JANE MACDOUGALL
‘I’ve defaulted to black clothing for the same reasons we all do’
Whatever happened to pre tty ? Thumbing through a stack of old women’s magazines, I became nostalgic for a coral gingham sundress my mom used to wear. I also developed a hankering for a duchesse satin ball gown in emerald green. Perhaps in deepest violet. And maybe a full skirt in turquoise piqué cotton? Colour! When did we get away from colour? Surely you’ve noticed how bleak and androgynous clothing has become?
Black pants, black tops, black jackets, black messenger bags: men and women could all dress out of each other’s closets. I’m no exception: my closet houses the working wardrobe of an undertaker. It’s a Stygian abyss of inky apparel, one black item varying from the next at considerable cost but in imperceptible detail. Dresses, suits and coats: black upon black upon black. I’ve defaulted to black for the same reasons we all do: because it’s almost impossible not to. But it wasn’t always so. In fact, as late as 1920s, no one wore black without reason.
For centuries, other than for mourning purposes, black clothing didn’t register on the fashion scale. The tradition of wearing black for funerals started in Roman times with mourners observing a death by the wearing of a toga pulla, which was a dark version of an everyday toga. In our grandmother’s day, black was the exclusive domain of the bereaved. “Widow’s weeds” was slang for the head-to-toe black that the wife of the dearly departed wore, sometimes for years. In fact, a widow who didn’t wear black for the appropriate length of time courted the ire of her particular community. Frisky widows who rushed the process were considered disrespectful at best; promiscuous at worst. Given the expense of a mourning wardrobe, everyday attire was often dyed to meet the strictures. In some cultures — especially in Europe and South America — widows still wear black for the balance of their lives after burying a husband. Black wasn’t considered chic, or slimming or fashionable. It signified a heavy heart. So when did black transition to become fashion’s colour of choice?
The lore has it that black became the baseline of fashion in 1926 with the publication of a single illustration. Vogue magazine ran a picture of a simple black dress by Coco Chanel, referring to it as Chanel’s “Ford,” in reference to the uni-coloured Model T. Chanel’s design was a simple frock that could be dressed up or down, as the occasion warranted. It qualified as a great departure from the fashion of the day for several reasons, but its colour was the biggest news. Before Chanel put her stamp of approval on the idea of black garments for everyday use, black was deemed inappropriate as a choice for mere fashion, indicating as it did, death, disasters or sanctity. It’s said that the Depression helped entrench black in fashion’s vernacular as the colour conferred a certain economy upon the garment’s lifespan and upkeep. Hollywood had a hand in the equation, too; the technical restrictions within Technicolor found it easier to work around a black dress than something more colourful.
So, we have Chanel to thank for the great equalizing influence of the colour black, which of course isn’t a colour at all. Colour is something we react to emotionally. I remember with perfect clarity the vision of my mom descending the stairs in a column of sapphire blue peau de soie. I remember being awestruck. I had never seen anything like it in my short life. They were going to a gala ball where I was sure she would be crowned queen. Had she been wearing the identical dress in black, I bet I wouldn’t have looked up from my cartoons. It was that bolt of colour — a slice of the summer sky — that imprinted itself on my memory.
Exactly once in my life I personally experienced the benefit of colour theory. I was making a presentation at a ball for B.C.’s Children’s Hospital. At the last minute, I went hog wild and bought a duplicate of a floor length dress I’d already bought in black. This version was ruby red. Even though that was almost a decade ago, every once in a while, someone will still remark on that red dress. Seth Rogen could have worn that red dress and sparked the same reaction. People remember red.
Rifle through a rack of clothing at any vintage store: pastels, brights, primary colours! Novel prints and clever patterns! And what about chiffon? Chiffon is moonlight captured as textile. It moves like zephyrs disturbing the surface of a placid lake. When you stop dancing in a chiffon dress, it dances on by itself for a few moments. My daughter and I went to see the new live-action version of Cinderella. When Cinderella danced at the ball with the Prince in her extraordinary blue ball gown, we both looked over at each other, goony-eyed.
Maybe you’re happy with your all-black wardrobe. I know, I know: it makes getting dressed quicker and easier. I admit I love the Emma Peel/Laura Croft effect that black can create … and fewer trips to the dry cleaner is truly appreciated. But a robin’s egg blue shantung sheath, or a crepe de chine magenta dinner dress would be a welcome addition to the wardrobe. And to the general landscape, as well.
Plus, it would be a nice change from showing up at another all-black clad party and asking, “Who died?”
Seth Rogen could have worn that red dress and sparked the same reaction