Sensible shoes

I was horrified to discover, in the post, a mail order catalogue addressed to me in capital letters (just in case I didn’t realise it was intended for ME). This catalogue was full of middle-aged women posing chirpily in outfits designed for middle-aged women. But you are a middle-aged woman, you might declare, it says so at the top of your blog. No, what really horrified me was when I realised that not only did I find some of the outfits worthy of a second glance, I had turned down the corners on the interesting pages for future reference.

I should explain. Despite photographic evidence to the contrary (it was the Eighties, for goodness sake), I have always prided myself on presenting a youthful appearance. I still wear mini dresses with leggings and DMs (Dr Marten’s boots, for all you middle-aged ladies now scratching your grey-sprinkled heads). I keep my hair blonde, with a dash of purple or pink, depending on the season, and never leave home without some basic make-up (for the neighbours’ sakes as much as my own).

So you will forgive me if I feel a little peeved that the marketing gurus leading the charge into old age feel I should slot into their next target bracket. Apparently I should be wearing pastels and sensible shoes, at twenty per cent off with a coupon. What’s next, home-made cardis and cups of cocoa as I sway backwards and forwards in my rocking chair to the rhythm of my knitting needles?

Don’t get me wrong. I do not condone women of more than a certain age dressing like their teenage daughters. God forbid we should start wearing over-the-knee socks and taking pouty selfies that only hormone-engorged kids could believe to be attractive. But equally we must not succumb to the mid-length, unflattering styles favoured by our grannies, or allow anything even vaguely quilted to adorn our bodies. It’s a fine line we women of a certain age are treading.

The line with Child #6 is also a rather precarious one. While not being a fan of the skin-tight dress and the see-through top so many young girls squeeze themselves into, she nevertheless wants to express herself in a way that sometimes leaves He Who Knows Best spluttering into his cocoa (he being a few years older than me). A hint of cleavage or a glimpse of pale stomach and he’s likely to snap his pencil on his Sudoku page and start muttering about how dating should be illegal before the age of thirty.

As I said, it’s all a tricky business. I will mull it over while I finish my latte and flick through my catalogue again.

Inspiration struck today at ... Caffé Bene, West 17th Street and 8th Avenue

This is the South Korean version of Starbucks. A couple of the venues around here have closed down recently, but I’m happy to report this one is still going strong.

Pros: staff always greet you with a smile, good latte.
Cons: music is way too loud, particularly in the morning if you’re not a teen dipping out of school.