I spent about four years convinced a black maxi skirt was a costume, something for people who owned a capsule wardrobe and a Pinterest board and possibly a farmhouse. I wore one to a leaving do in 2019, felt like I was in a school play about a widow, and didn’t touch one again until last winter. So consider this the reversal apology, formally addressed to the black maxi skirt: I was wrong, and I’m sorry it took me half a decade.
What changed my mind is realising the good ones aren’t about drama, they’re about weight. A black maxi skirt that moves properly, that has some actual heft to the fabric, does something a dress can’t, it lets you dress the top half for the day you’re actually having and still look like you tried. Thin, flimsy ones cling and ride up when you sit down on the tube, and you spend the whole journey tugging at it like it’s misbehaving.
The proper ones sit, they swing when you walk, and they don’t need constant management.
Styling wise, I’ve become the person who puts a plain fitted top and a blazer with one, then completely ruins the smart effect by wearing trainers, and it works better than heels ever did. It’s also a genuinely good going out piece if you swap the trainers for boots and add something with a bit of shine on top, because the length does the elegant work so your top half can be as loud as you like. For office days, a jumper tucked in and a coat over it looks like you got dressed with intention rather than at speed, even if, like me, you did the second one.
Occasion wise it’s oddly the most flexible thing I own now. Dinner, a wedding where you don’t want to commit to a full dress, a work thing that runs straight into drinks after. One skirt, three completely different evenings, and nobody clocks it’s the same one because you’ve changed everything else around it. My colleague Priya saw me in mine twice in one week and said “is that your character now” which, honestly, fair.
Top Picks
