Film Director | Ipeleng Mvumvu

In a world of fashion films that often focus more on pretty visuals than story, Ipeleng Mvumvu does things differently. She puts people at the center of her work. Threads of a Dream isn’t just a feast for the eyes—it’s a journey into identity, resilience, and chasing creative dreams no matter the odds. With careful direction, honest storytelling, and real respect for the people she films, Ipeleng turns the fashion film into something deeply human and inspiring. In this conversation, she opens up about her process, her influences, and her vision for stories that can reach anyone, anywhere.

By Khaya Mnisi

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Khaya: So, what have you been working on currently? What have you been busy with after the release of the film?

Ipeleng: So we want to curate a night where we have all the images we took while we were filming, of models, because we had a photographer called Thekiso Mokhele, who was an amazing, amazing photographer on our set. While I was working with other models, he was doing beautiful stills photography for the production—not necessarily like BTS, but actual model work with the models. When we saw them after the shoot, we were like, oh yeah, we have to do an exhibition with these. He’s also an incredible AI artist, and we wanted him to do an AI manipulation to them, but we ended up realizing the images are just beautiful the way that they are. So we want to have a night where we are just doing a beautiful exhibition of the images, and then having mannequins all over the space with Tsepiso’s clothing. And then we’ll end the evening with a screening.

Photograph by Thekiso Mokhele

Khaya: Yeah, so where’s the venue? Like? Is it in a gallery, or some other place?

Ipeleng: So Tsepiso owns a studio called Evolve. That’s where he stores his clothing and all of that stuff. The space is amazing, and we want to transform it into an exhibition space for the evening.

Khaya: Okay, so, yeah, let’s begin with the interview. So what do you want to talk about?

Ipeleng: I think, like I mentioned last time, as a filmmaker, I just want to tell stories about things that matter to me, things that I resonate with. For a very, very long time, fashion has been a big part of my life. Since I was a girl, I’ve always been very picky when it came to the clothes I wore. My mom would pick out something for me, and if it didn’t speak to my identity, I’d refuse to wear it, because I felt like it categorized me into someone else. That was a big part of my character.

Also, I grew up in a very artistic household. My dad is really big on his own personal style. He dresses like himself, curates original pieces of clothing that he likes, gets fabrics and makes stuff. He works in the arts, but also in corporate, and he’s that guy in corporate who’s always dressed up. A lot of it is rooted in African style—he wears African fabrics, textures. That’s just been him my entire life. My mother isn’t very much of an African dresser, but she’s stylish and knows how to coordinate things together.

Khaya: I wanted to ask you, was filmmaking something you studied for, or is it a self-taught skill?

Ipeleng: I went to school for it. In high school, my subjects were history, music, and drama and like, my entire life has been entangled with self-expression through art, even in primary school, I was in the school band. I played the flute, I was a vocalist. From VHS times when I was in preschool, I used to perform at community theatres. I didn’t know what we were doing at the time; it was just cool and fun. In high school, it became more intentional—I knew music and storytelling were big parts of who I am. So obviously high schools don’t really teach film, so I studied drama, which helped me understand performance and how to work with actors. But I always knew I didn’t want to be an actor; I wanted to be a stage director or playwright.

As I approached matric, I realized that film offers a larger scale for self-expression—more abstract and metaphorical. After high school I studied at Tshwane University of Technology; and they really prep you as a filmmaker. From the first month, we were already holding cameras and shooting multiple projects. You do everything from first year: sound design, editing, writing, directing—everything that helps bring a film to life. By the time you leave, you have a real sense of being a filmmaker. You also get field experience early, like working at a television station or production company before graduating.

Khaya: Did film school prepare you for the business side of things, like sharing your work and reaching audiences, or was it mostly about the craft itself?

Ipeleng: They teach marketing, but it’s outdated. Textbooks don’t know about TikTok or Instagram. Back then, marketing meant posters in newspapers or trailers on TV. Now, it should be easier with cheaper tools to reach authentic audiences. But Hollywood does it best—they include audiences in the process before the film is even complete.

For example, Quentin Tarantino debuts a film: audiences hear casting news, location info, little snippets—they feel included in the journey. By the time the release date comes, there’s excitement, conversation, anticipation. People are invested before they even see the movie. In South Africa, it’s completely different. Films often just drop—you might hear it’s playing tomorrow in a few cinemas, with almost no buildup. There’s no narrative for audiences to follow, no anticipation. You can’t blame them for not showing up. There’s a disconnect between creators and viewers, and that’s a big challenge for filmmakers here.

Khaya: So, with Threads of a Dream, you actually did this marketing approach?

Ipeleng: Yes! And honestly, it didn’t cost much—just Wi-Fi . We documented the set, shared small behind-the-scenes experiences, and communicated the story we wanted to tell through visuals and snippets of our process. I scheduled short videos in advance, edited them myself, chose the style, the fonts, the music—all very deliberate. Even though our account only has around 300 followers, some of the posts reached 8,000 to 10,000 views.

If we had a budget, the reach could have been incredible. What also helped was sharing in creative WhatsApp groups in Cape Town and Johannesburg. People would comment, engage, and share it further. It felt like building a little community around the project even before the film was finished. And that’s exactly what I mean about including audiences—they became part of the journey, not just spectators when the film finally dropped.

Ipeleng: Many South African filmmakers are doing incredible work—hard-hitting, meaningful stories—but most of their films live primarily at film festivals. They’re independent projects, made with huge effort and passion, and they often generate buzz internationally. But once the festival run ends, there’s rarely a platform for the films back home.

Filmmakers try to shop their work to Netflix, Showmax, Amazon, but big streaming companies aren’t always interested in these kinds of stories. There’s a mismatch between what distributors want and what independent filmmakers are creating.

That said, new platforms like YouTube, Instagram, or personal websites give filmmakers more freedom to reach audiences—but discovery is still a challenge. There’s a real need for more marketing and support so these voices can be heard locally as well as globally.

Khaya: You mentioned that you’d love to direct an anthology series. Why does that format speak to you, and what kinds of stories or emotions would you like to explore?

Ipeleng: South Africa is a telenovela nation—we live in drama. But I want to bring a new voice, something different. I haven’t really seen many South African or African anthologies, so I look to HBO for inspiration. Shows like Room 104 and High Maintenance tell slice-of-life stories. In Room 104, it’s just a hotel room, and each guest’s story is completely different—one episode might be grief and abstraction, the next could be love, comedy, or even horror.

Anthologies let you explore unconventional people, backgrounds, and experiences. You can test genres, experiment with actors, and tell emotionally resonant stories. Imagine someone from rural Limpopo staying in a hotel for the first time—you can explore that moment intimately. It doesn’t have to follow the traditional three-act structure. It’s about life, small details, human experiences.

It also allows you to grow as a creator, to try new things without being boxed in. I love that. Jordan Peele, for example, started with comedy sketches and experimented with every genre—horror, westerns, comedy, even ghetto stories. That freedom to explore different genres, techniques, and performances while telling authentic stories is exactly what I want for a South African-centered anthology.

Khaya: What makes a good director?

Ipeleng: A good director respects the filmmaking process and knows they don’t know everything. They have a vision, but they bring in collaborators—DOPs, art directors, actors—and value their input. Collaboration is key.

For example, I just shot a one-take short film. I wrote the script, but my art director added ideas to make the space feel lived-in—messy, real, beautiful. That’s what makes a brilliant director: knowing what you want, but listening and adapting.

Filmmaking is deeply emotional. You ask someone to cry on cue, then snap out of it, sometimes repeatedly. Long hours, sacrifices, missed family moments—it’s intense. A director needs to understand and honor all of that.

Khaya: Any challenges you faced when directing Threads of a Dream?

Ipeleng: No, I would be lying if I said so. We prepped for months. I met Tsepiso in February this year, but the idea of a fashion film had been mine for a long time—probably since last year. I had been reaching out to a lot of designers, just waiting for someone whose story resonated with me.

When I met Tsepiso, I wasn’t even trying to work with him. Someone gave me his number to ask if he knew any designers I could collaborate with, because I was hitting dead ends. Tsepiso replied that he was interested and sent me his Instagram. When I saw his clothes, I was blown away. I knew immediately I wanted to meet him.

We spent a lot of time together, just talking and getting to know each other. My biggest mission was to capture his essence, not just show beautiful clothes. I wanted the film to feel like him. So we spent a lot of time together, and then I immediately started bringing my camera guy to his studio, had coffee talks, and drove around Cape Town scouting locations—beaches, mountains, architecture, nature—figuring out where these garments would live on screen.

Khaya: Were the any films that you drew inspiration from, or was it all original ideas?

Ipeleng: I researched a lot—just watching as many fashion films as I could online. Most of them, at least 95%, don’t have a story. They’re just beautiful garments in gorgeous locations, with cool models and concepts. Often they’re one to three minutes long, with drone shots and fabrics moving in the wind. But none told the story of the person behind the collection, or what inspired it. I wanted to do that.

When I heard Tsepiso’s story, I knew this was the right direction. We went through his entire body of work and picked the best pieces for the camera. His studio has so many clothes, it’s crazy.

A lot of the film reflects his beginnings—like tying dukes on his head, which drew attention on the street and eventually led him to source fabrics and teach others. That gold fabric you see repeatedly in the film is an homage to that early stage of his journey. Each directing choice was intentional, reflecting his story so that audiences connect with him in subtle ways.

The one film that truly inspired me was The Color of Pomegranates. I don’t even understand the language, so I read the subtitles, but it influenced the poses for the models. That film is a masterpiece, and it elevated our own work—some poses and sequences were direct homages, while the aesthetic informed the mood and rhythm.

Khaya: Will the film be on television, or is it more of a festival project?

Ipeleng: No, not yet—only because of the rules of a film festival. Film festivals want to have it circulate first in their world, and then after that, you can distribute it to streaming platforms and stuff like that.

So I do want to place it more on an international platform first, then locally. Because, you know, when you’re listening to that opening praise poetry by Tsepiso, and you’re from Japan, and you have no idea what he’s saying, it still sounds beautiful—almost psychedelic—because of how you feel. As South Africans, we speak in a very rhythmic cadence, and we often don’t realize it until someone else mirrors it back to us. There’s beauty in the mystery of what he’s saying. I don’t ever want to add subtitles on the film.

With the backdrop of the mountains, the fabric of Lesotho, the African patterns, the movement, and the choices—the film just deserves an international spectator who will think, I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve never heard this language or the sound.

Ipeleng: So another thing that Hollywood does so well is keeping the film in circulation forever. There are films that premiered in 2001 but are still in circulation—they’re still being licensed to streaming platforms or shown in cinemas now and again. I saw a Halloween animation yesterday that premiered 13 years ago, and it’s coming back to cinemas this year for Halloween.

It’s really the responsibility of the filmmaker to decide: do you want to keep your film alive? Threads of a Dream is one of those films. If in the next six months there are still opportunities for screenings, I will take them. It’s also a conscious decision I’m making in my career. I need to keep my work alive—you don’t just show it once and move on.

Khaya: Besides the stunning visuals, one of the things that really grabbed my attention was the soundtrack. The music really sets the tone and brings the story to life—who chose the song for the film?

Ipeleng: So Tsepiso is a very big fan of Morena Leraba, who’s an amazing musician from Lesotho, who’s actually globally renowned—he’s always performing in Europe, doing amazing stuff. And again, he has no subtitles, and he’s singing in Lesotho, and there are massive crowds all over the world just gravitating to his artistry.

He represents the shepherd. You’ll see how he dresses is the same way Tsepiso was dressed in the beginning of the film, with the blanket, the shepherd pants, the shepherd’s hat, and the stick to guide the animals. It’s a big sense of his identity. And Tsepiso likes him a lot, and then he sent me his songs.

We immediately liked “Merithloana.” I mean, I was playing it in my car every day—everywhere I went, just playing it over and over. And I was like, This is the song. Then we called Morena, pitched the whole film to him, explained why we needed that song, and yeah—I think Tsepiso and I collectively were like, This is the song. He was like, “Sure, let’s go.”

Khaya: Are there particular methods or visual choices you lean on to tell your stories?

Ipeleng: I don’t know honestly—funny enough, I don’t think it’s a “style,” right? Because if I can say my style right now, my style is just being honest. It’s more from an emotional perspective; I just want to tell honest stories. So far, I think—well, I don’t know if it’s a me thing or my DOP—but I work with the same guy, and we love moving shots. All our shots need to kind of breathe. We always bring a slider or something, and even if I don’t do it in-camera, when I get to post, I’m always telling my editors, “Can we please do a move, like a tracking shot, a moving shot?” because I feel like the camera just needs to breathe as well. It’s not always static on a tripod.

And then I realized—this is a little hilarious—the other day that in all of my films so far, I’m obsessed with shots showing feet walking on camera. I don’t know why that is, I just noticed it keeps appearing. Even in another script I wrote, the opening shot is feet walking across the camera. I also did it in Threads of a Dream.

So, I guess my style is really about emotional honesty, letting the camera breathe, exploring unconventional perspectives, and noticing details that are easy to overlook but that speak volumes about the person or the environment.

Khaya: So, what are you working on next after Threads of a Dream?

Ipeleng: I’m dropping another film first, beginning of November. It’s like a music video. And funny enough, I have feet in there as well. I’m like, “What the hell?” Because on a personal capacity, I’m not a big fan of feet. I’m always like, keep those things away from me. So I don’t know, I don’t know why I keep filming feet, but I think my style right now, like the stuff that I’m writing, a lot of it is about dissecting and interrogating life.

It’s kind of what I want to do at a very, very deep level. I know I just shot The Moon, but I have another script called Even the Moon, and it’s a political satire that kind of speaks to the times we’re in. We’re living in a world where corruption has become so much a part of our DNA that we are not angry enough as South Africans—we don’t question it enough. Something terrible happens, a headline comes out about a heinous crime that the government has done to the people of South Africa.

In my film, the crime is that the government has stolen the moon from us. They’re stealing everything right now. They don’t even care what they’re taking. They’re just taking from us. And it’s upsetting!

Khaya: Before we close, is there anything you want to add?

Ipeleng: Yeah, I think, overall, Threads of a Dream isn’t just another art-house film—it means something very personal to me. The story of how I decided to tell it comes from Tsepiso’s journey, which is filled with pain and obstacles he had to overcome to get to where he is today. For me, even when you’re telling painful stories about African people or African experiences, you have to approach that pain with respect.

You know how the Western world often portrays us as impoverished, hungry, struggling—that idea of “Africa as suffering”? For me, even when I talk about hardship, misfortune, or sadness, I always try to bring humanity to it and respect the people whose stories I’m telling.

For example, Tsepiso’s story begins with him starting completely alone. He had to convince his family to believe in his vision—and they didn’t. It went deeper than that: they literally cut him off financially. They said, “If you’re going to do fashion or film, you’re out of the family. You need to be a doctor, a lawyer, or something we approve of.” So he was navigating this enormous challenge completely on his own.

But the story doesn’t stop there. His family eventually healed, and their connection was restored. That’s the space I wanted to honor—acknowledging the real tension and difficulty without disrespecting the renewed relationship between mother and son. It was about showing the journey, not demonizing anyone or focusing on conflict for drama’s sake.

The essence of the story is that people didn’t understand him, he didn’t have resources or funding, and he had to travel from Bloemfontein to Johannesburg on a simple ticket to chase his dream. That was enough to communicate the message without villainizing anyone. Most importantly, it was about Tsepiso’s spirit—his kindness, gratitude, warmth, and joy. He wasn’t in control of how people reacted to his dream, but he persevered, fought, and did everything he could to bring his vision to life. That perseverance, that dedication, is what I wanted to capture—not the obstacles themselves.

So for me, as a filmmaker, there’s a huge responsibility in how you represent people. It’s not just your story—it’s theirs too. How you tell it is incredibly important, because that story lives forever. What I want to share with audiences is inspiration and beauty, not just struggle. I want the film to leave them moved, uplifted, and with a sense of hope.

Threads of a Dream is about preserving the essence of who Tsepiso is, showing the beauty of perseverance, and celebrating a human spirit that refuses to be broken. That’s what made this film so personal—and why I approached it with care, respect, and love.