the supermarket. You see, the important things in life are often the small things. A craving for hot chocolate on a cold winter morning might seem minor, but maybe it’s my body telling me it needs a little warmth, a little comfort, or even just a bit of chocolate energy. As I say, the small things often matter most.

This is partly why I’ve taken a more neutral, observational look at the growing noise from newspaper opinion columnists who’ve been saying some fairly unkind things about Afrikaans people applying for refugee status in the United States.

Much of this noise is coming from a certain kind of old British stock in this country—those who’ve never really liked Afrikaans people, if we’re honest. Most of them haven’t. It’s an old resentment, dressed up in modern language. What’s more disappointing is how easily people jump on the bandwagon. Some do it to boost their public profile, writing for newspapers that serve the interests of big business and government. And yes, business gets contracts from government. It’s all connected.

These columnists are serving the same masters. If they didn’t toe the line, they’d lose their jobs. So you’ll never hear an opposing view. Newspapers and their writers are simply too afraid of the prevailing political climate.

Those unfamiliar with South African history might not know much about the two Anglo-Boer wars, or the way the British treated Afrikaans people during that time. I won’t go into the full horror of it here—history records it well enough. But it’s worth remembering that the disdain towards Afrikaans culture has old roots. And it hasn’t vanished.

Yesterday, I came across a wave of TikTok comments, and while some may argue it’s not the most reliable source of opinion, the sentiments were loud and clear. A number of Americans were attacking Afrikaans people—those trying to seek refugee status. It struck me as odd. One would think Americans, with their own layered history of migration and marginalization, might show more tolerance. But instead, many joined the chorus of criticism.

I wonder if they really understand just how marginalized Afrikaans people have been under the current South African government over the past 30 years. It’s something worth thinking about. Yes, it’s social media. But words travel, and the tone was anything but kind.

Returning to our own past again: the disdain of the British wasn’t reserved just for Afrikaans people. In the old Natal province and in parts of the Cape, people who weren’t British weren’t even allowed to join certain clubs. Another group who faced similar exclusion were Jewish people. And not so long ago, in Cape Town’s more elite circles, they weren’t allowed into some of the upper echelon private clubs. If you know your history, you’ll recognize a pattern: like the Jews, Afrikaans people have carried the burden of being treated as “less than.”

Many Afrikaans people left long ago—some when the British arrived more than a century ago. Many fled to go farm in South America. ?Some moved inland into harsh, dry regions. The Dorslanders. Others moved into what is now Namibia, Angola, Zimbabwe, and Zambia. There’s a long pattern of moving to survive, of seeking safety elsewhere.

Today, Afrikaans people are again being publicly criticized, mocked, and attacked—by some of the current leaders of the country. It’s constant. It’s daily. And it’s allowed because Afrikaans people have become a soft target. The majority is massive. And many in leadership know this.

That said, people are welcome to their opinions. This is a world of free speech, and social media has made it easier than ever to voice those opinions. But what’s being lost in all of this is nuance. Context. And basic cultural respect.

And maybe that’s why hot chocolate at 5 a.m. felt so comforting. It wasn’t noisy, or political, or performative. It was just… honest.

Dear Red Monkey,

I often feel anxious when chatting to friends—say I’ve been invited to a braai or a lunch or whatever—and it’s especially bad when the people there aren’t natural conversationalists. I end up mentioning the weather, and then there’s a lot of chat about the weather. But later, there are these awkward moments of silence. I think, “Now what?”

I try the usual things: asking how people are doing, what they’ve been up to, and so on. But then another silence creeps in, and I—as usual—get nervous and just start saying anything that comes to mind. I know I’m overthinking things. Maybe people are just tired. Maybe they’re thinking about what they’re going to do tomorrow. Maybe they’re trying to come up with something to say themselves.

Still, I always feel embarrassed afterward. I worry that I hogged the conversation, said too much, or bored people. Maybe silences are fine? I don’t know. Some people are amazing at getting the conversation going—they can talk non-stop, especially about themselves. Others are more reticent, and they don’t “egg you on,” so it’s hard to keep things flowing.

Sincerely,

The Scaredy Cat Conversationalist

Dear Awkward,

I’m not entirely sure what your question is. Are you saying you’re boring? That you haven’t mastered the art of conversation? That you’re hopeless and need rescuing? Don’t you have anything to say?

Perhaps write in again and be more specific.

But since you’re here—and we’re talking—I’ll share a few tips, even though I’m not from the chattering classes myself.

First off, don’t overthink it. Be natural. Let things flow. Sometimes conversation is a stream, sometimes a trickle, and sometimes just a nice shared silence. If you’re worried about keeping things going, try making a simple statement rather than asking endless questions. For example: “I watched a great show the other night—it really surprised me.” That’s a statement. And if someone wants to jump in and share what they’ve watched, they will.

Asking questions is fine, but if you fire off too many in a row, you’ll sound like a customs official. So mix it up. Share a little about yourself, then open the door: “I went to a few shows recently and really enjoyed one at the Baxter. Have you seen anything good lately?” That’s a gentler, more engaging way to connect.

Of course, tailor your topics. Don’t ask about theatre if you know someone hasn’t been out in months. Read the room. The occasion, the people, the mood—it all matters. And the golden rules? Avoid deep philosophical debates, religion, politics, personal confessions, and please don’t skinner. Nobody likes a gossip, even if they lean in to listen.

Anyway, if you really want help, be more specific next time. As for me, I’m a red monkey—not a red carpet regular—so I rarely speak to humans. And when I do overhear them, honestly, I think they’re talking the biggest load of nonsense anyway.

With a shrug and a swing,

Red Monkey

About: Dear Red Monkey

Dear Red Monkey is not known for sound advice, and not especially trying to be.

Red Monkey tolerates the angst of human beings with a twitching tail and a raised eyebrow, but never truly understands them. Advice is delivered with a whimsical paw, a touch of mischief, and absolutely no guarantees. Read at your own risk—and preferably with a banana in hand.

South Africa, 2025

This post isn’t for the well-heeled, the influencers, or those who think nothing of splashing out on sushi nights and spontaneous weekends away. It’s for the rest of us—ordinary South Africans navigating tough economic times, counting every rand, and trying to get real value from what we buy.

But here’s the thing: how often do you spend money on something that turns out to be a complete waste? A product that doesn’t work. A service that has to be redone. Something you were hoping would make life easier but ends up in the bin—or worse, costing you more to fix.

Let me give you a few small but telling examples from my own life.

A Dollop of Disappointment

Not long ago, I bought some tartar sauce from a local fisheries. I was dreaming of pairing it with air-fried fish—easy meal, tasty result. But the sauce was awful. Unusable. I’d bought two tubs, and now one is in the bin. It’s a tiny waste, sure. But it adds up.

Rooftop Regrets

Then there was the “roofing specialist” I hired to fix a leak above the bathroom. The job was so bad, I had to hire someone else to redo it. That second contractor also messed up—his worker failed to seal a section properly, and the rain came in again. At least that part got fixed without additional cost the second time, but by then, I’d already spent too much.

The Useless Salt Cellar

In the Cape, winter moisture is no joke—salt clumps, shakers block. So I bought a salt cellar with a stainless steel lid, hoping it would do better. But the grains get stuck in the twist-top mechanism, making it nearly impossible to use. Another small, annoying waste.

Little Losses, Big Picture

Individually, these examples seem minor. But think about how many times a year you throw out food that tastes terrible, or deal with shoddy service that requires expensive rework. It all adds up—and in these times, it really stings.

What’s more worrying is that many South Africans are buying essentials—food—on credit. That’s how tight things are. So waste, even in small doses, matters.

What Can We Do About It?

I looked for local stats on how much South Africans lose each year to poor-quality products and services. Sadly, there’s no solid data—just vague references to the Consumer Protection Act. But if we were to track this in our own lives, we might be shocked by how much slips through our fingers.

So how do we avoid it?

We can’t entirely. But we can be more careful. These days, I try to be more circumspect. I read reviews, do a bit of research, and avoid impulse buys—especially with anything over R100. Yes, it takes more time. Yes, sometimes I still get it wrong. But it’s better than piling up yet another shelf of regrets.

Your Turn

Have you been in the same boat? What’s the last thing you bought that turned out to be a waste? Or a service you paid for that let you down? I’d love to hear about it—drop a comment or email me.

Maybe if enough of us talk about it, we’ll start holding suppliers and service providers more accountable. Or at the very least, we’ll save each other a bit of money.

Cape Town is changing—again. The city has seen a steady and significant influx of people semi-immigrating from other parts of South Africa, especially Johannesburg and Durban. While it’s difficult to pin down an exact number, estimates suggest that as many as 100,000 people have moved to Cape Town in recent years. Some sources put the number even higher. The mayor of Cape Town mentioned this figure publicly not too long ago, and while the specifics may vary, one thing is clear: a lot of people are heading south.

The Big Question: Who Will Employ All These People?

This isn’t just a matter of real estate and sunsets. These new arrivals—some working remotely, some searching for jobs, others eager to start businesses—are arriving with needs. And one of the most pressing is income.

Many come with the intention of running their businesses from Cape Town. That’s one group. But others arrive jobless, looking for work in a city where formal employment opportunities are scarce—unless you’re highly skilled or already networked into a specific industry. Then there’s a growing group hoping to create their own work through so-called “entrepreneurial opportunities,” which could be anything from caregiving and home services to launching a restaurant or yoga studio.

Cape Town Is Not One Market

One critical thing to understand is that Cape Town isn’t a single economic entity. It’s a patchwork of vastly different markets, cultures, and income brackets.

Take the Southern Peninsula. In Noordhoek, for example, you’ll find expansive properties and high-value homes. A local resident recently shared how their family home jumped in value from R6 million to R12 million in just a few years. It’s a well-off enclave with a distinct taste profile—on a small shopping centre notice board, you’ll see ads for yoga, Pilates, and other niche wellness services. There’s little room for large developments here, and that exclusivity shapes the local economy.

Then, swing north, and the landscape changes again. The northern suburbs are also economically diverse—wealthy in some parts, solidly middle-class in others, and in some areas, low-income. Every suburb offers a different type of consumer, a different kind of demand.

So, if you’re coming to Cape Town to start a business or offer a service, you’ll need to understand exactly where you’re landing—and who you’ll be serving.

Creativity, Hustle, and Oversupply

I’ve met many people who have moved to Cape Town recently. Some are clearly fleeing the instability or pace of life in other cities, but their personal circumstances are often unclear. What’s evident is that many are trying to make something work, and it’s not easy.

Some have begun making artisanal chilli sauce. Others have started art classes—though the market here is absolutely flooded with artists and art teachers. In nearly every suburb, you’ll find someone offering lessons in painting, drawing, or clay work. One wonders how they’ll all survive, but still—good luck to them.

Formal Jobs? Few and Far Between

As for formal employment? Well, we know how that story goes. Competition is fierce, networks matter, and opportunities are limited unless you’re entering at the top end of the corporate market. For everyone else, especially those without in-demand tech or professional skills, the options are slim.

The real takeaway is this: most people will have to create their own opportunities if they want to stay in Cape Town long-term.

Meanwhile, Back Home…

While many are flying or driving to Cape Town for a fresh start, we should never forget that millions remain behind in the provinces they’ve left. And I admire them greatly. These are the people working to rebuild places that have been eroded—often destroyed—by political neglect or outright looting by the elite.

Just this morning, I watched a video of a local councillor in Randburg making a desperate call for local investment. With the help of volunteers, she’s trying to revive the long-neglected Randburg Civic Centre, which has been closed for some time. She’s even appealing for local tourism—asking people to visit, support, and believe in their own communities again.

That effort is brave and important. Because not everyone can or wants to leave. And those who stay behind deserve our respect—and, where possible, our help.

The Silver Lining: Growth Through Migration

The positive side of the semigration wave is that these newcomers bring creativity, money, ideas, and energy. Over time, this can stimulate economic growth—especially in the local, informal, and small business sectors.

It won’t be easy, and many will struggle, but this internal migration could gradually help expand Cape Town’s economy. Not by miracle or policy, but by the sheer grit and innovation of the people arriving here, looking for a better life—while others, just as bravely, work to rebuild the homes they never left.

And what, will those who want to start their own businesses need, I may ask? It’s something I explain in detail for those brave enough but want some way to minimise the risk of losing it all.

I went to a show last night. Attendance was poor. Most people in the audience were long-time friends of the main performer and a few fellow musicians.

So, who’s responsible?

The band? The venue? The organizers?

Let’s start with the band. The musician, although famous yesteryear, ?is not that well known anymore and not in Cape Town. In fact, the group was made up of local musicians brought together to support the headline artist. But in the promotion, there was no mention of those well-known local names—people with their own followings in Cape Town and elsewhere. That feels like a missed opportunity.

The venue? No, that’s not the issue. It’s a reputable spot with a regular music calendar—something happening most nights. People know it.

The organizers? They handle loads of gigs. It’s not realistic to expect them to personally market every act. Bands need to pull their own weight. You can’t just show up and expect a full house. That’s not how it works anymore. The live music scene is saturated. Everyone’s competing for attention.

And here’s the thing—young bands often struggle to draw crowds. So do older musicians. It’s not just about age or experience.

What’s the solution? Hard to say. It’s a mix: the band’s own marketing, the promoter’s reach, and how the event is positioned. But one thing’s clear—bands need to get better at building a following. Email lists. Real-world connections. Not just Instagram likes. A like isn’t a ticket sale. It’s not a “yes, I’m coming.” It’s just… a like.

At the end of the day, some bands click with audiences and some don’t. The ones that do—through talent, hustle, or timing—rise to the top.

Getting rid of all the state-owned companies in South Africa will unlock massive opportunity. At last count, there were 108 of them, but not all of them are fully operational, and some are in decline.

I was watching the weather forecast by Vox Weather this morning, which is an independent weather broadcasting service. Now, what’s amazing about this is you used to have weather reports—or maybe you still do, as I don’t watch TV anymore because it’s just so much rubbish—and you used to have these weather reports by some dour people.

I’ll tell you what, Vox Weather has really spiced it up. It’s much better coverage, and it gives you an excellent overview of the weather forecast for the whole country and includes Namibia.

Now this is private enterprise. It’s actually taken away the function from state broadcasting organizations.

Yesterday, I was at a small shopping mall, and I looked up and saw a South African Post Office sign on a very heavy metal pole, and I wondered about this because there’s no post office in this shopping center. Then I clicked that the post office is long gone. It’s been replaced by PostNet, which is now the de facto post office.

It just shows you what private enterprise can do, and there are so many, many examples of this. I really don’t know why the country has a state-owned airline. It seems like this airline is kept afloat for government officials to get free rides. That’s something that should have been privatized long ago, but because of political power, it hasn’t been.

And then if you look at the list of 108 state enterprises and you see some of them—even a small airline—is no longer operational, and most of the state-owned enterprises are in a parlous state, barely creeping along and begging for money and really draining the country of valuable money, actually. So, if all of them had to be privatized, there would be a gargantuan explosion of opportunities for all sorts of business and employment in South Africa.

Dis ongelooflik om te dink dat Afrikaans, een van die wêreld se jongste tale, nou sy honderdste bestaansjaar vier. Op 8 Mei 1925 is Afrikaans amptelik as ’n selfstandige taal erken, los van Nederlands, in Suid-Afrika. En vandag, ’n hele eeu later, is Afrikaans steeds een van die mees geprate tale in die land—én buite die landsgrense.

Na raming is daar ongeveer 14 miljoen Afrikaanssprekendes wêreldwyd. In Suid-Afrika alleen praat sowat 7,1 miljoen mense Afrikaans as moedertaal. In die breër Suider-Afrikaanse streek—insluitend Namibië, Botswana, Zambië en ander buurlande—is daar ongeveer 7,4 miljoen Afrikaanssprekendes, veral onder die Afrikaner-diaspora.

’n Taal van Vermenging en Groei

Afrikaans het woorde en invloede uit baie tale opgeneem: Nederlands, natuurlik, maar ook Engels, Maleis, Portugees, Khoi en San tale, isiXhosa, isiZulu en ander plaaslike tale. Dis regtig ’n taal wat uit die aarde van Suidelike Afrika gegroei het.

Al deel Afrikaans en Nederlands wortels, is dit nie meer onderling verstaanbaar nie. As jy Afrikaans in Nederland praat, gaan jy nie ver kom nie—’n Nederlandse spreker mag dalk ’n woord of twee snap, maar die struktuur, ritme en uitdrukkings is heeltemal anders. En as jy as Afrikaanse spreker na Nederlands luister? Baie sterkte! Dis ’n heel ander taal.

’n Oggend in Kalkbaai

Vanoggend was ek by ’n teken byeenkoms n Kalkbaai. Een van my mede-kunstenaars het gesê sy het seer en pyne, want “ek raak nou oud.” Vaarop ek het se: “ek hoop jy bly stout.” Dit het ’n lekker lag uitgelok by haar en die ander kunstenaars wie se moedertaal Afrikaans is.

Toe ek later buite loop —heeltemal onbewus daarvan dat dit vandag die honderdjarige viering van Afrikaans in Suid-Afrika is—het ek gedink aan hoe baie ek Afrikaans mis. Nie net die taal nie, maar die kombuisgeselsies, die warmte. Later daardie aand het ’n aanbieder op Zone Radio in Vishoek—’n oorwegend Engelssprekende plek—’n paar pragtige Afrikaanse liedjies gespeel om die eeufees te vier. Dit het my diep geraak.

Ek het weer gedink aan hoe ek Afrikaans as kind gehoor het: in vakansiehuise naby die see, in die kombuis van familie en vriende, of op ’n plaas in Namibië. Daar waar Afrikaans die klank van kosmaak, lag, en eenvoudige menslike nabyheid dra. Vir my is Afrikaans die taal van huislikheid en warmte.

Woorde Sonder Vertaling

Afrikaans het unieke woorde en uitdrukkings waarvoor daar eenvoudig geen Engelse eweknie is nie:

• Kuier – gesellig wees, saam wees.
• Dwaal – ronddwaal met ’n tikkie dagdroom.
• Onderdeur – jy het now die papal gehaal nie.
• Voetsek – gaan weg! Maar dit het nie dieselfde impak in Engels nie.

Nog van my gunstelinge:

• Polvyntjie – cupcake.
• Allegaartjie – gemengde spul.
• Ietermagog – ’n pangolien.
• Asemrowend – pragtig, ongelooflik.
• Braaibroodjie – roosterbroodjie op die kole. So eg Suid-Afrikaans.
• Sonbesie – sikade. Letterlik: “son-boktor.”
• Suigstokkie – lekker op ’n stokkie.
• Knetter – die geluid van vuur wat knetter.
• Kibbel – stry, kabbel.
• Samesyn – saamwees.
• Dingetjie – iets klein.
• Deurmekaar – verward, morsig.
• Babbelas – hoofpyn vevolg van te veel kuier.

’n Gedeelde Geskiedenis

In Suid-Afrika was daar baie huwelike tussen Engels sprekendes en Afrikaanse mans en vroue. Jy kry mense met Engelse vanne wat Afrikaans as moedertaal praat, en ander met Afrikaanse name wat oorwegend Engels praat. Dis deel van ons kultuur erfenis.

Afrikaans het op soveel maniere bygedra: in musiek (Boeremusiek, vastrap), die uitvoerende kunste, beeldende kunste en veral in letterkunde—sommige van die mees aangrypende werke in Suid-Afrikaanse is in Afrikaans geskryf.

Dink aan Jan Smuts, staatsman en denker. Dink aan Dr Christiaan Barnard, wat die wêreld se eerste hartoorplanting uitgevoer het. Afrikaanse mense wat wêreldklas bydraes gelewer het.

Afrikaans is Kosbaar

Afrikaans is ’n geharde, kosbare taal. Dit het gegroei, aangepas en oorleef. Afrikaans groei en ontwikkel nog steeds. Mag dit vir nog ’n honderd jaar blom en leef—met die stemme van geslagte, die ritme van die veld, die lag in kombuise, en die musiek van ’n mense wat dit hulle eie noem.

How tough do you have to be in business in 2025?

It’s tempting to look back and think toughness was more obvious in decades gone by. Consider the wild-eyed “mad men” of the advertising world in the 60s and 70s—chain-smoking, half-drunk, making million-rand pitches with nothing but a Sharpie and swagger. Their world revolved around long lunches, late nights, and loud opinions.

And they had their watering holes. In Johannesburg, it might’ve been the Elizabeth Hotel or the Federal Hotel, places where deals were sealed between whiskies and secrets shared over steak and cigars. PR men of the era knew where to find the right journalist and how to get the right story placed—with a generous tab and just the right amount of flattery.

Toughness, back then, often came with bravado and bravura. It was loud. It was fast. It was fuelled by ego and adrenaline.

And it wasn’t just the ad men. The CEOs of the big South African conglomerates in the 70s and 80s—mining, finance, manufacturing—were known for their no-nonsense style. Harold Geneen of ITT, globally, was famously feared and respected. He was the prototype of the tough, results-driven executive who expected performance and didn’t tolerate excuses.

But here we are, decades later. The bars are quieter now. The noise has shifted from smoky lounges to digital platforms. And we ask: what does toughness in business really look like today?

Quiet, Strategic, and Steady: The New Face of Tough

In 2025, toughness in business is no longer about bluster and intimidation. It’s about resilience, adaptability, and emotional intelligence in a volatile world.

Today’s business environment is one of rapid change—technology, global markets, climate issues, rising costs. The game is different. And so is the type of toughness it demands.

1. Navigating Uncertainty Without Losing Your Cool

Markets are unpredictable. Clients change their minds. Supply chains falter. The tough businessperson of today doesn’t panic. They plan. They remain flexible but focused. They don’t chase every trend—they follow strategy, not fads.

2. Making the Hard Calls—Calmly and Clearly

It’s tough to say no. Tough to cut a product that’s underperforming. Tough to raise prices when your customers are already squeezed. But this is where true toughness lives: in the willingness to make decisions that serve the bigger picture, even when they’re uncomfortable.

3. Developing Emotional Resilience

You can’t lead a team—or a business—if your emotions swing wildly with every setback. Toughness today means having the ability to manage pressure without losing perspective. It’s less about bottling things up, and more about knowing how to process stress and still show up ready to lead.

4. Being Fair Without Being Weak

Let’s be clear: business still involves people. Always has. Always will. The myth that you have to be ruthless to succeed is just that—a myth. The toughest businesspeople today are those who can stay fair, humane, and consistent. You don’t have to be “touchy-feely”—you just need to be decent. That kind of behaviour builds trust and loyalty, which is tough to earn and easy to lose.

Discipline Is the New Drama

Forget the smoky bars and dramatic late-night calls. The real toughness today is quieter. It’s the person who keeps going when others burn out. Who adapts when the model shifts. Who stays the course without falling for every shortcut or hype wave.

The new tough isn’t about overpowering others—it’s about persuading them to be their best. That’s the edge.

The other day, I needed something small done—just the buttons on my shirt sleeves taken in. Not a big job, but not something you can get done at a mall tailor kiosk anymore. So I went looking, and I found a seamstress (or “sewist” as they prefer these days) tucked away in a side street studio.

She did the job in under an hour—perfectly. I went shopping, came back, and it was done. We got to chatting. She’s been in the industry for 20 years, used to work in mainstream clothing production, and now prefers working independently. Less stress, more control, and a steady trickle of clients who need just that little something done right.

That’s when it hit me: this is one of those tiny niche markets. Quiet, often overlooked, but incredibly valuable—and resilient.

Then I thought of a few more. Like scented surf wax. Yes, it’s a real thing, and has had a loyal following for years. Or the home baker I once met who made Hertzoggies—those jam and coconut tarts that are almost impossible to find unless you know someone’s auntie still makes them. Her regulars would drive across the city for a batch.

These are the kinds of businesses that don’t try to be everything to everyone. They serve a very specific customer—and they serve them well.

So what niche opportunities are hidden around your neighborhood? What could you start, or support, that’s a little off the beaten path?

Here are a few tiny niche markets thriving in and around Cape Town:

1. Eco-Conscious Innovations

• Biodegradable Surf Wax: For surfers who care about the oceans they ride.

• Ocean Plastic Upcycling: From jewelry to keychains, creators are turning beach trash into treasure.

2. Indigenous Crafts & Materials

• Ostrich Eggshell Jewelry: Delicate, detailed pieces rooted in tradition.

• Xhosa Beadwork: Modern accessories that carry generations of culture.

3. Hyper-Local Food & Drink

• Heirloom Seed Nurseries: For urban gardeners chasing rare indigenous varieties.

• Biltong-Inspired Flavors: Think biltong ice cream or chocolate. It exists, and it’s oddly addictive.

4. Sustainable Fashion

• Leather from Invasive Trees: Ethical accessories made from Port Jackson, a problematic invasive species.

• Upcycled Clothing: Tailored, repurposed garments with story and style.

5. Home & Lifestyle

• Furniture from Shipwreck Wood: One-of-a-kind tables and shelves with maritime soul.

• Candles That Smell Like the Cape: “Fynbos Field” or “Table Mountain Mist” in a jar.

6. Pet-Centric Creations

• Vegan Pet Treats: For plant-based households with furry family members.

• Recycled Leashes & Collars: Made from climbing ropes or seatbelts.

7. Music & Memory

• Vinyl Record Shops: Curated collections of South African jazz, rock, and resistance-era music.

These niches are small—but mighty. They often align with a founder’s passion or cultural connection, and they serve loyal customers who really care about what they’re buying.

If you’re looking to start something of your own, keep your eyes open for these “small but special” markets. You might already have the skill—or the interest. And remember: always do your homework, check your figures, and speak to professionals if you’re serious about turning an idea into income.

But for now? Let these examples spark some inspiration.

A banner caught my eye yesterday—something about a pop-up thrifting event at a local school. I’m not sure if it ran both Saturday and Sunday… but it was definitely happening on Saturday. No frills, no massive marketing budget—just a simple, mobile setup that’s becoming increasingly familiar.

We’ve all seen the rise of charity clothing stores—useful, sure, but often limited in scope. Shelves packed haphazardly, little curation, hit-or-miss quality. Now compare that with a well-curated pop-up thrift outlet—carefully selected pieces, slightly higher quality than your typical donation drop. It’s thrifting with taste.

And we all know why it’s happening. Have you tried buying new clothes lately? Even fast fashion from China—once the budget-friendly fallback—is now hellishly expensive.

Enter thrift culture—Cape Town especially is riding the wave. Pop-up thrift shops are multiplying, driven by a blend of necessity, sustainability, and good old-fashioned style. Events like The Street Store—a rent-free, open-air clothing pop-up for the needy—have spread globally, with over 1,100 events so far. Local versions are springing up left and right… some altruistic, others entrepreneurial. Either way, it’s catching on.

Here’s where it gets interesting: thrift retail is a business opportunity hiding in plain sight.

Think about it. If you’re out of work—or looking to start something on the side—this might be worth your time. But first, think like a businessperson. What are your two biggest costs? Rental and staffing. If you can slash rental—say, by using a mobile stall, market, or pop-up space—and do most of the work yourself… you’re already ahead.

Next comes stock, markup, and the golden numbers: sales forecasts, gross margins, and ultimately, cash. Not profit on paper—actual cash. Free cash flow. That’s the real goal. Big companies know it. When they have cash, they expand—or they return it to shareholders. When they don’t… they go begging on the markets.

So it’s cost, cost, cost—and cash, cash, cash.

Then it comes to sales and marketing. You need to be where the hungry buyers are. Not browsers. Not tourists. Hungry buyers. People who need—and want—what you’ve got.

If you’re thinking of jumping in, do your homework. Speak to people running pop-up thrift stores. Ask questions. Talk to a small business advisor, an accountant, a lawyer—whoever knows their stuff.

This isn’t advice. I’m not advising. I’m just reporting—on a growing shift that’s reshaping how we shop, how we hustle… and how we thrives.