THE NEW BLACK

Laura Brown cheats on the little black dress

Portrait of Tammy Strobel
Laura Brown cheats on the little black dress
My Reading Room

“If you’re going to cheat on the little black dress, you’d better be doing it in Balenciaga.” Cassie Anderson, BAZAAR US’ Associate Fashion Market Editor, is telling me this solemnly while I contemplate a board of evening looks for the party season. We are reviewing a procession of silky ruched white dresses worn by a resplendently dewy array of hot young things—your Sukis, your Zoës, your Bellas. The look? Sexy virgin. But I have to confess something. I am a cheater. I cheat on the LBD often, and I cheat brazenly. I know, I know—she’s been there for me over the years, but the thrill’s just gone. And guess what? I don’t even care who sees me. I used to be all for the little black dress, though my version had an artier bent. (I spent years in a backless Margiela and a vintage halter-neck number possibly scraped from the floor of Studio 54). And, well, I couldn’t afford Chanel, which was, and is, everything the LBD can be. 

But, oh, how I admired the black-dress-wearing ladies— the precision they had. The dress seemed to confer a regal posture but with a splash of sauce in every step. I guess, though, subliminally I never felt lady enough. It appears I’m becoming less of a lady each year. See, my favourite LBDs of late have not been LBDs at all. And they’re both by Dior (sue me). Observe Game of Thrones’ Emilia Clarke in a sharp black blazer minidress (girl don’t need no dragons to look hot) and Dakota Johnson in a precise off-the-shoulder V-neck top with trousers. Yes, they’re black, and my gosh, they’re sexy; they’re just a little more modern. 

For spring, there is a world of off beat looks for evening to catch my wandering eye—I’m like a bower- bird faced with shiny things. Some of them literally, like Marc Jacobs’s crystal-covered dresses (one worn so gloriously by Kerry Washington at the Emmys). Lanvin’s heady sequins. Chanel’s silver tops bedecked with little black bows. (I mean, like, I’d wear that to the airport.) I would cheat on the LBD with Valentino’s African-inspired beaded minidresses and splendid loose gowns. I would so cheat with the incredible patterned shirts and skirts from Dries Van Noten, complete with flagrant pink silk wedges. I would cheat with Gucci’s metallic green suit, though I might leave the ladybug tie at home (poor ladybug— make a wish). Now, I’d be dressed to cheat in Céline’s lacy but structured shift dresses, Givenchy’s negligées, and Calvin Klein’s slouchy satin slips. Or I could just fast-forward five years into my post-cheat relationship and wear pyjamas. “The New Gucci” (this is what everyone calls it, capitals denoting importance included) brought pyjamas out of the bedroom and into the cocktail party.

As did Dolce&Gabbana, with its garden of floral delights, and Alexander Wang for the street. In fact, the spring shows were populated by swanning silk-covered lovelies—both ladies and gents—who not only had a firm grip on louche glamour but, hopefully, on their seats. But you know what, Cassie has a point. Those dreamy ivory Balenciagas are pretty perfect— built to float into a summer soirée on a cloud of chic. And who doesn’t want to look like a sexy virgin, anyway? But… who am I kidding?

And who doesn’t want to look like a sexy virgin, anyway?