I Only Look Good in Blazers
I Only Look Good in Blazers
A lesson in trusting your gut (and a lot of photos of myself).
Back in college, when I would proclaim myself “getting thick” when the scale tipped 105 pounds, I received two formative insights about my style.
The first, from a rockhead boy I wanted desperately to love me. A boy who once, as I sat on my twin bed post-coitus, looked at my hips and declared “You know, sitting down, you could trick somebody into thinking you were thick.” Tells you everything you need to know about my self esteem at the time. Point being: his compliments came few and far between.
Anyway. I'm sure I was in some combo of a sweater, button-up, and low rise bootcut jeans—all from Express, thank you very much—he looked at me and said "You look good in the preppy/work clothes look."
The second came from my roommate. In 2023, she is a god tier style maven who dresses me under the table and leads the local masses to personal development via image consulting. Spring break, 2006, I’d just pulled what I can best describe as a tuxedo tube top from a display in a South Beach Wet Seal. With a frown, she remarked: "Even when you dress like a hoe, you want to wear work clothes."
I confess, Dear Reader: I want the path of least resistance to looking put together. For me, that means throwing on (some version of) a blazer.
My friends chalk this up to my lack of patience with style as a concept, lack of imagination, and—perhaps—taking myself too seriously. As I gained my long-coveted “grown woman weight” in my 30s, clothes became a pain in the ass. My t-shirts and jeans didn't quite work with my body's new softness. "Throwing on a blazer" left me feeling more frumpy than effortlessly pulled together. Leading me to...
The McJimsey-Kitchener-Kibbe Styleverse.
Part cult. Part “ahhh, so that’s why I always look goofy in frilly things” epiphanies that make online shopping more efficient. Part another identifier for people to obsess over. I won’t explain it all here. It will get on your nerves and/or change your life depending on how quickly you get in and out. Google at your own risk.
These style systems encourage you to follow your body's inherent features rather than creating the illusion of top and bottom symmetry (i.e. the fruit shape system). I looked matronly and stumpy in the time-honored “tits + hips = hourglass” recommendations. An approach that considered my height and long limbs intrigued me.
The journey (and a journey, it's been) has resulted in experimenting with a few style archetypes with one game-changing conclusion: I am frame dominant. Even as I get softer, my best looks highlight my body's angularity. Sharp shoulders. My perceived tallness (I'm a leggy 5'5). This calls for straight silhouettes and structured fabrics that hold their shape opposed to softer, free floating ones that drape over my curves.
As in—say it with me, guys—BLAZERS.
To the degree that I considered clothes, I believed "it isn't what you wear, but how you wear it." I walk tall. Long strides, erect shoulders, head high, swinging hips. According to my mother—a bowling alley manager turned eugenicist who didn't mind getting knocked up by my tall, smart, curly haired, and very married father—I never had to "try." I could rock a potato sack with enough panache.
But the blazers communicated something for me. Sharpness. Competence. The level of formality I required from strangers interacting with me. You know what 14-year old me wore on Eighth Grade Picture Day? None of the Polo-Tommy Hilfiger-Nautica with Jordans looks at the height of midwestern black teenage fashion in 1998.
Lack of imagination, my ass. I had instincts. What needed to change as I aged were the cut and weight of my fabrics. The flimsy fare of popular fashion, meant to be photographed instead of worn, looks bleh on me. I need straight cut pants. Actual denim—not the blue jeggings passing for jeans on IG models. Ribbed knit and thick cotton tops. Office wear. Like Rockhead College Boy said way back when.
And if I’m completely honest? The whole “grown woman curves” thing? Overrated. Like I waited all my Skinny Black Girl life for my bras to cost tuition money and people forgetting I have a face—let alone a brain—at the faintest hint of cleavage.
I don’t feel sexy in overtly feminine, glamorous looks. I feel like I’m trying.
Put me in a suit? Or an oversized men’s button up? I’m in my bag.
So, first of all: I knew it. I liked what I liked for a reason. Feeling confident > pantomiming someone else’s idea of what makes me look good.
Second, and more importantly, personal style is personal. Based on what we value. I like structure, competence, a hint of playfulness. Not trends and novelty. And certainly not high glam. Collapsing work and play wear isn’t a lack of anything—it’s me. Liking what the fuck I like.
Catch me in the aisles of your local Marshall's/TJ Maxx. Checking fabric weight. Considering the benefits of lapels vs. no lapels. Cool vs. warm colors. Trim and tailored or oversized and relaxed.
Welcome to my Middle Aged I Do What I Want era. Starting with embracing a Signature Look.
This is fascinating, lol. I like your pics!
I was puzzled thinking am I having Deja vu then remembered I had the sneak peek of the HEAT that was this post. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥