Subject Matter 8: On Wearing Black
On Wearing Black
Sarah Perry’s recent essay, Tendrils of Messes in our Brains, explores the human perception of mess. Mess emerges from the juxtaposition of disparate components, each of which imply their own individual sense of orderedness. A knotty mass of string, knitting needles, and papers, for example, appears messy because the items afford their own ordered forms—a spool, neat arrangement, and stack. Sarah observes the various ways in which we work to mask mess and all its embarrassing detail. Clothing, she proposes, is necessary to mask our internal, complex selves (and their messy inconsistencies!) from interacting with the socially ordered reality of the outside world:
“Clothing in general, and costumes of particular social roles (business suits, priest collars) are like alcoves for our bodies. We take them with us and can interact with others safely within social orders, without getting distracted by the intimate order of the body.”
The juxtaposition between these orders would no doubt be quite messy. Human social spheres are striated spaces, demarcated with delicate restrictions; the suggestiveness of embodied sexuality has a tendency to bend and split these striations, not to speak of the pre-human affair of bodily fluids. The uniforms of certain professions reinforce the particular order of their corresponding social spaces. By wearing the appropriate clothing, we signal to others our participation in the set of customs associated with a social space, and mask parts of ourselves that would conflict with those customs. However, in masking parts of reality with clothes,
“we need not become less ourselves; what is masked forms the background against which the form of what is not masked is clear and salient.”
The dynamic between the masked and not-masked finds an analogue in Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows. Tanizaki sees dark spaces not as masks that cover, but as deep fields out of which things that might be gaudy in full light gleam softly, like the melty reflection of a smooth lacquer bowl, or the soft shimmer of gold fabric on a kimono. Shadow allows that which sits in the void to be seen and appreciated, though partially obscured. Sarah illustrates that “a field of pure black or pure white has maximum order”, but where white can gleam, reflect, and be dirtied, black is the absolute masking color. It blots out all light and allows only that which sits within it to be seen.
To Tanizaki, the presence of shadow is a “natural” aesthetic, whereas its banishment through electric lighting is a “man-made” convention. Although true black is rarely seen in nature, its possibility is fundamental in the notional absence of light. Perhaps this is why even messy collections of black items—crumpled dark fabric, or masses of black soot, coal, and charred wood littering a fireplace—do not come across as true messes. Although they do imply some human-imposed order, their blackness brings them closer to a natural phenomena. Sarah also shows that even when complex orders conflict, a monochrome palette, like that of a black and white photograph, establishes a furthermore ordered dominion.
What bearing do these revelations have on clothes? The most well known cultural trope related to black clothing is the “little black dress.” Although it brings to mind words like “elegant” and “sexy,” alluding to the level of messy suggestiveness permissible in its spaces of sanctioned wear, the primary connotation of the little black dress is ubiquity. The little black dress may come in many forms and designs, but despite the variance of these forms, each woman’s version is still simply referred to as her little black dress. The black dress is a universal mask acknowledged as such. The function of black here is revealed in the occasions where this mask is expected to be worn. The black dress and its male counterpart, the black suit or tuxedo, come out for the dinner event, the gala, the club night, the dance; social occasions where the self is to be displayed. We are expected to own these black masks, not to obscure as much as possible, but to adequately showcase the self. Framed and filtered by black clothing, personality and cutaneous beauty become the center of attention.
Yohji Yamamoto, a designer well known for his flowing, voluminous black garments, says:
"Black is modest and arrogant at the same time… Black is lazy and easy — but mysterious. It means that many things go together, yet it takes different aspects in many fabrics. You need black to have a silhouette. Black can swallow light, or make things look sharp. But above all black says this: 'I don't bother you — don't bother me!"'
Yamamoto’s clothing emphasizes black’s masking quality. Here we find again that black itself can be complex. Blackness is not always monolithic; more often than not, it is layered and patterned. The layered fabrics and folds of Yamamoto’s apparel seems to acknowledge internal messiness, but also prevent that mess from being perceived.
“I make clothing like armor. My clothing protects you from unwelcome eyes.”
Men and women garbed all in black are sometimes colloquially described as “intimidating.” Certainly, anyone who has worn such an outfit knows that enveloping oneself in black removes visual distractions, warding off piercing eyes. Yet silhouettes and shapes emerge from these black compositions, and that which we expose purposefully can shine brighter from deep within.
Mysterious but effortless, black clothing contains both the possibility of invisibility and contrast. Black is the robe of intention. It clads the wearer in an impenetrable masking field, allowing for a clearer expression of that which is set against it. In blackness, complex arrangements resolve into one another; like a film which has been sharply color graded, shadows and highlights melt together. One might even say that an outfit of black effortlessly gestures to indicate what is contained. It says: look at me and know my complexity, my unresolved self, my mess.
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Until next time.