I’m going to say the unpopular thing first because someone has to. I think a batwing top is a resale trap dressed up as a wardrobe piece, the kind of thing that looks incredible in a listing photo taken under good light with the model’s arms raised like she’s mid cheer, and then arrives and just sort of hangs there when your arms are down doing normal arm things, which is most of the day. My other position, held at the exact same time, is that I own four of them and wear two on a weekly rotation, so clearly I don’t fully believe my own complaint, and that’s the actual disagreement here, it’s not me against anyone else, it’s me against myself every time I open the drawer.
The thing nobody tells you on day one is what happens around week three. The drape that sold you in the mirror is still there, mostly, but the neckline starts doing something specific and slightly tragic, it widens just enough to slide off one shoulder every time you reach for a coffee cup, and depending on the top that’s either the whole point or a genuine wardrobe malfunction waiting for a work meeting. I found out the difference the hard way at a dinner where I spent forty minutes doing a subtle one shoulder hitch like I was constantly adjusting a seatbelt.
Washing is where you actually learn what you bought. The good ones keep their shape at the cuff, the bad ones get this soft stretched out droop right at the underarm seam after two or three washes, cold water, gentle cycle, all the rules followed, and it still happens, which tells you the fault was never the washing.
You Might Also Like
I’ve got one top I’ve washed maybe fifteen times now and the neckline has barely moved, and I’ve got another that went slack after wash two and now looks like it’s permanently shrugging. Same care, wildly different outcomes, which is the whole gamble of this category and I don’t think enough people say that part out loud.
Here’s the honestly risky pick in this bunch, the one with the dramatic dolman sleeve that basically doubles your arm width when you lift it. On the right person leaning against a doorway it’s a whole look. On the wrong day, reaching for something on a high shelf, it’s a small sail and everyone in a three foot radius knows it. I love it and I will not pretend it’s for everyone.
So where I’ve landed, still arguing with myself weekly, is that a batwing top earns its price the moment you stop noticing the sleeve at all, when it just moves with you instead of announcing itself. Until then it’s a coin flip and I keep flipping it anyway.
