A letter about being in the photograph

At 68, I had become the woman who offered to take every family photograph. My granddaughter finally asked me why I was never in them.

There are fourteen photographs from my granddaughter Lucy's birthday lunch on my daughter's phone. I've seen every one of them, because Kate sent them to the family group afterwards.

There's Lucy with her cake. Lucy with her cousins. Kate and her husband standing by the barbecue. My sister Helen with a glass of something cold, looking as though she's telling a very funny story.

And me?

I'm not in a single one.

Not because I wasn't there. I was there all afternoon, cutting cake, making tea and telling everybody to come back for seconds.

But whenever someone suggested a photograph, I found a reason to be the person holding the phone.

Someone had to take it, after all.

Lucy noticed when we were looking through them together a few days later.

“Nan, how come you're never in our pictures?”

I told her somebody had to be behind the camera.

She looked at me for a moment and said, “But I want pictures with you in them.”

It was such a simple thing to say.

And it made me feel rather ashamed of the reason I had been avoiding them.

I wasn't trying to avoid the camera. I was trying to avoid seeing myself in another dress that made me feel uncomfortable about my middle.

There. I've said it.

At 68, I am not the same shape I was at thirty-eight. I have a tummy. My waist is different. Things settle in places they didn't before.

None of that is a tragedy, and I have no particular desire to pretend otherwise.

But somewhere along the way, getting dressed had become a small exercise in finding the least unflattering thing in the wardrobe.

And without really deciding to, I'd started staying out of the photographs.

How it happens without you noticing

I used to enjoy wearing dresses.

Especially when the weather warmed up in Perth. A pretty summer dress, comfortable sandals and a cardigan thrown over the arm if we were staying out late.

That was my idea of getting dressed for a lovely day.

But over the years, my wardrobe slowly changed.

I began buying dresses that were wider through the middle because I didn't want anything pulling across my tummy when I sat down.

Then I'd put one on and discover it made me look twice my actual size.

So I'd try something with a little more shape, only to spend the whole afternoon tugging the fabric away from my stomach.

Neither was particularly enjoyable.

Eventually I started reaching for the same loose trousers and long tops because I knew exactly how they'd look.

I told myself I preferred them.

But the truth was that I'd stopped expecting to find a dress that felt like me anymore.

And when somebody brought out a camera, I became very interested in offering to take the photograph.

Funny how we convince ourselves nobody notices these little things.

Lucy did.

What I had wrong about covering my tummy

After that conversation with Lucy, I went upstairs and had a proper look through the dresses hanging in my wardrobe.

I found three I'd barely worn.

One was lovely around the shoulders but fitted too closely through the middle.

Another was so loose that it hung straight down from my shoulders, with no shape to it at all.

And the third looked beautiful on the hanger but had a stiff waistband that I couldn't bear after lunch.

It occurred to me that I'd been making the same mistake for years.

Whenever something felt wrong around my tummy, I bought a bigger, looser version.

But looser wasn't necessarily better.

I didn't want to hide inside a tent.

I wanted a dress with some shape at the top that could fall gently over my middle without clinging to it.

And I wanted a proper length, sleeves I felt comfortable in, and something that looked like I'd chosen it because I liked it.

Not because it was the only thing that covered everything.

The dress I nearly passed over

That was when I found the Georgina at Perth Boutique.

I was looking online one evening after dinner, not particularly expecting to find anything.

The dress was called the Georgina, and the colour I kept returning to was the multicolour floral.

It's a light, almost white background with a scattering of flowers in red, blue, yellow and purple.

The sort of pretty, slightly old-fashioned garden print that reminds me of the dresses my mother used to wear when she was going somewhere nice.

But what made me stop was the shape.

A rounded neckline, short sleeves and a softly gathered front that falls into a flowing A-line skirt.

There wasn't a tight band sitting right across the part of my stomach I was always trying not to think about.

There was some shape through the upper part, then room for the fabric to fall naturally.

And there were pockets.

Actual pockets in a pretty dress.

I looked at the photographs again.

Then I ordered it.

When it arrived, I laid it out across the bed before trying it on.

I liked that it looked like a normal, pretty dress.

Not something designed to disguise a problem.

Not something that looked as though I'd borrowed it from somebody half my age.

Just a lovely floral dress I could imagine wearing to lunch.

The part I noticed when I tried it on

I have a rather unflattering habit when I try on dresses.

The first thing I do is turn sideways in front of the mirror.

Then I put my hand across my tummy and try to decide whether the fabric is sitting properly.

I've done it for so long that I barely notice.

But when I put the Georgina on, something about the cut made me stop examining myself quite so closely.

The neckline sat neatly, the sleeves covered the tops of my arms, and the soft gathering below the upper section let the skirt fall away instead of pulling across my middle.

There was still a waist shape to the dress.

It just wasn't asking my tummy to be the same shape it had been twenty-five years ago.

I sat down on the edge of the bed to see what happened.

Then I stood up again.

Then I put my hands in the pockets, because once you've discovered pockets in a dress, it is practically compulsory to test them.

I remember laughing at myself.

After years of making such hard work of buying dresses, here I was delighted by the fact that I could put my hands somewhere.

Of course, every woman's figure is different.

But I liked how this particular style was designed to fall.

And for the first time in a while, I was looking forward to wearing a dress rather than wondering what I could put over it.

What happened at the next family lunch

The next opportunity was a Sunday lunch at Kate's.

She'd invited us over because the weather was lovely, her husband had decided to use the barbecue, and Lucy wanted everybody together before the school holidays.

It was one of those Perth spring afternoons when the garden looks its best and everybody ends up outside.

I wore the Georgina with my usual flat sandals and a pair of little earrings I've had for years.

Nothing especially grand.

But I remember standing in front of the mirror before leaving and thinking that the outfit looked right.

Not fashionable in a way that would make anybody turn their head.

Just right for me.

Before we left, I'd set the dress out on the dining chair while deciding whether to take a cardigan.

When I walked into Kate's kitchen, she noticed the dress.

“Mum, that's lovely. Is it new?”

I told her it was.

She asked me to turn around so she could see the pattern properly, then wanted to know where I'd found it.

I showed her the Perth Boutique page on my phone.

And then she said something that made me smile.

“You look like you're ready to enjoy yourself.”

That was a much nicer compliment than being told I looked younger.

I wasn't trying to look younger.

I wanted to feel comfortable being exactly the age I was.

We spent most of the afternoon outside.

There were sausages on the barbecue, a bowl of potato salad somebody had made too much of, and my sister Helen telling stories everybody had heard at least twice before.

I sat wherever I wanted.

I got up to help with the plates.

I stood around the kitchen talking to Kate while she made coffee.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Lucy announced that she wanted a photograph of everybody together.

I reached automatically for her phone.

She shook her head.

“No, Nan. You're in this one.”

So I was.

The photograph I didn't offer to take

We lined up in the garden, with Kate trying to organise everyone and the younger ones making faces at the back.

Helen complained that the sun was in her eyes.

Someone said we should move two steps to the left.

It was exactly the sort of chaotic family photograph I usually ended up taking.

Except this time, I was standing in the middle of it.

Lucy came and stood beside me and put her arm around my waist.

I thought about the dress for a moment.

Then I stopped thinking about it.

When Kate showed me the photograph afterwards, I didn't immediately start looking at my tummy.

I noticed Lucy smiling.

I noticed Helen laughing at something.

And I noticed that I looked like I belonged there.

Which, of course, I always had.

My granddaughter had never cared whether my stomach was perfectly flat. She just wanted her grandmother in the photograph.

It sounds like such an obvious thing.

But sometimes the obvious things take a surprisingly long time to sink in.

Why it became an everyday dress

I didn't put the Georgina away for another special occasion.

The next morning, I wore it around the house while getting a few things done.

Then I wore it to have coffee with a friend later in the week.

That's when I realised I'd found the sort of dress I actually wanted.

One that could look nice for a family lunch without being too precious to wear on an ordinary day.

The floral print is cheerful without being too loud.

The sleeves mean I don't immediately go looking for a cardigan to cover my arms.

The mid-calf length is practical, and the gentle shape gives the dress some movement.

And the pockets are lovely for carrying a tissue, a shopping list or the reading glasses I seem to be forever misplacing.

None of these details is especially complicated.

But when they all come together in the same dress, it's surprising how often you reach for it.

I used to think the best dress in my wardrobe would be the one I wore to something important.

Now I think it's probably the one I wear again the following Tuesday because I genuinely enjoy putting it on.

Three things I've learned about dresses after 65

One. A flattering dress doesn't have to be tight to have shape. The Georgina has a softly defined upper section and front gathering that lets the skirt fall more freely. That feels much more natural to me than a stiff waistband or a completely shapeless dress.

Two. Sleeves and length matter more than the latest fashion. I like being able to sit down, move around and go about my day without continually adjusting what I'm wearing. Short sleeves and a mid-calf skirt are the sort of everyday details I appreciate.

Three. There's no reason to disappear from your own family photographs. This one isn't really about dresses at all. It's about remembering that our children and grandchildren want photographs of us as we are, not as we looked twenty years ago.

That last lesson has stayed with me.

I've spent plenty of time taking photographs of everyone else.

I think I'd like to be in a few more of them.

About the price

I want to mention the price because it was something I looked at carefully before ordering.

Perth Boutique currently lists the Georgina at $49.95 AUD, with a displayed comparison price of $166.50.

That's an advertised saving of seventy per cent.

Which is a substantial discount, and I think it's sensible to check the product details rather than ordering simply because something has been reduced.

What mattered to me was whether the cut suited what I wanted.

The Georgina has a rounded neckline, short sleeves, soft front pleats, a flowing A-line skirt and discreet pockets.

The store describes the fabric as lightweight and slightly stretchy, and the dress comes in sizes S through 3XL.

I would check the size guide carefully before choosing, particularly if you normally buy different sizes depending on the style.

There are several floral colours available, although the multicolour floral is the one I chose.

Perth Boutique also lists free delivery within Australia.

For me, the Georgina appealed because it looked like the sort of dress I'd actually wear often, rather than another purchase that would sit in the wardrobe waiting for the perfect occasion.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting out the back with a cup of tea, and you told me you hadn't bought a pretty dress in years because everything seemed to pull across your stomach or hang like a sack, I would understand completely.

I was doing exactly the same thing.

And I spent a long time thinking the answer was to hide more of myself.

Buy something longer. Something wider. Something darker.

But perhaps the answer isn't to find a bigger dress.

Perhaps it's to find a better shape.

Something that sits neatly around the neckline and shoulders, with a little room through the middle and a skirt that falls naturally rather than clinging to every curve.

The Georgina is worth looking at if that sounds like the kind of dress you're after.

Look at the photographs, check the measurements and see whether the cut appeals to you.

I can't promise you'll feel the same way about it. Clothes fit each of us differently, and we all have our own preferences.

But I like that it is pretty without being fussy, and practical without looking as though someone has given up trying.

Most of all, I like what that family photograph reminded me.

Lucy won't look back in twenty years and wish her grandmother had worn a smaller dress size.

She'll want to remember that we were all together in the garden, laughing at something, with the sunshine coming through the trees.

And this time, I'll be in the picture.

At 68, I've stopped waiting until I look different to let somebody take my photograph.

Maggie