Yes, I'm one of those New Yorkers who always wears black. And white. I am black (hair) and white (about as pale as skin gets), with the occasional touch of pink, and my wardrobe has evolved accordingly over time, though I did have a brief beige-and-brown phase during my first office job for which I am now deeply sorry.
I do wear the occasional colorful sweater or jacket, usually a lipstick red or a pale lavender, and I have many colorful scarves, including a nice little vintage Pucci collection. But when the fashion cycle turns to bright colors I tend to mostly ignore it.
For most of the past year, I've had to wear black toenail polish because of an enormous bruise under my left big toenail caused by stubbing it on an outcrop of sidewalk. Recently, I was asked if that was an example of my rigorous huelessness, but frankly I don't like it all that much - it seems goth-y and humorless. I prefer a "blue" red (I like OPI Red or Essie's Red Label) - it's classic and sexy - and for evening I like lipsticks in the same range.
A well-tended pedicure and manicure tells me that a person cares about his or her appearance. I will not wear open-toed shoes if I have even the tiniest chip.
Apparently the wonderfully stylish and sensuous French writer Colette was fastidious about her pedicures and insisted on having them weekly even when she was elderly and bedridden. That's how I'm going to go.
(Photo of Colette found at the fascinating History is made at night.)