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A black refusenik gets the last laughDate: 2015-10-07; view: 1059. Lynn Hirschberg for New York Times (February 24, 2008)
When I turned 10, my family moved from a solidly middle-class suburb of Los Angeles, where time seemed to have stopped in a kind of sleepy Norman Rockwell fashion, to Brentwood, which is nestled in the much posher, much faster west side of the city. There had been a divorce and nearly instant remarriages, and my mother, who is relentless and clever about forward motion, realized that where we were living was not where we should be living. This was a shock for many reasons, most of which had to do with the girls in my new sixth-grade class. I had come from the land of saddle shoes, bobby socks and plaid jumpers, and suddenly I was confronted with a world of snobby 11-year-old sophisticates in nylons, heels and miniature versions of their mothers' '70s sheaths. I was still a child — I wanted to go trick-or-treating on Halloween, they wanted to play truth or dare with the boys; I was proud of my Girl Scout merit badges, they wanted to wear their green uniforms to entice older boys. But most of all, and most shocking to me, was that they all wore black. Not every day, but for special occasions — class photo, assembly, sixth-grade graduation — and I had never known anyone of any age who wore black for anything other than a funeral.
Maybe it was nerd stubbornness or maybe it was the fact that my mother would not allow it, but I never wore black. During the '70s, at least in Los Angeles, black was an unusual choice — the brightness of the light clashed with the dark heaviness of, say, a black velvet party dress. While black did signal advanced status (or age), it was also, to me, a sign of weakness. It became, in my mind, the color of capitulation — if you wore black, you immediately blended in; you joined the ranks of the mean girl oppressors. Twenty-five years later, this was proven to me, when, bowing to peer pressure, I departed from my usual palette of deep colors and wore a black wool sleeveless dress with a black sweater and Manolo slingbacks to Tom Ford's first fashion show for Yves Saint Laurent. It could not have been a more conventional outfit. A woman who had always been dismissive of me, who was a taller, older version of the girls in my grade school, surveyed my attire and clucked, "I see you've finally grown up."
I did not think of this as a compliment. In all that proper, depressing black, I had lost my identity. I may have been suddenly acceptable to the fashionista, but I was no longer distinctive or, really, myself. If clothes are, as I believe, an indicator of mood and character, then wearing black is, at best, a kind of useful camouflage. Black conceals, black blends, black protects, but it almost never stands out. "I would never put a girl in black on the red carpet," the stylist Rachel Zoe told me. "Black doesn't photograph well, and the girl, no matter how beautiful, will not stand out."
Whether it's their fascination with the red carpet or simply a reaction to the darkness of the times in which we live (or, maybe, they were just sick of black), nearly every designer featured color in their spring collections. Florals were ubiquitous – from blown-up cabbage roses at Balenciaga to Impressionist watercolors at Marni. And nearly every evening gown was awash in layers of jewel tones, from gold at Hermes to deep purple at Lanvin. The latter's spectacular collection, which many felt was the show of the season, particularly embraced the pop of color. If the same emerald green Lanvin one-shoulder gown had been in black, the effect would have been muted. Instead, the dress is electric and utterly mesmerizing.
There is something about that force that I find both compelling and addictive. Especially during the gray winter months, the seeping sadness of cold weather can be combated only by wearing color. The designer Pauline Trigere famously said, "If you wake up and you feel blue, wear red," and I have found this edict useful especially during the month of February. Being from L.A., my body does not like the East Coast freeze. I am — and I am only kind of, sort of joking — a big fan of global warming. When it's windy and dreary, I can understand hiding out in a black cocoon.
In Hollywood, where it is almost always warm, there is no excuse for wearing black, and yet it is everyone's preference. Perhaps this is because the idea of the new or the different is terrifying: most Hollywood executives prefer to embrace what they see in their rearview mirror — a sequel rather than something original, a proven star rather than an unknown talent.
But just as Hillary Clinton began adding touches of color to her black ensembles as her poll numbers declined before New Hampshire, making her look instantly younger and more optimistic, Hollywood may also need a jolt of color. When box office numbers sink, why not start with blue or red or green?
1. двухцветные кожаные туфли 2. гольфы 3. свитер в клетку 4. черное бархатное платье 5. черное шерстяное платье без рукавов 6. босоножки 7. традиционная одежда 8. наряд 9. рисунок, изображающий цветы 10. изумрудного цвета платье с лифом на одно плечо 11. абсолютно чарующее 12. ансамбль
WATCHING 4 a. Watch the video ‘How to Wear the Colored Jegging'.
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