If memory serves, and at my age it often doesn’t, I was about 24 years old when I made the Very Serious Life Decision to wear Mostly Black.
I use the qualifier “Mostly” for these reasons:
1. Black may be my color of choice, but as you can see from the picture below, my wardrobe actually incorporates black, white, and all the 50 shades of gray in between. (See what I did there? I made you think about sex.)
2. Sometimes I throw caution into the wind and try out an “accent” color. Subtle pieces, nothing crazy. A pink shell tank here. A pair of espresso brown ankle boots there. Tumultuous dalliances outside of my comfort zone that don’t last long. Goodwill ends up with most of these items within six months.
3. Pajamas don’t count. They’re not real clothes. I’ll wear any old clearance shit to bed, no matter what color. Who cares? Nobody sees that shit except for my husband, my son, and everybody in car line.
Anyway…. never mind all that. The important thing is Mostly Black.
So why did I make the decision in early 2000 to purge my closet of the flannel and chambray button-downs of the early 1990’s, the pastel sweater sets of the late 1990’s, and the peasant skirts and off-the-shoulder tops that were costume de rigueur at the time? Why did I turn my life into the Adventure in Greyscale it is today?
Here we go.
1. Black is slimming. Because I was SUPER fat back then. Like, RIDICULOUSLY fat.
I mean, I was a good 50 pounds lighter than I am now. And I could wear pencil skirts and button-down tops and other items of fitted clothing that now explode at the seams if I dare to even look at them. And I could actually shop at The Limited without every gay employee in the entire store rolling their eyes and stage whispering “oh girl” to anyone standing nearby.
NO, BUT REALLY GUYS. I WAS SO FAT. Just look:
2. Everything matches. I don’t know about you guys, but I could not be lazier when it comes to accessorizing. Who has the time to match their lipstick to their fingernails to their purse to their pumps? Not me, that’s who – I have a fuck-load of a television to watch. But if all of your clothes are black, and all of your shoes are black, and all of your bags are black, and all of your jewelry is black or metallic, you’re good to go no matter what shit you slap on in ten seconds.
3. You don’t have to worry about your makeup. Smoky eye? That goes with black. Neutral lid? That goes with black. Some glittery, glammed-out, sparkles-and-unicorn-cum Ziggy Stardust concoction you came up with at 3 in the morning after drinking an entire bottle of Courvoisier? Girl, you better believe that goes with black.
4. I was in mourning. After my son Edward VII involved himself in an unsavory affair with an Irish actress named Nellie Clifden, my husband Prince Albert was forced to travel to Cambridge to confront him about his misdeeds. The two of them took a long walk in the rain to discuss Edward’s philandering, and upon his return my dear Albert fell ill and died. I was absolutely sick with grief, and I wore widow’s weeds every day from his death in 1861 to my own in 1901. And if you haven’t figured out that I’m talking about Queen Victoria by now you seriously need to SCHOOL YO’SELF.
5. If all of your underwear and pants are black, you never have to worry about period stains. You’re welcome.
So that’s that. I’ve worn Mostly Black for close to fifteen years now, earning me delightful nicknames such as “Wednesday Addams,” “June Carter Cash,” and “Where’s the Funeral?” This same wardrobe has also prompted my grandmother to ask my mother approximately 2397234987 times when I am going to start “wearing a little color.” I’m sorry, Grandma. I love you dearly. But the answer is probably never. Seriously, did you read the thing about the period stains? And the slimming thing? And the thing about the makeup?
And speaking of Queen Victoria, watch this right now and laugh (language is NSFW.)
from That Mitchell and Webb Look (BBC2)