Words by Landon Bryant, Creator of @LandonTalks
Photos by Blackbird Creative
What is an acceptable Easter dress and what’s a dress that’ll make your mama and them ask everyone for an unspoken prayer request?
– CC & Bex, TikTok
Easter in the South is our Met Gala—pastel couture, lawn-chair paparazzi, and one big chance to announce yourself with a sleeve. There’s no such thing as “acceptable.” There’s only “celebratory.” Wear the tulle. Wear the ruffles that cast their own shadow. Wear the color that could flag down a crop duster.
Your grandmother may give you a look, but that’s just the generational commentary track. She survived perms, petticoats, and polyester. She’s earned the right to squint.
And the whispers? Those aren’t judgment—they’re auditory decor. Half the charm of a Southern holiday is knowing someone three pews back is quietly narrating your outfit like it’s a nature documentary.
Bottom line: Easter is about joy, renewal, and showing up in something that makes you feel fully alive. Go bright, go big, go dramatic. The higher the hair, the closer to God, after all.
Is it okay to wear a heavy coat and pants on Easter if it’s cold? And if you attend sunrise service AND sing in the 11am choir, may you skip providing Easter lunch for your whole family?
– @amjenkins48, Instagram
Easter weather in the South has a mind of its own. We all remember the year it snowed in April here in Mississippi. Nobody knew what to do with themselves.
So if it’s cold? Wear the coat. Wear the pants. Wear whatever keeps you from shivering through the family photo. Pastels are great, but being comfortable is not a moral failure.
And if you’ve been up for sunrise service and turned around and sung in the 11 a.m. choir, you’ve done a full day’s work before most people have had their second cup of coffee. You are allowed to sit down. You are allowed to rest. You are not required to produce a signature dish in addition to two worship appearances.
If the family wants to be together, they will happily gather around whatever ends up on the table—homemade, store-bought, or picked up on the way. Easter isn’t graded, and the Piggly Wiggly has an excellent selection of covered dishes.
You’ve shown up, you’ve sung twice, you’ve participated in the great Southern Easter marathon.
You’ve served…
Please tackle the deviled eggs issue—is the recipe set in stone until MeMaw goes?
– Kate Zamora Mara, Facebook
Deviled-egg recipes are family heirlooms. They’re not written down so much as handed down, usually while someone is standing over you saying, “just add some till it feels right.” And yes—while MeMaw is still with us, her version is the anchor. That’s tradition, not tyranny.
But here’s the real way this works in most Southern families: you don’t wait until she’s gone. You hold auditions. Somebody brings a second platter. Then somebody else brings a “just a little different” platter. Before long, you’ve got two, maybe three deviled-egg varieties quietly competing for long-term custody.
Whichever “extra” platter keeps being invited back—in addition to MeMaw’s—that’s probably your heir apparent. That’s the person who has proven they have both the hand and the temperament to take on the sacred yolk.
And let’s be honest: by the time anyone is worrying about inheritance, someone in that kitchen should already know how to make MeMaw’s version anyway. If the whole family is shocked to discover there’s no understudy, that’s on y’all, not her.
MeMaw’s recipe is set in stone, but the audition season happens while she’s alive and well. That way, when the baton passes, the eggs don’t suffer, and the family name stays intact.
What are the ‘backup’ flowers to take pictures in front of if the azaleas haven’t bloomed yet?
– Michelle Isabelle, Facebook
Azaleas decide when they’re ready, and they never check the group text first. One year, they arrive right on cue, the next you’re in a pastel smocked dress and monogrammed shirt, looking at a row of green leaves that clearly missed the invitation. It’s a universal Southern moment: you’ve wrangled the children into bows and saddle shoes, you look at the landscape, and you think, “Now what?”
When that happens, you improvise. Dogwoods make a beautiful understudy with their white blooms. Wisteria adds drama if you want a cascading backdrop. A big camellia bush can save the day if it’s still hanging on. Even a row of crepe myrtles with fresh leaves can deliver the spring feeling without a single blossom.
Or skip the blooms altogether and lean into the outfits because, honestly, the smocking, monograms, and ribbons are the real stars. The point of the photo is the people in it, not proof that every shrub cooperated.
So yes, we plan for all of that. But between you and me, we still hope those azaleas decide to show up and smile for the camera.
Easter in the South is our Met Gala—pastel couture, lawn-chair paparazzi, and one big chance to announce yourself with a sleeve.
How long is a ‘month of Sundays’? Four–five days or 30 weeks?
– Sharon Bingham, Facebook
A “month of Sundays” isn’t meant to be counted. It’s an old Southern way to exaggerate how long something has taken, dating back to a time when Sundays were restful and seemed to drag on forever. A month of them would feel endless, so saying it has been “a month of Sundays” means it’s been a long time. So, yes. A month of Sundays is four–five days or 30 weeks.
We talk about time and distance in colorful, non‑literal ways. Someone might say they haven’t seen you in “forty forevers,” or that something is “down the road a piece.” A very short distance is “a hop, skip, and a jump,” and a “spell” of time might be minutes, hours, or days. These kinds of expressions show that in the South, we measure with our hearts, not our watches or calendars. A “month of Sundays” is our way of telling you we’ve been waiting so long we can feel every second of it—and if you ask, we’ll gladly spin the story until you feel it right along with us.
When is it appropriate to show your toes? Is it possible to bring them out too early? Leave them out too late? Can occasions be too formal to show your toes?
– @empress_of_allayall, TikTok
People have surprisingly strong opinions about toes. As a teacher, I once watched a high school kid walk down the hall in flip-flops, toes fully visible, and another kid glanced down at them and said, “Why are your dogs out?” The tone of his question made me know he did not appreciate the “dogs” being out. That is when I realized the generational divide is real. Some folks don’t mind toes. Some folks treat toes like jump scares.
As for timing, here is the truth: Nobody wants to see your toes when it is forty degrees and windy, because we will feel genuinely worried for you. Not judged, not annoyed, just concerned. Cold toes bring out a maternal instinct in strangers. But once the weather warms up, the pollen hits, and the world turns yellow for a week or two, your toes can come and go as they please.
Occasion-wise, wear what feels appropriate to you. Grandmothers will have opinions. Teenagers will comment on your “dogs.” Fashion people will argue. None of this has to dictate your life.
So here is the only real rule. Dress yourself in what feels good, what feels comfortable, and what makes sense for the day you’re living. Other people can manage their own feet. We are not policing toes.
