Holy smokes! What to wear to a Conclave watch party

Get in loser, we're going to elect a new pope.

May 08, 2025

Perhaps it’s that I didn’t miss a single Sunday mass during my first 22 years of life (and if I did, you could find me in the nearest confessional). Or the four years as an altar server and three years as a–heaven, help us all–church vocalist. Maybe it was the 18 years of Catholic school and a semester studying theology and art history in the heart of Rome, or the four years spent at an all-women’s college run by a convent. I joined the “Friends with Sisters” program in which I had the pleasure of visiting the elderly nuns every week, but was eventually discharged after they kept expiring on my watch.

It could have been my two maternal great-aunts who were nuns. Or the Sisters in Rome I befriended who drove me around town in the backseat of their little run-down car, insisting that stopping at a red light was optional for them, as nuns (turns out that’s not true!). Or the two years in high school I spent deeply involved with a Catholic retreat, which was probably, actually a cult. Or the time I met the former Pope (the one who wore red Prada shoes), and had him bless a vile of holy water I still have on my dresser to this day. Or most recently, when I tried (and failed) to join the local priest and parishioners’ men’s basketball league in New York.

Although my current relationship with the Church can be summed up by the Facebook as “It’s Complicated”, its influence on me is going steady. Beyond the very real Catholic guilt that guides my every move, Catholicism has formed the lens through which I curate my wardrobe, interior decor, playlists, fragrance preferences, and proximity to a burning flame at all times.

When I lived in Rome at the age of 19, I ditched my previously colorful wardrobe for all black–and never looked back. Part of this was due to how it made me feel living in a big city: black brought me a sense of calm and collectedness, and balanced my natural state of anxiety. But it was also influenced by the vast number of clergy members I’d encounter roaming the city, and my love for Gammarelli, the go-to ecclesiastical tailor shop. There was something so striking to me about their floor-length, impeccably-tailored black garments–and clearly I’m in good company: many of the women whose style I admire, namely the Olsens, seem to agree. For the uninitiated, The Row makes an array of beautiful, tailored black maxi coats–although certainly not within the budget of a vow of poverty.

The impeccable Roxanne blazerdress by La Collection.

As does the Antwerp-based La Collection, another one of my favorite brands. The designer, Florence Cools, shared with me that many of her pieces draw inspiration from clergy, with some of them even being cut from clergical vestments. It makes sense, then, that my favorite piece in my wardrobe for many years is her Roxanne blazerdress, currently out of stock, which delicately kisses the ground and could be easily mistaken for a priest’s heavenly cassock. And then there’s a dress with a matching capelet (below) that I own in black and tried on in ivory, which gives Elizabeth Ann Seton or female pope, respectively.

All this to say, I can’t help my Pavlovian response to, and deep appreciation for, pieces with: a black and white palette, beautiful structure, dramatic lengths, veils, clean lines, starchy, stand collars; cascading fringe and tassels; smart tailoring; and captivating capes, all shrouded and threaded with mystery. Both I and my wardrobe are, for better or for worse, haunted by faith.

And the Conclave–the real thing–has begun. What on earth shall we wear for such a momentous occasion? I’m glad you asked, because I have some ideas that deserve some serious white smoke.

Looking the part in the foyer of my alma mater, wearing Simone Rocha.

Below, I’ve curated some pieces fit for a Conclave-watching party at home (because some of them do expose a little shoulder and/or knee, and we know that would never fly at the Vatican). Go Popes!