I’ve always worn a black T-shirt for as far as I can remember. Scroll back through my Instagram account and you’ll probably catch the rogue grey or white, but I’ve always leaned more toward black clothes.
I have to credit my genesis story to the series Californication. Hank Moody was a true inspiration to the budding writer that was yours truly, and so I adopted the fictional character’s wardrobe, as well as the philosophy of a personal uniform.
But then came the next level—the day I decided to wear all black. Every day.
I remember the pivotal moment exactly. I was at an event and I didn’t know anyone. I had a blazer on, which was a tad tight. I wore a button-up over a pair of jeans. Then to top it all off, I had work boots on my feet.
I felt the tightness everywhere. It was a warm venue, so my pits were getting damp. I remember feeling already overwhelmed by the social setting. Then I had to deal with the discomfort of ‘looking cool’. And after all that trouble, I impressed nobody. I also had the worst time of my life.
That was when I learned I had worse problems than my fashion sense. I was socially challenged, and I couldn’t live in the present. And I had a strong suspicion that you could’ve dressed me in Prada and I’d still fumble my way through events.
So ever since then, I vowed to dress as simply as possible, and to only wear all black. It’s been more than a year since that fated day, and here’s what I’ve learned so far.
1. Through restriction comes creativity
I may not have the entire colour palette at my disposal, but I still have fabric and cutting. And I see how much difference one inch makes, or how polyester hangs off your legs differently from corduroy.
Plus, when I compare all my black clothes side by side, I start to notice the different hues of black too.
It’s almost as if restricting myself opens up new doors to self-expression. And I get as many combinations as someone with Skittles for a wardrobe.
Also, I’ve defaulted to a daily uniform—a medium-fitting tee with medium-fitting pants—and through that combination alone, I’m able to create very different fits. Sometimes I wear a cap, a necklace, a hoodie, a jacket.
And just like writing, when you challenge yourself to work with less, you sometimes get much, much more in return.
2. Simplicity bears its joys
You’d think that owning a lot of the same clothes would be a lot more boring, but there are many benefits that make me enjoy this lifestyle.
First is the straightforward laundry. No need to separate my clothes by colour here. The downside is that my favourite black shirt can sometimes turn into a needle that I’d have to find in the haystack that is my unsorted laundry.
Then again, it’s somewhat calming to open my drawer and find stacks of the same t-shirt. I’m looking to do the same with my underwear and socks, but those take a backseat now that I have a daughter.
Does anyone else feel the same way? Or am I the only weirdo here? And speaking of weirdness, here’s another one for you.
3. I like to think I’m part of a secret clique
Once you go all black, you start noticing others who do too. And you keep tabs on them. When they wear black all week, you file them under the list of ‘my people’. You both don’t speak about it, like in Fight Club. Every time they look at you, you imagine them giving you a secret nod. One that’s shared between the society of closet goths.
Or maybe that’s just me.
4. Routine is good
I used to enjoy a routine before my daughter came into my life. Work before the pandemic was filled with routine, full-time at the office and all. Then the pandemic hit, and my routine became more rigid, because what else could you do when you couldn’t leave the house?
These days, I’m lucky to have the same bedtime. And get this: my office schedule rotates. Every. Week. Will I be busy next Wednesday? I don’t know. Do I have time to write? Depends on how much my daughter sleeps. I feel like a gazelle in the savannahs of Africa, in a constant state of reaction the moment I wake up.
But a black wardrobe anchors me somewhat. I know that no matter how hectic life gets, I’d still leave the house wearing all black. And I take comfort in that. Sometimes, in the absence of big wins, you gotta relish the small ones.
Or am I just being weird again?
5. People don’t really care much about you
I know it’s cliche to say this, but they really don’t. I first chose the colour black because I thought it’d help me blend in with the crowd. If I don’t wear anything vibrant, maybe nobody would look at me.
And yes, being fashionably boring has helped me skirt unnoticed along the sidelines—even acquaintances don’t see me sometimes. But one bigger takeaway I’ve gotten from wearing all black is that people are too busy worrying about themselves to spend their time judging you.
And that’s a pretty empowering realisation on my part, especially as a socially awkward turtle. It’s good to know that I can blurt out the wrong name or bump into a waiter and still go incognito as far as the crowd is concerned.
So, has dressing up this way helped me grow my social skills? That’s still a work in progress. But I must say, I’ve never felt more comfortable in any other experiment I’ve tried. That comfort gives me confidence. And I guess confidence ain’t a bad thing to wear either.
Stuart Danker 
I’d love to hear your thoughts!