What Am I "Too Old" to Wear Now?
I identify as a bit of a paradox: I like order and logic and often times that leads to a great policy or recommendation. On the other hand, if it’s BS after asking why it exists and the owner can’t explain it to my liking, I’m not much of a rule for rules sake person. What rules?
Like every other person facing another trip around the sun, as part of your reflection process, you ask yourself questions. Questions like:
Is this going to be my best year yet?
What will I accomplish this year?
What special something am I going to find in a vintage shop within the next 365 days?
I wonder how long I will live?
Is there anything I’m tired of doing?
Is there anything I want to start?
And… Where are my presents?
Fuelled by equal parts of Stacey London and Clinton Kelly’s “What Not To Wear” and “Sex and the City”s depiction of big city women in their thirties, thirty five has been personally earmarked as a pivotal year for me. Thirty-five is my first, real scary age.
And, yes, those are shows from another time full of as many, “Uggggh no’s,” as “Ah-ha, yeses!” That noted, they have imprinted forevermore nonetheless. I can’t shake the idea of that “No Mini Skirts After 35” sign from London and Kelly. Or the episode where Carrie tells Samantha that she is choosing fuller coverage outfits as, “We can’t get away with what we used to.”
Yes, of course, it’s inherently ageist and thus nonsense. It does however make me think about what’s next for me. Funny enough, I can’t recall a birthday being a twinge of worry before. Eighteen was great, obviously. Loved turning twenty-one – hello, I’m a legal human adult everywhere. And thirty was a sigh of relief because I wasn’t avoiding sharing my age in career-related situations. Sub text: I never wanted to be perceived as being “too young” to take on something advanced. That rationale is probably more my shit than anything but remember I’m that person who listened to style gurus mentioned and took it to heart.
Over the years I have had thoughts about what styles and silhouettes I may want to wear once I reach a certain age milestone. I know I’ll want to wear fashions I haven’t yet fully embraced and there’s a few that come to easily mind.
I’m but a mere five years away from going full “I am woman hear me roar,” anchorperson/ partner at a law firm of the early 2000s body con dresses. I want my looks to say, “Power woman who knows what she wants and she has the resources to get it.” If you need another visual I give you this: remember covered up Carrie from above? Pretend I’m Sarah-mantha: bright jewel tone suited tits to toes, loud and proud.
In fifteen years, should I continue to be so lucky, I want to enter another phase of dress. This I call my Jane Fonda phase. Exercise regimen included. I want to look rich lady luxe in cashmere sets, sensible pointed shoes, and enough diamonds to make Maison Birks, Tiffany’s, and Cartier jealous.
Should I make it to sixty – praise Beyonce – all bets are off. I don’t know who I will want to embody then. Oprah? Halle Berry? Or perhaps regress into my teen years and exercise all the phases that I missed? Maybe some 2046 goth. Or maybe 2046 bondage realness? The 2046 version of logo mania? Perhaps I’ll finally echo the sentiment of my peer group and go full leisure atheletica all the time? Pump the sartorial brakes. Turns out that idea inches me too far over my comfort edge. If I’m being honest, I hope some things won’t change.
Enough about me and my birthday milestone scaries. What say you? Do you have a “landmark” birthday age? Tell me about it.
