Noir C'est Noir

I've never really warmed to the idea of the Little Black Dress.

In fact, one of the titles I considered for this blog before "Dressopotamia" was, "LBD? BFD."

For me, black is what you wear when you don't want people to notice what you're wearing.

That's why I've never understood its popularity — nay, near-hegemony — among fashionistas.

Don't they want to stand out? Have they learned nothing from flowers and peacocks?

It's just weird to have a uniform in an industry devoted to sartorial expression.

But I can make an exception to my "colors! I must have colors!" rule for Noir C'est Noir. (See also: Va Va Vinyl.) It manages to liven up basic black with bizarre cutouts that act as a goofy print.

And if you read Dressopotamia, you probably already know how deeply goofy I am.

The cut is quite simple, which works out well for me because Noir C'est Noir is actually just a tad too small and a more ambitious silhouette could have led to tears.

The emphasis settles on the Matisse-y cutouts, which is where it ought to.

Fun story: when I was doing my first study abroad stint in Paris, my host brother took one look at my wardrobe and announced that I was in the throes of "une crise existentielle."

I didn't follow. He explained that by wearing bright colors, I was announcing to the world, "j'existe! j'existe!" (My philosophy background consists of an afternoon reading Sophie's World, but I always thought existential crises were more about the why than the what, n'est-ce pas?)

I told him it was so that cars wouldn't hit me. To be honest, I do think that announcing one's existence is one function of clothing.

Mais j'existe aussi en noir.

All photos by Claire Loeb!