Black

In New Zealand, "All Blacks" does not just refer to our national rugby team, it also describes the contents of most women’s wardrobes.

There are few women here who could go an entire week without their favourite black outfits, or if told to wear an outfit with no black at all, would not be able to leave the house.

I do like black – used judiciously it is always a chic shade to wear. However, visitors to the country must wonder what national calamity we are in eternal mourning for.


I ran into a friend in the city last week, and mentioned how I had just been tooted at by two truck drivers (a sure sign of impending middle-age when such attention is considered secretly thrilling rather than outrageously rude).

"It was probably because you were standing in the road," said the friend rather uncharitably, I thought.
"No I bloody well wasn't. It was entirely complimentary. And given I was bundled up in winter layers, I think it was because I wasn't wearing black. Wearing colour, I stood out like a beacon. A really hot beacon," I added haughtily.
"I mean, look," I continued, waving a hand towards the street. "A sea of black. They’ll never get tooted at by truck-drivers, because they just blend into the tarmac. They look like part of the road."

For special occasions, some brave ladies fight the All Black tendency, and choose a pretty frock in a becoming shade – then fail at the last hurdle, and plonk on a pair of black shoes and handbag, under the misguided belief that "Black goes with everything." It doesn’t, and it devalues the look of both the outfit and its wearer. In other words, it looks cheap.

Eeeeeeeee!
If, for a special occasion, one decides to wear a black dress, don’t spend any time choosing it. Just grab the first one you see. In black, no-one will notice you anyway.

Forget the rising tide of P addiction – we need to wean women off their black fashion safety blankets. The Dark Ages are over.