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Many of you, having read the standfirst of this column, are very possibly scoffing at my naivety. Fashion is notoriously fickle, so why am I suddenly feeling so betrayed by it? I think it’s my age. As I inch towards 40, I’ve undergone a bit of an identity shift. I am at one of those life junctures where I have no idea what I should be attempting to wear as a semi-serious 37-year-old woman.
efore my mid 30s hit, clothes were a hobby for me — I loved getting dressed up; it was a form of self-expression. Even after my first child was born, I still adored putting together my concept outfits — often, quite high-concept outfits; knee socks with flatforms and deconstructed shirt dress, anyone?!
However, since having two more children, my dressing has completely changed and comfort now roundly trumps style. It tracks, if you think about it. I’m a mother of three and, as such, I spend 99pc of my life tolerating some kind of physical discomfort.
Burning eyes from being chronically underslept; repetitive strain injury from shaking my head at the demands of these tiny, disobedient tyrants; bad back from foisting the 10-ton two-year-old in and out of his cot; frequent sciatica flare-ups because I’m 37 and having sciatica problems seems to be the law for 30-somethings.
With a perma-pain from just daily life, I simply cannot face adding a single extra thing to this discomfort buffet — so, gone are the tailoring days, the high heels and anything that requires scaffold-like underwear. But as yet, nothing has taken their place and I am adrift in a bewildered ocean of notions.
Should I adopt a smart-casual uniform? Should I only wear navy jeans and a Breton top from now until the grave? Should I transition into a full-time linen wearer? Is that who I am now?
It also doesn’t help that my body bears no resemblance to the body I once had. This is not a criticism of my body in any way. I have spent nearly a year trying to detach from a decade of disordered eating and part of this process has been my body settling at a larger size than it was when I was drastically restricting my food.
As I’ve said, my silhouette has changed quite a bit. I have boobs now, which is very exciting — 16-year-old me would be thrilled. So, I embarked on a bit of a wardrobe rejig and this is when I discovered that fashion had gone and brought back the noughties. Every shop is filled with the same clothes that I hated, and looked shit in, the first time they were in fashion 20 years ago. Unbelievable. Flared jeans, low-rise everything, and slip dresses — oh, fashion, you cruel mistress.
Not that fashion has ever had a reputation of kindness. A few weeks ago, there was a furore over the return of that 1990s trend, ‘heroin chic’. I couldn’t see why the return of heroin chic was such a shock to everyone. From where I’m standing, heroin chic never really went away, it just got a rebrand. The beauty ideal has continued to be thin bodies.
The so-called shifts in the beauty standard are semantic. Every couple of years we get a different wording: we’re not “dieting” but “eating clean”. We’re not exercising to be thin, we’re working out to be “strong not skinny”. But the subtle message is still that our bodies must be worked on and “fixed”.
Even if big breasts or hips happen to be in vogue, it is only ever the big breasts or hips of tiny, slender women that are admired. The fashion industry gets to congratulate itself, crowing that they are promoting “real” women even though the fat must be confined to the “right areas” — no bellies or back rolls, please!
I’m feeling personally victimised by this noughties revival, especially as it’s come during the style purgatory of my late 30s. I’ve tried every shop that used to work for me, but to no avail. And that’s when I realised what I needed to do. I needed to cross the rubicon and start shopping in the grown-up shops. I now need to invest in pieces like my mother and aunt do. Maybe it’s time to own a wrap dress.
When I told my mother where I was shopping, she got very agitated — I presume because she doesn’t want to be reminded that I’m ageing as it means she’s ageing. I’m not throwing in the towel completely. I’ll still treat neon as a neutral in my wardrobe but it’s definitely time to retire from being on-trend in favour of developing a new style.
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