Tag Archives: fashion

#131: Try Not To Be So Chic

My fashionista daughter in Paris forwarded me a link to Advanced Style, a blog on chic into one’s golden years, or silver years, or wizened years, or something.

Thanks for thinking of me and HNTAO, sweetie, though I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by the viewpoint of this blog.  On the one hand, gee, it’s nice when someone, anyone, notices that people over 40ish exist, much less applauds them for their superior style. When that applause is public and coming from the Evil Young, it’s truly a breakthrough event.

And yet, do I detect a whiff of patronization here? A hint of: Yeah, those silver-headed wizened people, they’ve got individual style, sometimes even chic, but they’re not truly hot and cool like us.

I was disappointed not to find a single person on the blog who I aspired to dress like, though I’m always on the lookout for old people style role models.  The best one I ever found was an ancient Asian man I spotted on a beach in California, wearing a straw hat, a white shirt, black pants, and brown sandals.  Now that’s authentic and eternal chic.

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#122: Throw Off the Middle-Aged Burka

When exactly did the imams sweep through my town in suburban New Jersey and decree that every woman over the age of 40 had to chop off her hair, wash off her makeup, and start dressing in baggy black or beige linen or flannel, buttoned up to the neck, hanging down to the ground, and I’ll have you wear flat, rubber-soled shoes with that, missy.

The middle-aged suburban woman-shrouding style is so ingrained that anyone wearing something bright or tight or low-cut (usually that’s me) is viewed with suspicion. What’s she up to? Who does she think she is? Where is she going? And why is she flaunting it like that?

I say break out the hair dye, invest in some really expensive undergarments, make your daughters take you shopping for once. If your husbands feel threatened, if your friends think you’re a traitor to the sisterhood, if the other moms question your fitness, just let ’em. As long as you’re still walking this earth, you might as well do it in shoes that click.

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