I was trapped in a bathroom stall at the downtown Marriott three years ago, half-naked and sweating, trying to reach a zipper that felt like it was located somewhere near my shoulder blades. It was my company holiday party. I had been in there for six minutes. People were knocking. That is the reality of the “perfect” party jumpsuit that nobody tells you in the glossy magazines. You are one stiff zipper away from a total mental breakdown in a public restroom.
But I still wear them. I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. Or maybe it’s just that when a jumpsuit actually works, you look like the most effortless person in the room while everyone else is adjusting their skirts or worrying about their bra straps showing. It’s a high-risk, high-reward garment. I’ve spent way too much money testing these things—I actually tracked it, and I’ve owned 14 different ones over the last five years—and most of them are garbage. Absolute garbage.
The part where I tell you which brands to avoid
I know people love Reformation. I get it. The pictures are beautiful. But I’m going to say something that might make people mad: their jumpsuits are designed for literal giants who don’t have internal organs. I bought the ‘Mika’ jumpsuit once. The inseam was 34 inches. I’m 5’4″. Even with five-inch heels, I was sweeping the floor like a Victorian orphan. I spent $280 on the suit and another $60 on tailoring just so I didn’t trip and die. Never again.
And don’t even get me started on Zara. Their zippers are made of hope and cheap tin. If you’re at a party and you have to pee—which you will, because of the open bar—that Zara zipper will snag. It’s a mathematical certainty. I’ve seen it happen to better women than me. Total trap.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. If you aren’t willing to spend at least 4 minutes and 12 seconds in a bathroom stall (yes, I timed my last exit and entry in a back-zip model), don’t buy a jumpsuit. It’s a commitment.
The best jumpsuit is the one you can get out of in under thirty seconds when the tequila hits.
The ones that actually don’t suck
If you want something that feels substantial, look at Alexia Admor. I have their Scuba Jumpsuit and the fabric weight is about 400g, which is thick enough to hide the fact that I ate three sliders at the buffet but stretchy enough that I can actually breathe. It’s heavy. It feels like quality. Most “party” clothes feel like they’re made of recycled napkins, but this one has some heft to it.
I also have a weird, irrational loyalty to Sezane. Their jumpsuits usually have buttons down the front. Do you know how much easier it is to unbutton your chest than to reach behind your back like a contortionist? It’s a life-saver. I might be wrong about this, but I think the French just understand human anatomy better than American fast-fashion brands do.
Anyway, I went on a tangent there about zippers. My point is that you should look for front-closures or side-zips. Anything else is a gamble with your dignity.
- The Wide Leg: Good for hiding uncomfortable shoes. Bad for walking up stairs.
- The Sequin Monster: Wearing a sequined jumpsuit is like being a disco ball that wants to scratch your armpits raw. You’ll look great in photos, but you’ll be bleeding by midnight.
- The Velvet Option: Usually the most comfortable, but you will attract every stray hair and piece of lint in a three-mile radius.
A very specific, possibly unfair opinion about pockets
Everyone screams “It has pockets!” like it’s the greatest achievement in human history. I hate them. In a party jumpsuit, pockets are the enemy. They add bulk right at the hips where most of us are already struggling with the silhouette. Unless you’re wearing a utility flight suit to a gala—which, honestly, respect if you are—pockets just ruin the line. Carry a bag. Stop trying to put your iPhone 15 Pro Max in your formalwear. It looks lumpy. It’s ugly. There, I said it.
I know, I know. “But where do I put my lipstick?” In your hand. Or give it to a friend with a purse. Pockets in silk or crepe fabric are a design flaw, not a feature. I’ve returned at least three jumpsuits from ASOS specifically because the pocket bags were visible through the fabric. It looked like I had two empty tea bags stapled to my thighs.
Ugly and unnecessary.
How to actually survive the night
I’ve learned the hard way that you need to do a “stress test” at home before you leave. Put the jumpsuit on. Sit down. If you feel like the crotch is trying to bisect you, return it. If you can’t reach the zipper yourself while standing in your bedroom, you definitely won’t be able to do it after two gin and tonics in a cramped stall with a broken lock.
I once wore a halter-neck jumpsuit to a wedding in upstate New York. It had three tiny pearl buttons at the back of the neck. By the end of the night, my fingers were so cold I couldn’t undo them. I seriously considered just sleeping in the suit. I ended up having to ask a complete stranger in the bathroom to unbutton my neck. She was nice about it, but it was the peak of my personal embarrassment.
Is the style worth the struggle? I don’t know. Sometimes I think we’re all just masochists who saw one picture of Cher in the 70s and decided that was the only way to live. But then I see myself in a well-tailored black crepe jumpsuit and I think, yeah, okay, I’ll risk the bathroom disaster one more time.
Just check the zipper before you buy. Seriously.
