My upstairs neighbor came down for wine in January, looked at the black tweed skirt drying flat on my radiator, and said, “isn’t that just a school uniform for adults.” I didn’t invite her back for a while. But she wasn’t entirely wrong, and I’ve been thinking about it since, because half the appeal of this skirt is that it looks a little strict, a little punished, in a way that somehow reads as expensive instead of institutional. The other reading, the one my neighbor landed on, is that we’ve all collectively agreed to pay real money to dress like we’re being sent to the headmaster’s office. Both things are true. I bought it anyway.
The one I own cost more than I want to admit in this sentence, so I’ll admit it in the next one: $178, on a Tuesday, for a skirt, when I already own four skirts that are technically fine.
I stood in the fitting room doing the math out loud like a crazy person, dividing the price by how many times I’d realistically wear it, and the number I landed on made it sound reasonable, which is exactly the kind of math you do when you’ve already decided. It has been worth every stupid dollar. I’ve worn it to two funerals, one deposition (not mine, a friend’s, I was moral support), and a Wednesday for no reason at all, and it has never once looked like it was trying too hard or not hard enough.
Texture matters more than I expected going in. Mine has a bit of a nub to it, not smooth, not scratchy, somewhere in the middle, and it’s heavy in a way that makes it hang instead of cling, which after years of thin polyester skirts riding up on the train felt like being handed a small miracle. Nothing has snagged yet, though I did catch it on a chair edge at a work dinner and spent the rest of the night terrified I’d find a pull the size of a quarter when I got home. I didn’t. I checked three times.
You Might Also Like
Tops are where it gets interesting.
A crisp white button down worked exactly as well as everyone promises it will, almost annoyingly so. A black turtleneck worked even better and made the whole thing look intentional instead of costume-y. What did not work: a lace cami I tried under a blazer, which turned the whole outfit into something that looked like it was auditioning for a period drama, and a chunky cream sweater that made me look like I was hiding from the skirt entirely. Sheer black tights, always. Opaque felt too heavy on heavy, bare legs felt wrong on principle.
I’ll say the honest thing. This isn’t for everyone’s closet, and if your daily uniform leans casual, this will sit in the back looking judgmental and unworn. For the rest of us, the ones willing to look slightly like we’re headed somewhere important even when we’re not, it’s worth the number I won’t repeat again.
