The hardest thing about being a Beyoncé fan is the crowd. She didn’t name it the hive for nothing—there’s no exclusivity for anything she gives to the public. She is the biggest star in the world and everything she does is followed by a global response that can literally make the world (and most websites) stop. It’s a fact very celebrated by us fans, but it can make for acquiring anything Beyoncé-related a headache. I don’t hate Bey for this. It’s not her fault that she’s a goddess and acquiring her tour tickets requires a panther’s precision and a hair trigger. The desire to cop some of her new Ivy Park athletic gear gave me great anxiety about being swarmed by fellow fans in an involuntary viral video situation. I want Beyoncé stuff but I don’t want to lose my legs for it—or look corny wearing it with 700 clones.
Despite this selfish, “cool girl” anxiety I set out to Topshop in Soho, where I’d received a tip that her new Ivy Park workout line was in full stock with no lines. I arrived to find that this tip was very credible and bee-lined straight for a salesgirl. Life hack: Always ask the sales associates. The store’s workers have spent at least a day or two touching the clothes and watching people try them on. It’s like getting a highly specialized focus group in one person. So rather than try to decide on the clothing all by myself, I promptly stopped one and said, “I’m hosting a party tonight and I want to wear an outfit made out of this Ivy Park stuff.” Then I told her I was also on assignment. She asked me about my style, I described myself as an “avid athleisure enthusiast.” This basically translates to: I wear workout clothes for fun. It’s habit that started because I wanted to look feminine while being comfortable.
Workout gear is usually the lazy day clothing of the rich, spoiled, and useless, especially in my city of New York. It’s a uniform for those who want you to know they can afford Trendy Workout A and basically spend all day diddling between salads and those nondescript Manhattan buildings with the tiny lobbies where you take a sketchy elevator to a fancy loft and only 14 women can work out at a time. It’s the go-to look for models when they’re “off” and girls who aren’t models but don’t need to be because they were born rich and double process highlighted. I started wearing leggings because it satisfied my cozy girl aesthetic: the need to be comfortable in the clubs/backstage where I work and my desire to show off the body that working was giving me in a manner that didn’t need a waist trainer. The style allows for me to remain the little running and jumping boy I am inside while looking like Blac Chyna on a Tuesday afternoon.
I didn’t need to explain this to Ayaba, she simply understood. And when I told her I liked sheer things and never wear a bra unless it’s the top, she smiled “Aah, you thotty like me.” This was the code word I’d been waiting for—it let me know that she wasn’t going to pass me off the suggested outfits from the collection lookbook. She loaded my bag with leggings, sheer and backless hoodies, stretch croptops, and a sheer honeycomb print hooded parka that was such a lewk it brought tears to my eyes. I tried everything on and came back so she and yet another salesgirl could make my final purchase decisions. (This one had already complimented me on my Fenty Pumas and cheeky #Anti tour merch dad hat.)
We decided to nix the jacket in a fiscally responsible manner (the $122 price tag wasn’t awful but too large for me to see other people making great Snap stories with it), skipped the sports bras for the crop tops, kept the briefs for a dramatic summer night, and picked the thottier of two hoodies (duh, all sheer!). They complimented the #freethenipple lifestyle it’s taken me 29 years to build, while telling me they would “wear that without a bra too!” The marketing degree in me wanted to call it empowering but it was way more than that: It was a bird connection. I had found the youngins in my flock and gotten trend approval on my summer look without even asking.
I then watched a crowd form and took in the display at the store’s entrance. The mannequins were visually dressed up with the bigger lifestyle pieces like the honeycomb parka and matching bomber and the gorgeous crew neck + short sets that nobody in their right mind would work out in. The rest of the collection was laid out like any other retail workout gear with matching leggings, briefs and bras in each section, either lid flat or hanging. Add the giant photos of Beyoncé to inspire and convince you that yes you’ll look amazing doing core workouts in a panty brief and crop top set all there was no way you couldn’t stop to at least check it all out.
The crowd itself was made up of fellow young black men and women piecing together a Friday night look for now and all summer '16 and young white girls trying to explain to their moms why Beyoncé wanted them to wear a bodysuit to P.E. I chuckled as one mom held up a backless cotton hoodie to another while making a face, much to the embarrassment of both of the daughters who looked at me mortified. Beyoncé is not Lululemon. Ivy Park is not workout clothes for those who want to make people feel like shit for being poor and/or fat. It’s the kind of workout clothing that never actually needs to make it to the gym unless your friends started buying rounds at 1am on a casual Saturday night and you’re reminded of your 8:30 am SoulCycle class by your 8am alarm. The kind that feels like it will fit your perfect bubble butt that you’re trying to make firm not flat and wont start falling down your legs on the stationary bike or mid twerk squat in the club. The kind of clothing that allows for a blessing like Beyoncé’s perfect Popeye’s golden thighs.
I wore the crop top and leggings all weekend, feeling sexy and not superior. Nobody made a joke about me coming from the gym, everyone just gushed about how great I looked. How relaxed and cute! I was able to show off my curvy body without feeling like I stepped out of my tomboy spirit and I can’t help but think that the woman who ordered me to get into formation intended this the entire time. Later I fell asleep in the clothes because I couldn’t think of any pajamas that would be more comfortable. The spandex didn’t squeeze me in my sleep and my lazy idea worked but not even this could top my list. The best part about wearing Beyoncé’s new line was that nobody knew what it was on sight.
Unlike the glowing Minnie ears and the Surfboard sweaters this wasn’t merch. I attended an exhibition and hosted a party in head to toe Ivy Park, went for brunch and a three mile walk and nobody stopped me in the street to beg where I had gotten it from. Not when I was holding a glass of prosecco in a bar nor when I was fake jogging through Chinatown to get a sense of how the clothes hold sweat—just fine, like, she actually made workout clothes! Nobody laughed at me for being thirsty and wearing it all together. Everyone simply said, “Goddamnit you look so cute and you can really work that style” and for once being a Beyoncé fan felt less like being a member of crowd and more like being myself.