My Sweet Pea was concerned that her latest prospective purchase - suede over-the-knee boots (Russell & Bromley, £325, if you must know) - might stray from her new ethos, her determination to be, above all, chic.
"I’m a bit worried they make me look like an ageing rock-chick, she said; and that’s a look I really want to avoid at all costs."
This is her version of the anxiety about being seen by others as “mutton-dressed-as-lamb”; the fear which stalks so many women’s sartorial choices over forty.
"Don’t worry," I reassured her; "there would be fringes or studs involved for that look; whereas they’re quite stylishly restrained, there’s no hint of cowboy boots – and they look expensive. And you’d be wearing a short suede skirt and a denim jacket with them, if that was the case; not a smart black coat."
"Ok…. but I always worry…..," she went on (women do worry, really a lot; more or less all the time), "I worry they’re just the sort of accessory that women of a certain age splurge on. Take those pink Reiss leather gloves of mine – younger women don’t even comment; yet I don’t think I’ve encountered a single woman in her forties or fifties who hasn’t admired them, and clearly fancied a pair herself."
I could understand her concern: why would you want to wear the sort of thing that older women who weren’t slim and expensively elegant would want; one of those silly little gestures of indulgence and playfulness which they permit themselves, in an otherwise dull and unstylish wardrobe? But I could also see that she’d misunderstood the meaning of their hankering; this one little tug of desire they could permit themselves.
"But look, Honey; that’s all they allow themselves," I explained. "They’re unable or unwilling to wear the figure-hugging, flattering, lovely girlie stuff which is on offer, across the board, as you do: they’re not going to be wearing the pencil skirt, the body-con dress, the heels, or whatever. They wouldn’t ever wear the jeans or skirts you do – couldn’t get into them, anyway. So they can only permit themselves a representative piece of girliness – and no matter how overweight, or dumpy, or matronly, they’ve allowed themselves to become, they can always get into gloves, or carry a nice handbag, or indulge themselves with fancy earrings; without actually having to make an effort."
If they’re part of that cohort who bought into the most prescriptive aspects of second-wave feminism in the late seventies, just as they were coming out of their late teens and twenties, like some of our circle; then I think there’s probably also a bit of pining for ways of looking they felt it necessary to reject, at the very time that they had most to gain from embracing them. How desperately sad! – there were very real and urgent gains to be made in the social and political arenas – but that particular generation paid a heavy price. It is said that teenagers can often experience a kind of grieving for their childhoods: but this is perhaps the first generation of women who, when they should be at the very height of their powers – physical, financial, social – are hankering for their twenties; when in fact, if memory serves, they were badly-turned out, unfit, poor and gauche; often in lowly work situations and a series of unsatisfactory relationships going nowhere. And this is very much an Anglo-Saxon disease - will you come across such pining among bourgeois middle-aged Parisiennes? – I think not.
Of course, to embrace some of the other elements of femininity more acceptably available nowadays - the flattering dress, the cute shoes, the pretty or sexy smalls – in other words, perhaps a more feminised wardrobe – is a no-no for such women. On a rational, conscious level, they’ll say that they’re too old, they’ll worry about the mutton dressed as lamb business; a good excuse for not wanting to seek male desire, but not an honest one: there’s always an age-appropriate version. Since when was looking cute and chic confined to the young? (so often, the young look anything but). They’ll say something’s too dear – but then spend the same amount on six crap chain-store items instead; like the tent-dresses and elasticated trousers they favour. Or they’ll say that they can’t get into those things anymore: but that only means that they’ve refused to put the work in, over the years, on staying fit. As a group, being overweight says that you are western and spoilt, with more than your fair share of the world’s resources. But on an individual level, being an overweight woman is saying that you do not need the desire of the other, have no need to elicit the man (or woman)’s desire, doesn’t it? - that you have no lack, that you are already sufficient and complete in yourself.
My adorable mistress is not that sort of woman and I was able to reassure her. The boots seemed to me an expression of confidence - not the absence of it, which might either drive someone into something needlessly unfashionable; or the other way, into an inappropriately youthful choice. Being quite expensive, well-made and flat-heeled, they managed to embrace the season’s fashionable take on boots, without suggesting she was desperately emulating the young: they just confirmed that she wanted to stay in the game; that she was still confident she had good legs and wanted them appreciated. And I was pleased to go to the shop with her at her request to ‘approve’ the boot purchase, because it confirmed me as the male she most wanted to do the appreciating. You might say it acknowledged her need to keep or win my desire – so that one purchase made two people happy.
"I’m a bit worried they make me look like an ageing rock-chick, she said; and that’s a look I really want to avoid at all costs."
This is her version of the anxiety about being seen by others as “mutton-dressed-as-lamb”; the fear which stalks so many women’s sartorial choices over forty.
"Don’t worry," I reassured her; "there would be fringes or studs involved for that look; whereas they’re quite stylishly restrained, there’s no hint of cowboy boots – and they look expensive. And you’d be wearing a short suede skirt and a denim jacket with them, if that was the case; not a smart black coat."
"Ok…. but I always worry…..," she went on (women do worry, really a lot; more or less all the time), "I worry they’re just the sort of accessory that women of a certain age splurge on. Take those pink Reiss leather gloves of mine – younger women don’t even comment; yet I don’t think I’ve encountered a single woman in her forties or fifties who hasn’t admired them, and clearly fancied a pair herself."
I could understand her concern: why would you want to wear the sort of thing that older women who weren’t slim and expensively elegant would want; one of those silly little gestures of indulgence and playfulness which they permit themselves, in an otherwise dull and unstylish wardrobe? But I could also see that she’d misunderstood the meaning of their hankering; this one little tug of desire they could permit themselves.
"But look, Honey; that’s all they allow themselves," I explained. "They’re unable or unwilling to wear the figure-hugging, flattering, lovely girlie stuff which is on offer, across the board, as you do: they’re not going to be wearing the pencil skirt, the body-con dress, the heels, or whatever. They wouldn’t ever wear the jeans or skirts you do – couldn’t get into them, anyway. So they can only permit themselves a representative piece of girliness – and no matter how overweight, or dumpy, or matronly, they’ve allowed themselves to become, they can always get into gloves, or carry a nice handbag, or indulge themselves with fancy earrings; without actually having to make an effort."
If they’re part of that cohort who bought into the most prescriptive aspects of second-wave feminism in the late seventies, just as they were coming out of their late teens and twenties, like some of our circle; then I think there’s probably also a bit of pining for ways of looking they felt it necessary to reject, at the very time that they had most to gain from embracing them. How desperately sad! – there were very real and urgent gains to be made in the social and political arenas – but that particular generation paid a heavy price. It is said that teenagers can often experience a kind of grieving for their childhoods: but this is perhaps the first generation of women who, when they should be at the very height of their powers – physical, financial, social – are hankering for their twenties; when in fact, if memory serves, they were badly-turned out, unfit, poor and gauche; often in lowly work situations and a series of unsatisfactory relationships going nowhere. And this is very much an Anglo-Saxon disease - will you come across such pining among bourgeois middle-aged Parisiennes? – I think not.
Of course, to embrace some of the other elements of femininity more acceptably available nowadays - the flattering dress, the cute shoes, the pretty or sexy smalls – in other words, perhaps a more feminised wardrobe – is a no-no for such women. On a rational, conscious level, they’ll say that they’re too old, they’ll worry about the mutton dressed as lamb business; a good excuse for not wanting to seek male desire, but not an honest one: there’s always an age-appropriate version. Since when was looking cute and chic confined to the young? (so often, the young look anything but). They’ll say something’s too dear – but then spend the same amount on six crap chain-store items instead; like the tent-dresses and elasticated trousers they favour. Or they’ll say that they can’t get into those things anymore: but that only means that they’ve refused to put the work in, over the years, on staying fit. As a group, being overweight says that you are western and spoilt, with more than your fair share of the world’s resources. But on an individual level, being an overweight woman is saying that you do not need the desire of the other, have no need to elicit the man (or woman)’s desire, doesn’t it? - that you have no lack, that you are already sufficient and complete in yourself.
My adorable mistress is not that sort of woman and I was able to reassure her. The boots seemed to me an expression of confidence - not the absence of it, which might either drive someone into something needlessly unfashionable; or the other way, into an inappropriately youthful choice. Being quite expensive, well-made and flat-heeled, they managed to embrace the season’s fashionable take on boots, without suggesting she was desperately emulating the young: they just confirmed that she wanted to stay in the game; that she was still confident she had good legs and wanted them appreciated. And I was pleased to go to the shop with her at her request to ‘approve’ the boot purchase, because it confirmed me as the male she most wanted to do the appreciating. You might say it acknowledged her need to keep or win my desire – so that one purchase made two people happy.
