Black is the new black


Michelle Pfeiffer in Catwoman

Black. It is my all time favourite colour. You can never go wrong with it. It is the coolest colour out. Moreover I don’t stand out, and this I like. I can be safe, secretive and surreptitious along with the rest of the crowd which moves along slowly like a trail of ants also dressed in black. It is as if we have all sprung up from underground and have come alive. How we like to come together all in a mass all in black – a long black procession to a distant funeral.

However wearing black is definitely not our funeral. We can radiate and celebrate in black. There is no disputing the fact that black is trendy, not to mention tactile. It can make men drool as I watch the pools of their eyes deepen as I am dressed in skin tight black clothes almost like sexy Michelle Pfeiffer in Catwoman. I simply couldn’t get away with it in any other colour. I do find black to be a general people magnet not just for the boys and my little black book only. People seem to gravitate towards me. It is as though we have something powerful in common. I feel people won’t talk badly about me behind my back dressed in black. I also feel I wouldn’t leave other women green with envy particularly in a streaming long white wedding dress.

Black. Even just for myself I love to get dressed up in black. I often feel like a perfect ten wearing black. It covers up all my bad features. Indeed the majority of my clothes are black. I have at least fifteen black skirts and dresses, a dozen or so black tops and mountains of opaque black tights not to mention countless smart black socks, shoes and boots so I can hide away yet play on a miserable grey day and never ever go against the tide.

How I love to glide along the street dressed top to bottom in black still searching for more black items. Some shops mainly sell black clothes. How I love seeing black clothes from back to back all on the racks. As I buy a stack of them I feel on track again. How I love black’s elegance yet starkness.

Black, it often suits my mood particularly in my long black hooded coat and suit so I can pander to the hard corporate world which I never really feel a part of. It even makes me feel old grand and worldly especially with my long traditional black umbrella on a cold rainy day.

Black. No other colour does the same. I once bought a horrific bright pink coat and hated the glare of attention I got on the street. I felt myself sickening in the heaviness of its material and no longer felt steady. I literally had a pink fit for not wearing black. It was dangerous for my mental and even physical health. I would rather spend all my wealth on soothing black items. It is like a sound investment even when it comes down to my last black vest.

Black. There is so much I can do with black. I can even dare to go all black from my black mascara down to my shiny black shoes not to mention little black dress and seductive black bra. 

Black. It also makes me feel as light as a kite. No argument – black is slimming. I feel like a clumsy cow when I wear any other pale colour especially cow like bright white or pale milky pink.

Overall black is so nice and trimming and neat. I go down the street with a special beat. I feel accepted and treated well by everyone and feel I am not the only one. I literally am at one with everyone. We all love being safe in black as it governs our shops and our lives and our universe. There is a sense of finality. Black is at all cross sections of the community. Black is totally universal. There is equality once and for all. We are almost like a school of exotic black fish moving around in unison.

All in all black keeps me winning. It certainly keeps me grinning as I keep going down the street getting lots of wolf whistles. Now all I need is a big black Rolls Royce and the cosmos will be complete.

Isabella FelsIsabella Fels is a Melbourne poet and writer. 

Topic tags: Isabella Fels, black, fashion, popular culture, psychology, style, personal development, mental illness



submit a comment

Existing comments

Priests and religious take note; get back into your black and stand by for the resultant wolf whistles..

grebo | 08 October 2014  

Being a shoe person, I decided to count the number of black shoes I possess. I have three pairs of black shoes. Not counting the black sandshoes I keep in the laundry as my yard shoes. I also have a pair of strappy summer sandals which have a bit of black but I didn't count those. Catwoman? Purr-fectly capable of inducing catalepsy.

Pam | 08 October 2014  

Verily, Isabella must live in Melbourne.

FED SQUARE | 08 October 2014  

Dear Isabella, What would we do without you, and your precious metaphorical nuance you give us who love the Black. You inspire us, you make us think about topics we may never think about in our busy lives. Please, keep writing...write for your life and for others. You are a very special person, and an asset for this world. Thank You

Maya Jafari | 09 October 2014  

One of your best articles yet, Isabella. Really interesting visual images, and intriguing perspectives. Well done. ??

Name | 17 October 2014  

Similar Articles

The enemy in my kitchen

  • Brian Matthews
  • 10 October 2014

I have always prided myself on my capacity to do some heavy labouring in my spare time, but a serious back injury put a stop to most of that. Michael doesn't mind though. I point at the pizza oven and its need for removal. 'Well, mate,' he says, 'it's dressed in black and it's totally masked and unidentifiable. It wouldn't be allowed into Parliament would it?'


Keeping company with misery

  • Kristy Chambers
  • 08 October 2014

I attempted to manage my mental health with good intentions, stern self-talk, guilt and cigarettes. Finally, exasperated and desperate, I started taking an anti-depressant medication, and when it actually worked, I was stunned to feel happy. But like any new relationship, the honeymoon period is brilliant... and temporary.



Subscribe for more stories like this.

Free sign-up