In the immortal words of Yohji Yamamoto: “Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy – but mysterious. But above all black says this: I don’t bother you - don’t bother me.”
Wearing black was passed down to me like a precious heirloom from my parents. My family traditions dictate that we all give no fucks, eat a lot of roasted meats and adopt the classic uniform of black.
I remember testing the boundaries as a child, desperate to be one of the girls, trying to coax my parents into buying me these sickly pink Barratts shoes and a silver Tammy Girl jacket. The rejection was bitter. I recall them both firmly asserting that black patent Doc Martens were the correct choice for school if I was to be a) bad ass b) dry footed and c) not look like a clone of every other child in South Wales. I begrudgingly trusted them, unaware of how obscenely cool they were. And of course I was made fun of. I spent months yearning to fit in only to realise (upon discovering Myspace) that they'd in fact nailed it, and fitting in would be an utter tragedy. So I’ve pretty much dressed to the dark side ever since. They said I'd understand one day, and I did. I’m just an adult Emo now.
Black is like shouting without opening your mouth. It’s modest and confident. Black allows you to look chic in pyjamas while queuing to buy toilet roll and lets you inadvertantly look smart when you're presenting in a client meeting you forgot you had. It’s slimming, ageless, timeless, gender neutral, trend neutral and looks expensive when it isn’t. Black clothes are your best friend, and why complicate things? Life is brutal enough without walking past a window reflection and realising that although pea green worked wonderfully in the Prada AW15 show, you just look like a flaccid steamed mangetout with high hopes. Black won't do this to you. It will never fail you. Here’s my heartfelt guide to wearing, and owning, black. #GOTHSWAG
Lydia Pang is a brand director and art agent. Follow her here.