Funny (not) old age, 30. In the run-up to it, I was assured by everyone that a time of personal crisis loomed. I would mourn my evaporating youth. Question who I was. Hurl baleful cries heavenward about the meaning of it all, my metabolism. “Saturn returns!” people would say ominously before going off to a party to do Miaow Miaow and listen to Kasabian (yes, reader, this was some half-decade ago).
In the event, I entered my 30s without noticing, probably because I had a very small baby and four jobs. I vaguely remember the unfamiliar sensation of looking at myself in a mirror on the day itself, before sneaking out for 1.5 hours for a celebratory lunch. This feels like it happened six months rather than five years ago. Everyone knows time speeds up in your 30s. The decade – adulthood itself – snuck up on me while I was distracted. I paddled frantically past the midpoint between birth and my bus pass too busy keeping my head above water to take in the view. Until now. Suddenly, somehow, my youngest child is three. I check the mirror again. I’m still in it, but different. I stare hard at my reflection. What on earth is that woman going to wear?
My best friend (six years older, immaculately dressed) came out the other end of this 30something seachange a while ago. I seek his advice, hoping it and my fashion smarts will get me through. “The first thing,” he says, “is to forget about fashion.” Oh. “I decided to start asking myself: ‘Would Steve McQueen wear this?’ If the answer’s no, I don’t buy it.” Perhaps a similar aesthetic touchstone could help buoy me up in the deep-end of grown-up dressing. I spend weeks mulling over Steve McQueen’s female equivalent (Jane Birkin? Kate Moss? Audrey Hepburn? Alexa Chung?)… I appraise the wardrobe of his leading ladies.Faye Dunaway never looked hotter than in The Thomas Crown Affair, but an all-white wardrobe accessorised with giant hats and beige nails? Hmm.
It turns out that the female equivalent of Steve McQueen is an imaginary Lady Steve McQueen. Lady Steve is more of a spirit guide than a literal template (for example she does dresses, but nothing too girly; prints, but only with purpose).
I remove the contents of my wardrobe and put back only what Lady Steve would wear. A harrowing 70% of it fails to pass muster (my pain is Oxfam’s gain). Quentin Crisp said: “Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.” Shopping as Lady Steve saves time and money. I’m more selective, less emotional. I may really want those floral Jacquard shorts, but Lady Steve is of the same mind as Mr Crisp when it comes to high-fashion items. Her wish list is above. Perhaps a wardrobe hero could help you through a time of transition. I’d love to know if they have.
Lauren Laverne on style: dressing like your hero
2014 February 4. | Szerző: shannon
Funny (not) old age, 30. In the run-up to it, I was assured by everyone that a time of personal crisis loomed. I would mourn my evaporating youth. Question who I was. Hurl baleful cries heavenward about the meaning of it all, my metabolism. “Saturn returns!” people would say ominously before going off to a party to do Miaow Miaow and listen to Kasabian (yes, reader, this was some half-decade ago).
In the event, I entered my 30s without noticing, probably because I had a very small baby and four jobs. I vaguely remember the unfamiliar sensation of looking at myself in a mirror on the day itself, before sneaking out for 1.5 hours for a celebratory lunch. This feels like it happened six months rather than five years ago. Everyone knows time speeds up in your 30s. The decade – adulthood itself – snuck up on me while I was distracted. I paddled frantically past the midpoint between birth and my bus pass too busy keeping my head above water to take in the view. Until now. Suddenly, somehow, my youngest child is three. I check the mirror again. I’m still in it, but different. I stare hard at my reflection. What on earth is that woman going to wear?
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My best friend (six years older, immaculately dressed) came out the other end of this 30something seachange a while ago. I seek his advice, hoping it and my fashion smarts will get me through. “The first thing,” he says, “is to forget about fashion.” Oh. “I decided to start asking myself: ‘Would Steve McQueen wear this?’ If the answer’s no, I don’t buy it.” Perhaps a similar aesthetic touchstone could help buoy me up in the deep-end of grown-up dressing. I spend weeks mulling over Steve McQueen’s female equivalent (Jane Birkin? Kate Moss? Audrey Hepburn? Alexa Chung?)… I appraise the wardrobe of his leading ladies.Faye Dunaway never looked hotter than in The Thomas Crown Affair, but an all-white wardrobe accessorised with giant hats and beige nails? Hmm.
It turns out that the female equivalent of Steve McQueen is an imaginary Lady Steve McQueen. Lady Steve is more of a spirit guide than a literal template (for example she does dresses, but nothing too girly; prints, but only with purpose).
I remove the contents of my wardrobe and put back only what Lady Steve would wear. A harrowing 70% of it fails to pass muster (my pain is Oxfam’s gain). Quentin Crisp said: “Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.” Shopping as Lady Steve saves time and money. I’m more selective, less emotional. I may really want those floral Jacquard shorts, but Lady Steve is of the same mind as Mr Crisp when it comes to high-fashion items. Her wish list is above. Perhaps a wardrobe hero could help you through a time of transition. I’d love to know if they have.
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