A guest post by Polly Fontayne on fashion for the over 30s…
I’m in fashion limbo, I’ve reached a style cross-roads, I’m lost in Outfitville and The Fashion Police are nowhere to be found.
Its tough being 35 when it comes to fashion. I mean, on the one hand, I no longer frequent raves so the fact that I couldn’t fit into a hot pant/bikini top combo isn’t an issue but on the other hand, I can’t face waking up to a wardrobe of ‘flattering’ (read "boring") wrap dresses and kitten heeled mules with the only possible added excitement coming in the form of a colourful silk scarf or a chunky set of beads.
Unfortunately, when I did have a figure like Giselle, I was in my early 20’s and naively thought I would always have a tiny waist and long legs so I kind of took it for granted and didn’t make the most of it. 15 years have passed and while I’ve still got the long legs, they now draw the eye up to a rather wide, kind of flat bottom (think a motorway road sign and you will understand what I have to work with on my bottom half every morning!) and a dreaded muffin top that sadly has set up camp there on a permanent basis and doesn’t even wait for me to squeeze on a pair of skinny jeans before making an unwelcome appearance.
My dilemma is made worse by the fact that in my head, I really want to rock wet look leggings, platforms and a cropped biker jacket. I want my hair to look rock and roll messy, rather than like someone’s mum who got up late and got caught out doing the school run before she had time to find her hairbrush. I want to wear plastic jewellery and not look like a primary school teacher wearing a pupil’s handmade gift because she feels like she has too.
I want to wake up on a summer’s day, slip my long brown flawless limbs into a pair of knackered old denim hot pants, throw on a sleeveless vintage band t- shirt (hell, I don’t even want to wear a bra with straps the width of a shopping bag handles underneath), add a lick of eyeliner and an over sized studded leather handbag and make workmen crash their vans, not for police cars to stop and cover me a silver foil sheet and demand to know who did this to me. Oh, and I would also like my eyelids back because since my eyebrows dropped making them disappear, no one can see my attempts at smokey eyes. Who could possibly be expected to enjoy a party without a bit of the old charcoal glitter pencil?
So Fashion Police Officers, if you are young and you’ve got it goin’ ‘awn, then good for you. I’m pleased for you. Honestly. Just spare a thought for those of us who still read Vogue, who still enlarge thumbnails of the Olsen Twins to swoon over studded Laboutin heels but have to spend a fortune on Spanx, bras that could be doubled as a sling for twin babies and industrial sized pots of cellulite cream before we even dare click on TopShop.com!
~ Polly Fontayne
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