Just Call Me Yoko


Question (to me): “Do you own or wear anything other than black?”

Answer: Yes. In my closet you’ll find different shades of black, dark and light greys and even a white shirt or two! 

No, I’m not gothic, depressed or in mourning. I’m not a restaurant hostess, roadie, dominatrix or Yoko Ono. When it comes to fashion, black is just my color.

Like, ok, I get it. It’s summer and I’m the only one holding my iced, green tea latte outside in long, black pants, a black, three-quarter length shirt and black ballet flats. But, no, I’m not hot (I mean, it’s the South, obviously I’m dying like everyone else) and no, I wouldn’t be cooler wearing a neon Zumba shirt (seriously…I don’t get that whole thing).

I’m not trying to make some kind of badass statement or make people wonder if I’m some kind of chic, Parisian import – I’m just comfortable. I love the simplicity. I love the complexity. It’s classic yet always edgy.

It’s not that I don’t like color; I love color. Black, in all its contrast, allows you to show off color the way it’s meant to be seen, as a statement. Give me a yellow scarf, hot pink lips, smokey green eyes, electric purple pumps – it’s all in the creative presentation folks.

Or, maybe it’s just as Yohji Yamamoto puts it: “Black is modest and arrogant at the same time. Black is lazy and easy – but mysterious. But above all, black says this: “I don’t bother you – don’t bother me”.”








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