I've owned a lot of latex. Some pieces I wore once, photographed, and haven't touched since. Some I wore a handful of times before something about them stopped working — the fit, the colour, the way they sat in a particular context. One piece I've worn more times than I can accurately count, across more different situations than I'd have predicted when I ordered it.
It's a black latex pencil skirt. Mid-calf length, high waist, no embellishment. The most unassuming piece I own.
Why this one
I ordered it without much deliberation, which is probably why it works so well. I wasn't trying to make a statement with it. I wanted something I could wear with a plain top and have the latex be part of the outfit rather than the whole of it. That's what it does.
The length is part of it. Mid-calf latex reads differently from a mini or a knee-length piece — it's more formal, more considered, less immediately legible as a particular kind of dressing. People register the surface before they register the silhouette, and by the time they've registered both, the overall impression is of a well-dressed person rather than someone wearing latex.
The fit is the other part. It was made to my measurements, and it fits in the way that bespoke latex fits when it's done correctly — the waist seam sits at my waist, the hip panel lies flat, the hem falls exactly where it should. I don't think about it when I'm wearing it. That's the test.
Where I've worn it
Gallery openings, which is where I first wore it and where it works best — the lighting is good for latex and the context is one where considered dressing is expected. Dinners, both professional and personal. A wedding, as a guest, which I was more uncertain about than I needed to be. A birthday party in someone's flat in Peckham where the lighting was terrible and it still looked fine because black latex is forgiving across lighting conditions in a way that other colours aren't.
I've worn it on the tube, which is its own category of experience. Latex on public transport in London generates less attention than you'd expect. People are looking at their phones.
What makes something wearable across contexts
Looking back at why this piece has lasted where others haven't, a few things stand out. The colour — black is the most versatile latex colour, full stop. The length — mid-calf is formal enough to work in serious contexts and interesting enough to work in casual ones. The simplicity — no cutouts, no hardware, nothing that dates or that requires a specific context to make sense.
And the fit. Always the fit. A piece that fits correctly doesn't require management. You put it on and it works, and then you stop thinking about it and think about other things. That's what makes something wearable across contexts — not that it's invisible, but that it doesn't demand attention from you while you're wearing it.
What I'd order again
The same piece, if I needed to replace it. Possibly in a second colour — I've thought about a deep burgundy, which would work differently but similarly. The silhouette and the length are right. The only variable I'd consider changing is the colour, and I'm not sure I would.
Some pieces you wear until they're gone and then you replace them. This is one of those.
Mayfair Latex — Made in Britain, fully bespoke.