Can I Wear This? Should I Wear This? What The Hell Am I Wearing?

I had a girls night out recently where I wore a pair of leather leggings, open toe high heeled booties, a pleated waist length top and some long punky earrings (baubles beads chains oh my). I looked around the room at the other ' 38-50 ' groups and thought   b  o  r  i  n  g . A bunch of old broads. Ha. Another look and I saw they were checking me out. Really checking me out. Ha. Flipped back an earring. Take that you out of date unstyl-....wait. Dear jeesus. Was I the one who was being mocked? Were they more appropriately attired than I was? Was I the old lady still trying to look hip? 

Daaaammnnnnn.  

Look. I live in the N.Y.C. where project runway is being reenacted everyday, everywhere, in every way, regardless of race, color or economic status. Women whose faces are as lined as the sidewalks upon which they step, Women who have just begun their tentative march into the ages, Girl babies who can't comprehend what a 'potty' is, all rock fabulousness from the jewels to the Vogue worthy ensembles topped off by noteworthy shoes, reptile rich handbags (whether hobo/clutch/or diaper) with the sharpest shiniest hairstyles or funkiest hats imaginable. This is the City where women wear their fierceness at all times whether they are going to work, to play, to the gym or to the corner store. It is about creating a picture, a look, a lasting impression. Giving everyone an instant polaroid of Who.You. Are. 

For the very first time in my life, I am Not. Quite. Sure. 

Well, let me rephrase that: I know who I am. I just apparently have misplaced my sense of 'dress' used to convey this thought. Shopping now requires some actual thinking.The kind of thinking normally required for scientific studies is now needed when deciding whether or not days of the week underwear is age appropriate (oh, shut up). 


A draped top with enough layovers to cover Mt. Rushmore provides camouflage for the middle (formerly known as The Waist). Cap sleeves are more feasible than no sleeves for they decoratively hide the slight waddling on the upper arms (known as The Flappers). All jeans/stretchy ski type pants must have at least 95% Lycra content for they also serve double duty as spanx. Yes, they prevent my ass from jingling, baby, but unfortunately they also prevent me from getting laid. Not very sexy when your partner has to remove them with lube and Home Depot tools instead of his teeth. Heels? Hahahahaha. The six inch f**k me pumps have turned into the 'walk with bad knees' comfort sole. With all of that, the least of my concerns should be whether or not my outfit is age appropriate.  The fact that I can still get into half of this shit and walk, talk, sit and breathe is enough of a major coupe. Yay me. 

But occasionally, I have wondered. And continue to wonder. Actually said it out loud to my cats, to my friends, to myself, to my mirror. Are supersupersuper straight legged dark rinse jeans for me? Can I get away with a funky 'I Heart NY' shredded tee from the teen department at Target? If I put it under a suit jacket? How about those adorable short waisted tight sleeved designer motorcycle jackets? Too much Joan Jett and not enough Julie Andrews? Who is Joan Jett? Fuck off. 

I have taken to looking at other women in my age group to see how they are handling this issue. And by what I can see, it's a fifty-fifty proposition. Some have a prom queen dream happening on top (from THEIR teen years) that segue ways into a fashion police pit stop in the middle dragged kicking and screaming into a "oh no she didn't' moment on the bottom. Confused to say the least. Others appear flawless. Striding about in skyscraper heels in the latest fashionable 'an-som-ball' and flowy highlighted locks. Effortless. How long did it take them to reach nirvana? Well, they look older than 40'ish to me. Just saying. 


St. John separates are not for me. Neither are Crocs - at least taken seriously. And those mature matching tailored sweatshits, I mean, suits? I think you know my answer. Instead of being able to leave the house in under 10 (mins) it is taking me over 10 (hours) with plenty of yelling, flinging and "I'm just not going, dammit" in between. What to do when you are *ahem* seasoned but don't feel seasoned? 

Ignore everything. Ignore everyone. B R E A T H E. Continue to listen to yourself. If you start questioning whether it is appropriate or not, it probably isn't. Just like that twenty eight (one can only hope) year old hot boy you were flirting with. Might be a good idea at that moment but the residual effects will be long lasting. Stop worrying. Stop fussing. Wear the hell what you like with your head held high. People will realize that you are obviously 'going through' something and will turn away after giving you a slightly lingering glance. Depending on what the hades you put on this morning. 

Yes, you are still you. More rather than less. Fashionable, sexy, cool you. Do the leather skirt; just end it lower than the hair on your pleasure box. Do the motorcycle jacket; just don't put a multi-colored sequin skull on the back. The six inch heels? Necessary evil. Wear them from the car to the bar - seat. And the pants? Can't be helped. Just bring an extra tube of lube and a set of pliers with you. 

xo,

Fourty(ish) and Fabulous