A letter from a reader

At 67, every morning was the same baggy trousers and a top I did not even like

I have never written anything like this before, and I want to say at the start that I am not a writer and I am not in the habit of telling other women what to wear.

But four different women asked me about these at the garden center cafe here in Charleston on Saturday, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It is the mornings I want to tell you about first. Getting dressed had quietly worn me down, if I am honest. I would stand in front of the closet first thing, and my hand would go to the same place it always did.

The same baggy trousers, and a top I did not even like, every single morning.

I would pull them on and think, well, that will do, because it always did, and then get on with the day feeling a little as though I had given up before it had even started.

I did not choose that, not really. Nobody decides to dress like that. It happens quietly, one sensible purchase at a time, until getting dressed stops being a choice at all and becomes a habit you cannot quite remember agreeing to.

How it happens

I used to enjoy getting dressed. In my thirties I had a green coat I loved so much I wore it until the lining went.

What changed was not me. It was the shape.

Somewhere along the way the stores decided that women over a certain age wanted to be invisible. Go and look. Rack after rack of the same loose pants and dark tops, all of it described as easy or forgiving or flattering, which we all know by now is a polite way of saying nobody thought about you very hard.

And once that is all there is, you stop expecting anything else. You buy the dark pants because they are fine. You wear them. Nobody says anything, which is rather the point.

What I had wrong

Here is the part I got most wrong, and I think a lot of us have.

I had decided, somewhere along the way, that I had to choose. Either I was comfortable, or I looked as though I had made an effort, and I could not possibly be both.

It turns out that was never true.

I have since paid proper attention to this, and the thing that makes an outfit look tired is not whether it is comfortable. It is the shape of it, whether it hangs off you like a sack or actually skims you, whether it was thought about at all. And it is the color, or the total absence of one.

Something cut loose so it skims instead of swallowing you, that adjusts to your own shape, in a print you actually like, reads completely differently. It reads as a decision. That is the whole difference, and it took me until 67 to work it out.

They are called the Wren

They are from Dorothy and June, a small American boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now.

They are called the Wren. A pair of soft overalls in a lovely muted gray, with a faded vintage floral scattered all over, the kind of print that looks as though it has always been yours. Wide, relaxed legs, and straps that button and adjust so the fit is exactly your own.

Cotton, soft and breathable, which in the last few weeks has mattered more than I expected. Best of all they are one piece, so getting dressed is one decision and then it is done. The cut is relaxed and it skims rather than clings, and there is nothing to fuss with once the straps are set.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just something that somebody thought about.

What happened at the garden center

I wore them for the first time to the garden center cafe, the one off the main road here in Charleston, with a plain top and my good sandals.

Four women asked me where they were from. Four. One of them was Ann, who I have known since our children were at elementary school and who has never once commented on anything I have worn.

She said I looked nicely put together. From Ann, that is practically a standing ovation.

What I noticed more than the asking, though, was that I forgot about myself. I did not spend the morning tugging at anything or wondering whether something had ridden up. I sat down, I had a very large slice of cake, and I did not think about what I had on once.

The next day I put them straight back on for a wander round the stores, and felt completely myself. That is the rarest sort of thing. The one you can wear for a day out, or around the house on a Sunday, and feel right in either way.

Three things I have learned since

One. The sizing is honest. They run from a small all the way to a 5XL, and it is the same easy cut the whole way up, not a different shape once you pass a certain number. I wish more places would bother with that.

Two. You stop thinking about getting dressed. They are one piece, so it is one decision and then it is done. The straps adjust so the fit is exactly mine, and after that there is nothing to fuss with all day.

Three. The print does the quiet work. It is a statement print, but a calm one, so a plain top underneath and you are styled. Sandals for a day out, and a light cardigan over the top when the evening turns.

About the price

I want to be straightforward about this, because it was the thing that made me suspicious.

The Wren is $49.95. It was $109.95.

And my first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because you can walk into a store and pay more than that for something that will have lost its shape by August.

There is no catch that I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a cut in the middle, and they run a summer sale to move the season’s stock before it turns.

I did what I imagine you are doing now and went and read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I am honest made me trust it rather more. One woman had written, “The most comfortable thing I own and it looks like I planned it. I practically live in them.” That was the one that decided it for me.

Then I went back and ordered a second pair.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting in the garden and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have spent the last few years reaching for the same baggy pants and the same loose top, not because you like them but because nothing else felt like you, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and look.

Not because a pair of overalls will change your life. It will not. But there is something in getting dressed in the morning and recognizing yourself that I had quietly given up on, and I would rather you did not give up on it too.

Two practical things. The sale is on at the moment, and the middle sizes are the ones that go first, which I found out the hard way when I went back for a second pair. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

I have not reached for those old pants since.

Amy