I wear a lot of black. A lot. I am the Woman in Black. My family jokes about it, my oldest son notices it, my mom buys me clothes in bright colors to deter it, and when my husband is brave enough to buy me clothes on his own, he knows: go black or I’ll take it back.
Now I could have a few acceptable excuses for this habit. But I don’t. Fashionistas in Manhattan wear black because it is chic. For teens, it is their way of expressing their teenage angst and rebellion. In my life, it is just another example of me keeping it simple in a house filled with chaos as I raise my boys.
When I roll out of bed and have to think about getting all 3 kids dressed and fed before running out the door by 7:40 a.m., I don’t want to think about what looks good on me. I don’t want to stand in front of my closet and debate which shirt looks best with which pants. I want to grab, dress, and run. Plus, I am not a risk taker and nothing is safer than basic black. May I also add that it has the benefit of disguising any remaining baby belly? Yes, it is practical, but it makes me happy.
With that said, I recently bought a vibrant blue dress. I’m liking the color. It just may be the new black.