Why I Only Wear Black — Even in Summer

You might think that an older person like me might want to brighten up my wardrobe to be more visible in the world, to have my happy personality reflected in what I wear. You might think that as summer turns sultry, I’d reach for pastels or whites to reflect the heat.

That’s where you’d be wrong.

I’ve been dressing in black since I was a teenager. I admit, at first it was a rebellion against the shockingly bright clothing my mom bought me, from a blindingly yellow corduroy dress (my friends called me Traffic Light) to the neon pink bridesmaid dress I was forced to wear to my sister’s wedding. This dress was as decidedly wrong for me as I knew the groom was for my beloved sister.

In college, I entered the dark side even more, finally buying all my own clothing, and most of it was, you guessed it, black, as oppositional to the bright colors I had worn. Black made me feel sophisticated, important for an 18-year-old. I was mysterious, I was strange in the best of ways. I was finally my own person.

“Isn’t it boring? Don’t you want a color that really sings?” some friends asked. To me, black is absolutely operatic in its voice. “Don’t you want to experiment with color?” other people nudged. I do experiment, but with black, because black has shades of meaning, from the beatnik noirs of my late teens to the punk obsession with the dark side when I moved to Manhattan.

This extends right up to what I wear now, which are usually simply structured pieces with something of a little twist, like a black satin pocket on a black sweater, or the wide fluid legs of black velvet jeans. My blacks can be jet propelled or popped with a line of white. I’m too busy to fuss with colors that grab onto sauce or wine like magnets. I’m too interested in life to have to worry about what goes with what and what doesn’t.

Black always does, and I’ve found nothing more satisfying than mixing up the shades of the newest noir with the old classics I already own.

Wearing all black is a statement that can make me stand out even more than go-signal green. I refused to wear white to my wedding and instead wore midnight blue, which is really a softer name for black. “How will people know you’re the bride?” my aghast mother-in-law asked, and I happily pointed out if they didn’t know maybe they shouldn’t have been invited.

My pregnancy wardrobe? I bought out all the black Eileen Fisher clothes, which were cut larger than I was. A jumper, a jacket, a few shirts. As a proud mama, I bought some black clothing for our son, too, because what I wanted for him was to start strong, distinct and creative.