Life Begins at 40 … The Jury is Out (Part 1) - What NOT to Wear
A wise man once told me, that once you hit 40 your body starts falling apart – cheery thought right? I remember thinking at the time, ‘Boy, this guy is a real barrel of laughs isn’t he’?. I was aged 39 at the time and that (wise?!) man was the one I had just started dating, who was to become my future husband. I am the annoyingly (probably in his eyes, but then I am just hypothesising) ‘glass-half full’ person, you know the one always wanting to believe the best in everyone and everything. But for the love of God, did he have to be right about this particular philosophy!
He was also the one who shared another snippet of his sage wisdom with me; if you don’t get to sleep within the first 5 minutes of lying down in bed you will miss the ‘sleep window of opportunity’ (if you have read my musings about our sleeping prowess you will understand this one). Bloody hell – two bits of his wisdom are dead-set true. Couldn’t they be about good things instead of depressing stuff?
Apart from the physical suit I am wearing crumbling in front of my disbelieving eyes, including me seemingly shrinking at an inordinate rate of knots (sorry, I am a being a bit dramatic here, I know), I have also had other experiences being made apparent with this aging thing that I am none too pleased about. One of these would be my absolute inability to know what to wear anymore. I have cast my mind back to see how this particular circumstance came about, and below I have detailed a chronicle of sorts of my fashion escapades over the decades, to see if I can come to the bottom of this unfolding situation.
I would never say I have been a fashion plate or fashion aficionado during my lifetime, but I guess I cared enough that I looked presentable and didn’t stand out for the wrong reasons. My first recall of the importance of appearance would have been due to my dear Mother, always an immaculately dressed and groomed person. As luck would have it for her, I was born into a family who were in the ‘rag trade’. Specifically, my father owned and ran two children’s fashion labels, one called Sweetheart and the other Suzie-Q (I take ownership for the naming of that one …).
The ‘60s
Unfortunately, the memories of this time are not my favourite ones of childhood, as my mother had decided in her wisdom to dress my sister and I in identical clothing. Now, I know this can be a ‘thing’ when dressing twins, but we weren’t twins. In fact, I clearly remember as a child my sister quickly speaking up anytime someone asked if we were twins, which happened on a pretty regular basis, stating very clearly to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was actually 2 years and 10 months older than me.
How times have changed since then. Now if someone asks us if we are twins my sister seems to remain steadfastly mute to the question, and it is me who quickly pipes up asserting, ‘No, I’m the younger one!’
Evidence of the ‘dressing like twins’ phase – I am the one with the cheesy grin on the right … NB. clearly not twins
This dressing alike scenario went on for a few years, until our voices must have finally been heard, that we needed and demanded our own individual identities. Our wardrobe choices were still under the supervision of our mother though, and I can still clearly recall us wearing a variety of very similar looking red tartan frocks, white socks with lacy frills on the top of them and black shiny patent leather shoes for some time after.
The ‘70s
As a child of the 60s and 70s, my first recall of the ‘must-have’ item highly coveted amongst young tweens, was a pair of Levis red label jeans. It couldn’t be any other brand, it ‘had’ to have that little red label stitched into the back pocket, all of I would say maybe 3 cm in length. I think I would have been about 11 or 12 when I finally convinced my parents that I desperately needed this particular pair of jeans or I would just die … (NB. already dramatic back then). I was never a cool kid (still not), and I doubt anyone at that time would have been checking out the back of me to verify that I was wearing the original and not a cheap knockoff…
The next particular fashion trend that I can recall was also in the early to mid-70s, at the time when I was a mad fan of a band called Sherbet. As you can tell by the name, that was in the time of the so-called ‘bubble gum pop’ bands, as I cannot ever perceive a band made up of grown men ever wanting to be known as Sherbet these days. The 70s looking back, was an odd hodgepodge of fashion, but for some reason this band dressed in tight satin waistcoats sans shirts, or tight satin shirts left undone to the naval to display their hairy chests and even tighter satin flares.
I vaguely recall having a pair of satin flares; can’t imagine where I would have ever worn them, as I was never allowed to go anywhere apart from school, family get-togethers or home, where these could have been shown off to the masses. I’m pretty sure they would have been matched with high cork platform heels at the time though, or perhaps the snappy (I thought anyway) red patent leather ‘clogs’ that I clopped about in.
The next ‘must have’ fashion accessory on my trip down memory lane, was when fake fur zip-up bomber jackets were to die for; again, another you can thank the 70s for moment. My jacket of choice was a loud, bright Kermit the frog green number, proudly worn anywhere and anytime I was able. I cringe at the thought now. It must have looked more like a battered, ugly bathmat than a trendy fashion item; definitely a fashion ‘don’t’ rather than a ‘do’.
Other trends came and went, and like most of us at the time, I embraced the majority of them in my teenage years/young adulthood, wanting to fit in with the crowd as you do at that age. There was the trend of Hawaiian print clothes, either dresses, shirts, boardshorts or a combo of all of them (we lived on the Gold Coast so acceptable at the time) along with puka shell necklaces (as modelled above by David Cassidy, ‘70s icon).
I can clearly remember wearing the ‘gypsy trend’ in the later 70s. Elasticised off the shoulder tops with layered floral, flouncy skirts and a fake silk flower stuck on a comb, placed in my hair at a jaunty angle and wearing this ensemble to the local nightclub the Paradise Room (not much Paradise found there unfortunately, mostly heartache). I do remember feeling very glamourous at that time; who knows if I looked it though.
One particular trend comes to mind, however, at which thought I bury my head in my hands and wish the memory would die forever and join my tattered pride. I would have been about 16 or 17 and in my first paid job, when Olivia Newton-John brought out the song ‘Let’s Get Physical’. Yes, I was one of those tragic girls who wore leg warmers and even a headband around my forehead to work (although the closest thing I got to exercise then was walking to the post office and bank at lunchtime – not much has changed in that regard either).
This was simultaneously at the same time as I got my one and only ‘poodle perm’. I swapped my lovely long, straight head of hair for a hairdo I could do nothing with, which took years to grow out and looked like a well-used mop perched on the top of my head. I also clearly remember my boyfriend at the time after I came home from the hairdresser with my new do, saying something along the lines of, ‘Why on earth did you do that to yourself?’, which added another hurtful notch to the already growing array on my belt of low self-esteem.
Dear Lord, I managed to dig up the apparent only photo of this tragic hairstyle complete with said boyfriend – I can only imagine I never allowed another one to be taken during this traumatic hair period or burnt any other reminders. NB saw a photo of first boyfriend a year or so back. Ironically he has no hair anymore; he is as bald as a badger. The little twisted part of me inside kind of smiled when I got over the shock; me thinks karma perhaps ….is that bad?
Only existing photographic evidence of poodle perm disaster complete with said boyfriend. Thankfully it is fuzzy.
The ‘80s
I remember the ‘80s as a time that fashion forgot, and for very good reason. I think I have blanked out the memory of my wardrobe for most of the 80s. I do, however, remember snippets of it, especially in my mid-20s, when I escaped small town Gold Coast and moved to the big smoke of Melbourne. That was a whole different world then, dressing up to go to work in the city each day.
Of course, the easiest thing is to recall the music at that time to work out what was in style. I don’t remember ever embracing the whole Madonna look. It was a bit too dark/risqué for me. I do remember more business-like clothing and am sure the odd shoulder pad made an appearance in my wardrobe (think ‘80s TV show ‘Dynasty’), as well as those ridiculously, high-waisted jeans, possibly in an acid-wash, or what we now refer to as ‘mum jeans’ …oh Lord…
1980’S SONGSTRESS BONNIE TYLER & HER GRAVITY-DEFYING HAIRSTYLE
It was also the era for big hair and a lot of big chunky plastic jewellery. That I can surely tell from going through my polaroids. Who knew hair could be so big? I wish I had had the wisdom to buy shares in a hairspray company back then!
The ‘90s and onwards
After I had my two-legged daughter in the early 1990s, I think my clothing became less important to me, as I focused on her and fulltime work. Nothing in particular stands out from this time onwards. I had my work clothes and my weekend ones. I knew what sort of things suited my build and I sort of stuck to that. It was safe, I was comfortable and I didn’t feel the need to stand out too much.
Fast forward to my 50s. Woah! All of a sudden I feel like I am one of those poor women who have been nominated by a ‘so-called’ caring friend, relative or workmate for a wardrobe intervention, in an episode of ‘What Not to Wear’, telling them how dreadful they are dressing and try and rescue them from their own bad taste. Everyone seems to have an opinion of what a ‘woman of a certain age’ should or should not wear. How come it suddenly becomes open slather for people who don’t have a stake in it?
What Not to Wear… I must admit was, and still is, one of my favourite shows and guilty pleasures, where the hosts Trinny and Susanna would pounce unannounced on some poor unsuspecting target, normally in a crowd of people, put them in a dressing room surrounded by mirrors stripped down to their undies and tell them what they should and shouldn’t wear. As harsh as it sounds, the premise of the show was to actually bolster the target’s self-esteem, make them feel better about themselves and was not aimed at shaming them. However, there were the odd one or two over time that refused to give up their well-loved Crocs and/or tie-dye leggings, and you have to respect that.
But never did I think in real life I would feel as uncomfortable as those chosen ones on the show did. I never thought it would be ME in that dressing room, but that it seems is where I squarely am.
Is it just us more mature women who people feel they have the right to dictate to about what is or isn’t suitable for us to wear? You just have to go online to find a plethora of posts on what you shouldn’t be seen dead in once you hit 50 (or even 40) and suggestions of what you should be wearing, most suggestions of which I view as frumpy, vanilla and would surely make us all blend into the background. No thanks, I am definitely more a tutti frutti kind of girl!
Why is there no ‘What Not to Wear’ show for people under a certain age? I doth protest! I see lots of fashion faux pas out and about of all ages, young and old, but would never ever consider walking up to someone and saying, ‘I just wanted to let you know, that probably isn’t the most appropriate thing for you to wear given your age/body shape’, etc, etc…. just back off people!
And also, while I am on my soapbox, how come no-one gives fashion advice so freely to men as they get older? I am going to write a complaint to someone about that … just not sure who.
I thought I used to know what suited me and what didn’t, now I question everything. I don’t even know what shops to go into anymore. They are either too young or too old for me. I know they are too young if I go in and the music is too loud for me. I know they are too old for me if I go in and see women who would be my mother’s age in there. Nothing seems to be in between. Just saying, because I am in my 50s doesn’t mean I want to dress like my nanna, I still want to feel good about myself.
Side note: (This last sentence brings back an unsettling memory of being at my local shops last year, wearing what I thought of as one of my favourite tops. It was a paisley one, my favourite pattern, with ties on the sleeves, comfortable (a must on my checklist) and I thought quite stylish. Then as I was walking along, I spotted a woman who had to have been in her mid-80s (from memory she may even have had a blue rinse through her hair) wearing the same top as me. Aghast with horror, I cast my eyes downwards and quickly made my way back to my car, drove home as fast as I could and put that top in the donate pile before you could say Noni B … the memory still haunts me today.
Now, as I work from home, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time wearing so-called ‘active wear’. As the most active thing I do during a weekday is sometimes venture out to my backyard or the mailbox, perhaps it should be re-labelled ‘active wear for people who wish they were active but just aren’t’. I shudder to think that I have got to that age where ‘comfort’ trumps ‘style’, but it seems that this could be the case.
So, what is suitable for me to wear in society’s eyes? Who decides this? Shouldn’t it be me? Who cares if I look silly/inappropriate/mutton dressed up as lamb – shouldn’t all that matter be how I feel about myself? I think I will pitch a show to the networks called ‘What to Wear (or Mind Your Own Bloody Business)’ … dedicated to people just like me, to tell us how ridiculously wonderful we are … just as we are.
Me, personally, I think I will be just like my favourite Aussie icons Kath & Kim, the queens of self confidence and ‘love myself sick’ … just as I am.
