CARRYN-ANN NEL | From glam to mugshots: The rise and fall of Peet and Mel Viljoen

It was the glitz and the glam that pulled us in. The Louis Vuitton shopping bags stacked like décor. The Gucci stamps onto everything that could hold a logo, sunglasses, sweaters, self-worth.

The Ferraris lounging in the driveway. And the “surprised” look at the popped bottle of champagne.

Nothing was done quiet or subtly when it came to Peet and Mel Viljoen. Everything was done loud and in 4K. Like my mom would say: Afshow.

Peet and Mel made no secret that they loved money. “Money followed me ever since I was a child,” Peet Viljoen once said in an interview. “I will never lack money, because making money is in my blood.”

And for a while, it looked like he was right.

Peet and Mel Viljoen styled themselves as South Africa’s “It couple.” And we watched.

So when their mugshots circulated online recently, I nearly spat out my Ricoffy. The journalist in me immediately went, “fake news,” and proceeded to cross-check like my reputation depended on it. It was in fact true. And then (and I won’t lie) a small, deeply unbothered part of my spirit said: Hallelujah Finally.

Let me explain.

I cannot stand Peet and Mel Viljoen. To me, they signal a louder, flashier corner of modern life where everything revolves around attention, status, and the careful curation of an image. But it’s more than just image. It’s the racism. It’s the gaslighting. It’s the lies. And, if the allegations are to be believed, the trail of behaviour that is not just excessive, but deeply dishonest.

Now, I am South African, and I enjoy a good stukkie skinner and a Huisgenoot, so I have been following their story for a while now. I first properly clocked them on The Real Housewives of Pretoria and I tuned in because who doesn’t love premium Afrikaans drama? I was seated.

Together, the Viljoens turned into the kind of villains that had tannies hooked to their screens - not despite who they were, but entirely because of it.

They sold a version of Afrikaans Beverly Hills: diamonds as gifts, diamonds on nails (they gifted Mel’s fellow housewives nail sets with actual diamonds in it), diamonds for absolutely no reason at all.

Mel was the main attraction: blonde, blue eyed, and beautiful. She was always centred in the promo shots, always contoured, always camera-ready. Whether you love or hate her, she understood the assignment, be unforgettable.

And then there was Peet, the honorary seventh housewife, who arrived with a storyline of his own.

A disbarred lawyer and a character by any measure, he’s been linked to a staggering number of corruption charges (reportedly around 200). To be clear, he was not found guilty but it certainly added a certain…plot tension.

And then there was Tammy Taylor Nails. Mel, became the South African poster child for the brand.

But behind the scenes, though, things were messy: legal spats with the original Tammy Taylor in the US, legal spats with South African about the franchises. Rumours about forging signatures.

They were never far from the headlines. In fact, Carte Blanche ran an exposé in 2022 investigating allegations of franchise and business misconduct tied to them, claims the Viljoens consistently and vehemently denied.

But the one thing they could never deny was their racism - that, at least, was undeniable. The final nail in the coffin, however, came with their own words: Peet was quoted saying, “There is no doubt in my mind that I am a racist and hate South African black people.”

And as drama always followed them, and what I presumed when things got heated, they suddenly left the country. With Einstein visas according to them. (Einstein visas are for people with exceptional skills.)

The performances didn’t end there - it just changed locations. Palm trees instead of Pretoria. The same designer sunglasses, just under different lighting.

Until, allegedly, it all started to unravel again. And then came the arrests. Not for diamonds. Not for Ferraris. No, the charges were almost mundane: toilet paper, bananas… and, in a flourish worthy of the Viljoens, a bottle of bubbly.

And that’s the thing about excess built on shaky ground - it doesn’t collapse in a glamorous way. It unravels in the small, almost absurd details.

Which brings me back to my Ricoffy moment.

Because yes, I am gloating. And I know what the Bible says about not rejoicing when your enemy falls. I know. But I also know this: I will not pretend to mourn the downfall of people who, allegedly, built their image on illusion, their brand on excess, and their reputation on behaviour that so many found troubling.

Call it petty. Call it un-Christian. But I’m not auditioning to be the bigger person.
I’ll be right here. Watching. Sipping my Ricoffy.

And saying, with my full chest:
Hallelujah!