I dream of being a little egg in an incubator, safe, thoughtless and warm. The closest I can get is being in the hot summer sun, clothed in all black.
Wearing breezy white linen outfits is cool if you’re a retired mom picking tomatoes in the garden, and I hope to God that one day I will be. For now, though, my wardrobe is probably 95 percent black. It’s been like this for years, and I’ve taken it with me from un-air-conditioned summers in Massachusetts and New York City to perpetually hot and humid South Florida to the constant sunshine of L.A. This is partially because I’m a big tiddy goth GF and black looks best on me, but also because it just feels the best, too.
It eschews all the conventional wisdom, but I think the conventional wisdom is wrong. Black absorbs heat, while white reflects it, yada yada. Whatever helps you sleep at night. There’s actually evidence that none of that is even true. The real problem is that white gets dirty. You have to be fucking loaded to afford to maintain a white wardrobe. If you can’t do that, you’re wearing, what, blue? Like a fucking dork? Grow up.
Black is simply the most practical color to wear in a season dictated by heat and outdoor activities. Black cloaks all evidence of your actions. Nobody has to know you spilled ketchup all down your shirt. Nobody has to know you’re free bleeding on your period. That’s your business, and it’s shortsighted to wear a color that might reveal anything about your day. Black hides all sins.
Perhaps the greatest strength of the color black is its ability to hide your sweat. You’re gonna sweat no matter what color you wear. It’s better to sweat a little extra and have it be invisible than to sweat slightly less but have wet marks on your clothes for everyone to see. Plus, sweating is good for you. Some might even say it tastes good. It’s one of your body’s natural detox systems. Fuck a celery juice! Drink a Four Loko while wearing all black in the sun and you’ll purge toxins just the same.
Above all, though, black just looks fucking cool. It requires absolutely no thought to put together an all-black outfit. It’s the less-psychotic equivalent of a Steve Jobs or Elizabeth Holmes black turtleneck obsession. In my heart, I know I mostly wear black because I don’t have the fashion sense to wear anything else. I’d rather look questionably warm, unapproachable and basic than have to justify the aesthetic decision to wear a color. Black itself isn’t even a color, but the absence of any. What does a color mean? What mood does it convey? Who would I be if I went out in a pair of light-wash jean shorts and a baby pink top?
I don’t know her. I don’t know what personalities could be cast upon that version of me. Instead, I prefer to wear a color where whatever thoughts and meanings cast toward me are absorbed into a blank void. My energy instead is focused on harnessing the heat of the sun, so I can get ready to hatch.
Magdalene Taylor
Magdalene Taylor is a staff writer at MEL. She covers internet culture, sex and the online adult industry. She lives in Brooklyn but is from God's Country, Western Massachusetts.
