The first thing I thought when I saw the pictures of her in the cropped white overalls was “Not fair!” Why can’t I wear them? My daughter has a pair in exactly the same style, in red.
But just like the prairie dresses, the reason I can’t keep up with the suspender suit isn’t because I’m six years older than the Sex in the City / And Just Like That actress. .. and therefore officially also horribly old for wearing overalls. It is simply because they have never been adapted to my short and heavy body type.
I’ve been trying them since I was 14 and they’ve never been good to me. They never will. But I thought Ms Parker was brilliant there, as she is in everything, because she’s just as amazing as a horse in middle age, as she was at 33, when the SATC broke in. in our lives in 1998.
Her character’s eccentric sartorial sense – tulle tutus for day wear especially stays in mind – was the visual personality of the show, in perfect harmony with its subject matter of modern women working things on their own terms. And while we still have to wait a few more weeks (battery fingers on the desk) to see if the relaunched series and its characters are still relevant and relevant 20 years later, that’s still the one metric that should dictate what we wear.
What works for each of us as an individual.
Well that’s what I think, but to check if the younger generation finds it grotesque to see the clothes they wear on the elderly (the ones they can’t steal), I asked my daughter what she thought of the SJP overalls.
“She looked great,” Peggy said enthusiastically. “She’s a New Yorker, she can wear whatever she wants, and why would people be against older women in overalls?” It’s Donna in Mamma Mia! – name pronounced with holy reverence. “It’s an iconic look. People like her go to fancy dress parties, as a tribute.
Then, after some thought, she came up with a look she didn’t like for more mature women.
“I don’t like it that much,” she said, “when older women wear sexy-sexy clothes with a lot of crazy action. I actually don’t really like this look on anyone.
So it seems that the idea of rules about who should wear what at certain ages seems as irrelevant to the younger generation as it does to people like me.
Really, stating age as an indication of what we should – and more importantly, what we shouldn’t be wearing – is as relevant as dictating it by star signs, or that seasonal color nonsense that was in the spotlight. fashion in the 1980s.
Blonde and blue eyed, I was assigned “summer” when I took the test to write an article about it in my early twenties. That meant I had to – again that finger-wagging word – wear pink and other tasteless pastels, the safest colors to make me feel fat and cranky at this point. (Although now, oddly enough, I’m starting to embrace them, but only in a subversive way.)
Looking back, I actually think this silly test did me a favor, confirming that I was right to stick with the colors and styles of clothes I felt good in at the time, which was black, black. and black, with a leopard print for lightness. Forty years later, I swapped black for an ultra-dark navy blue (with increasing forays into khaki), because by my own measure, black is a bit harsh against my older skin tone. And, probably more importantly, I’ve worn it for so long I’m just fed up with it.
Also, in the 80s, it was still annoyed to wear black, Yohji Yamamoto style, whereas now it is quite normal among the civilian population, and therefore less interesting for me. It doesn’t make any sort of statement.
There is a similar story with the leopard print, which was once the hallmark of the rebellious outsider, but is now (a little boring) as common as stripes. To counter that, I now usually wear it in multiples in one outfit – all in different prints, which is the rebellious point. Eight different leopard print pieces in one look is my personal best. Until there.
My daughter has now adopted this style too. By copying it from me. So if it’s mutton, skip the mint sauce