I Found a Black Top So Chic, Even My 18-Year-Old Daughter Approves

This story was originally published on Substack. For more on fashion, society, and the upper-class zeitgeist, follow Plum Sykes at P.S. by Plum.

The last time I bought a black top that I could wear literally anywhere—and by that, I mean to a dinner, with my jeans, or out riding—was at a Michael Kors sample sale in New York, circa 2005.

It had extra-long, skinny arms, elegant, narrow armholes, a high neck, and was just fitted enough to look good with anything from white capri pants (all I wore during summer in those days) to black satin cocktail trousers.

It embodied all that American sportswear should: the chic of the minimal, a beautifully cut aesthetic, and a cotton fabric with just the tiniest bit of stretch to make the piece comfortable, but not so much that it looked cheap. I think the top was meant to retail for an eye-watering $500, which seemed a lot for what was essentially a very glamorous t-shirt, but I snagged it for about $85 in the sale.

As the top aged and became more worn, less suitable for a drinks party and more suitable for wearing with shorts to the beach, I hunted around for something similar, but never found it.

The Michael Kors tee has ended up in the closet of my 18-year-old daughter, Ursula, and she wears it all the time, looking pulled together and chic. There aren’t many things Ursula wants from my wardrobe, but that Michael Kors piece, a lesson in modernity and simplicity—the things that she values most in her clothes—looks like it’s never coming home.

You can imagine, it’s been a long 20 years trying to replace that top. But, dear reader, the news is that I finally have, and the even bigger news is that when I wore it a few weeks ago, Ursula looked at me and said, “I love your top, mummy.“

This sounds like a minor event, but believe me, when an 18-year-old declares such a thing to their own mother, it is of seismic significance. After all, it means mummy’s caught the zeitgeist, which is not a regular occurrence once you’ve had children.

Now, let me explain how I came about The Best New Top in My Closet: I’d seen on Instagram that the creative director and stylist Tallulah Harlech had launched her own line, Sylva. Her collection consisted of just three pieces: a top, leggings, and a dress, all black.

I loved the madly restrictive concept of a collection that is so edited and curated that the customer has virtually no choice, and in any case, I was interested to know what Tallulah was up to. I’ve run into her a few times recently with her stylist mother, Amanda, known as Lady Harlech at the Cliveden Literary Festival, which is sponsored by Chanel, and have always been struck by her magnetic personality.

I popped her a text a few months ago asking if we could meet up and discuss her clothing line and received, in what I was soon to learn was true Tallulah style, four minutes of detailed voice notes in reply. Below is a sample of this.

As you read, imagine this monologue delivered at a snappy pace in the cut glass tones of a Mitford sister who’s snuck a secret cigarette:

We arranged to meet a few days later for cocktails in one of those discreet private members’ clubs in Mayfair, where you’re not allowed a computer, which is the “in” thing now in London’s chicest venues.

I showed up early, and Tallulah soon bounded in. This woman radiates energy and has a rare beauty that you don’t see too much these days: raven hair, alabaster-pale skin, and eyes the colour of the Atlantic in a storm. Her dark hair was scraped into a French pleat at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed nonchalantly in baggy black pants, suede Manolos, and a black Sylva top from her collection.

I instantly knew the top was a hit—it sculpted her arms and her torso with the most beautiful lines, giving her the silhouette of a lithe ballerina. Tallulah flopped down in an armchair and nonchalantly tossed her ancient black Kelly bag on the floor, and a waiter soon appeared.

“May I get you a drink?” he asked.

If she weren’t so likable and intelligent, it would be easy to be violently jealous of Tallulah. After all, everything about her is fabulous—except for her violent psoriasis, more of which later.

She exudes a classy style we all dream of: her full title is the enviably glamorous mouthful “The Honourable Tallulah Sylva Maria Ormsby-Gore” (but she goes by Tallulah Harlech professionally); she is a brain-box and attended Cheltenham Ladies College, the British version of Eton for girls; her late father, Francis Ormsby-Gore, the Sixth Baron Harlech, ran his Welsh estate and was a leading light of the 1960s “Hippieocracy”; her mother Amanda is one of the most influential creative directors in the world, having worked with John Galliano and Karl Lagerfeld; Tallulah’s a muse for Loro Piana; she styles for Standing Ground, perhaps the most directional couture designer in the world right now; above all, Tallulah is a grafter.

As well as her work as a stylist, creative director, consultant, and designer, she is a farmer, running the farm she inherited in Wales herself.

“I go every three weeks to attend to the compost heaps and other larger estate matters,” she says wryly.

We soon get to talking about Sylva. Tallulah tells me that her psoriasis—so prevalent in her teens that it could only be controlled by strong medication, which has now led to her being part of a major research study into the condition—was a huge driver for creating the Sylva brand.

“I wanted to take on polyester,” she says. “I landed for this initial drop on a fabric that is 65% eucalyptus and 28% seaweed, which is anti-free radical, harnesses the skin microbiome, and is more supportive in calming inflammation than organic cotton. This is the first time that fashion meets a beauty concern, or fashion has touched cosmetic.”

“If you imagine a Venn diagram, on one side you have beauty, on the other side fashion, and in the interconnecting space you have wellness—thank you very much, Gwyneth Paltrow. Harnessing both is the key because I’m a Wellness Girlie.“

Then she adds, “Actually, I’m Wellness-But-Make-It-Goth.”

The three pieces, which she designed with the help of designer Michael Stewart, who founded Standing Ground in 2018, consist of a black top, black leggings, and a black dress. They are base layers or outer layers, depending on your mood or taste.

The top she is wearing, she explains, “seems like a conventional black top, but it isn’t. The neckline is ever so slightly higher, raised by just a few millimetres; the arms are that bit longer; the waist is cut in just so; the fabric has density and opacity, which gives you that hold and feel because of how I’ve had it cut and shaped. I wanted that sort of slink-sculpt feel. I’m taking something that was conventionally thought out and making it more luxurious and elevated."

Before we depart, she says she’s going to send me a top. “You’ve got to feel it. You’ve got to wear it against your body to really understand it.”

When the top arrived and I put it on, I can tell you, dear reader, that it did all the slinking and sculpting Tallulah promised. The fabric reminded me of the texture of the Alaia dresses I had had back in the 1990s, but lighter and sleeker, more modern, and all about hold and form.

I was instantly addicted to it, and the very subtle band of crimson stitching around the neck added a contemporary look to whatever I wore it with. It looked great with baggy Paige jeans, with black velvet Tom Ford trousers for a dinner party, and even, dear reader, with my favourite country outfit—my white riding breeches.

I let Tallulah know that the top was a huge success, and had restored my sense of hope in the world after the desolate decades spent trying to replace the Michael Kors top. Naturally, she responded with a four-minute voice note, which ended with these words:

“It’s dawned on me—wonder if Tish Weinstock is the Plum Sykes of my generation? How do you feel about that? We’re going to have to unpack that. And also, if Chris Black and Jason Stewart of How Long Gone have one more guest that isn’t me or that is a friend or acquaintance of my world—ugh! The day Chris asks me to come on the show—that’ll be the day."

A little later, she left another voice note: “I’ve cross-checked with mum: is Tish Weinstock the Plum Sykes of my generation? Mum and I have had a discourse about it already. There are differences, but there are strong similarities. Who knows? Time will tell.”

The “me” of Tallulah’s generation? An existential threat like that calls for some analysis. SOS to Bella Freud: I need to come on your Fashion Neurosis podcast before the New Me takes over from the Real Me. Help!

Au revoir, everyone!

For more on fashion, society, and the upper-class zeitgeist, follow Plum Sykes on Substack at P.S. by Plum.