LBD

There is a dress hanging in my closet as I write this- black, sombre, controlled - that immediately springs to mind when I think of a ‘little black dress’. But it’s not really for going out, for date nights or parties. It’s for conferences. I pair it with the same black blazer, the same black shoes, black tights and a careful bun every time I wear it. Only my hands and face are visible, distinct from this swath of black. There is a sort of uniform at conferences, unspoken, but no less potent than if it were written down and acknowledged, and black is a big part of it. Most of the academic gatherings I have attended are a sea of black, punctuated by grey. To be fair, I have only participated in art history conferences, so perhaps meetings of other scholars are a veritable rainbow of colour - I do not know.

I’ve wondered about why we all dress in this uniform of black since my very first conference, more than a decade ago (shriek). I even wrote a paper about it. I think the rigid but silent rules of dress for these occasions are shaped by the tightrope that academic women and queer folks have to navigate. We’re wearing black to appear serious, sophisticated, equal to the challenge of the work we set out to do - and fighting against the deeply ingrained assumption that we are not up to the task. Rigid, matte black clothing (for of course, nothing should be shiny or reflective) also does a good job of erasing any hint of sexuality - the black blazer particularly obscures the body, blending with the black clothing beneath it, so that in the dimly lit rooms of a conference talk or panel, we are reduced to heads and hands, floating in an ocean of black. It reminds me very much of 17th-century Netherlandish paintings of guild members, each in their respectable black doublet and ruff, hands and faces leaping out as the only colourful elements in an otherwise murky, dark canvas. And, in a manner of speaking, we are doing something very similar to those Dutch men: following a strict dress code, one that draws attention to our faces, our heads, and shrouds all the other parts of us.

This is painting a very dark picture -ha ha - of academic life for women and queer people, and I admit, sometimes it can feel brutal. But there is light at the end of the tunnel - quite literally. At some conferences, every once in a while, if you are lucky, you will spot her: an eminence grise, literally the ‘grey eminence’ with beautiful snowy white hair, massive framed glasses and a colourful, bespoke necklace or silk scarf over the elegant grey of her draped top and trousers. She points us to a saving grace in academia, distinct from other industries - getting old is good. She is confident, stable, tenured, a research chair and the head of a department, secure in her position and her wisdom. She has nothing to prove - her list of publications is a mile long, her classes are legendary, her scholarship formidable, and she has survived forty years of academic life. She is a presence. That is, I think, why she can doff the black and settle into the gentler tones and shades of grey - she no longer needs the respectability of black: people respect her as a matter of course.

I will admit a flaw in this argument, dear reader, and that is summer. I have an upcoming conference in June, and I am struggling mightily to imagine what I am going to find to wear for that event. Most academic conferences take place during the academic school year, when everyone is on campus, so black is appropriate, because it’s fall or winter. This is my first warm-weather conference, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. Surely head-to-toe black is not a good choice; no one wants thick black tights and a black wool blazer in the dead of summer. One day, if I can survive long enough to reach the status of an eminence grise, I’ll have the luxury of soft, gentle grey - or perhaps I’ll be so well-established that I won’t care one bit about my clothes, and I’ll wear whatever pleases me. In the meantime, you’ll find me digging in my closet, frustrated, and longing for the security that only the little black dress and blazer can give.

Jennifer