I just bought a pair of Vans hi-top sneakers. I remember the skater kids in high school wore them and I always liked the style, but I wasn’t a skater and I wasn’t nearly cool enough to dress like one. It literally took me 20 years to feel confident enough to buy a pair of shoes.
So this piece from Stacy London (What Not To Wear) is apropos and an awesome read about aging, style, and being “part of the first generation of women not truly dependent on anyone.”
There’s that Alice in Wonderland quote: “I’m not the same girl I was yesterday.” In some ways, the woman I’ve become didn’t even exist yesterday. I am the first generation of this kind of woman: the kind of woman whose traditions and values are being written right now. The way I dress has become a symbol of that evolution for me. The traditional colors and styles and actual “femininity” associated with a woman’s wardrobe feel as antiquated as the ideas that you can’t be an accomplished woman without marriage or children.
My style doesn’t have to have a context yet, just like my value in society doesn’t. It is all evolving. And it all remains to be seen. But I own who I am when I walk into a room, and it is only age that has given me the privilege to feel that. What 32-year-old me could never have known is that growing older is such a gift. Age has mellowed many of my insecurities because the pressure is no longer on me. At 47, I’m finding that my trouser pockets are filled with fewer and fewer fucks.