An illustrated letter about saving things for best

At 68, I found three dresses in my wardrobe with the tags still on. My granddaughter asked who I was saving them for.

My granddaughter Lucy was helping me sort through the wardrobe one Sunday afternoon when she found three dresses with their tags still attached.

One was from a wedding I never ended up attending. Another I'd bought for a family lunch that was cancelled. The third had been hanging there for so long that I couldn't actually remember why I'd bought it.

They were all perfectly lovely.

And every one of them had spent its entire life inside my wardrobe.

Lucy held one up against herself, looked at the label and asked why I'd never worn it.

“Oh, that's one of my good dresses,” I told her.

She asked what I meant by good.

I explained that it was for a special occasion.

She looked at the other two, then at me.

“Nan, what special occasion are you waiting for?”

I was about to tell her that something would come along eventually.

But I stopped.

Because I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually decided an ordinary day was worth wearing something lovely for.

I'd spent so long saving my nicest things for another day that I had almost forgotten I was allowed to enjoy them today.

I laughed and told Lucy she sounded exactly like her mother.

But later that evening, I went back upstairs and looked at those three dresses again.

Sixty-eight years old, and I was still keeping things in the wardrobe for a version of life that seemed to require a proper invitation.

That's when I decided something needed to change.

I'm writing this because I suspect there are other women my age who know exactly what I'm talking about.

The good china that never comes out of the cupboard.

The lovely tablecloth saved for visitors.

The perfume that only gets worn when somebody is getting married.

And the dresses that never quite seem to find an occasion important enough to justify wearing them.

We spend years collecting nice things.

Then we become terribly good at not using them.

Where I learned to save everything for best

My mother was exactly the same.

She had a beautiful white tablecloth with little embroidered flowers around the edges. I can still picture it folded carefully in the linen cupboard.

We weren't allowed to use it for ordinary Sunday lunch.

That one was for visitors.

There was also a dinner service with tiny blue flowers, which only appeared at Christmas and the occasional family celebration.

And in her wardrobe, she had two dresses that were always referred to as her good ones.

I grew up thinking this was perfectly normal.

Nice things were saved.

Everyday things were worn until they fell apart.

And if you bought yourself something lovely, the sensible thing to do was put it away until there was a proper reason to use it.

I carried that habit through my twenties, thirties, forties and fifties without giving it much thought.

When the children were little, it made a certain sort of sense. There was always washing to do, something spilled on the floor, and somebody who needed picking up from school.

But the children are grown now.

I've reached an age where I ought to be enjoying the things I've worked hard for.

And somehow, I was still opening the wardrobe and reaching for the same ordinary trousers and plain tops.

Even on days when the weather was beautiful.

Even when I had no reason not to wear something pretty.

I had become so careful with the good things that I'd forgotten what they were actually for.

What I had wrong about a special occasion

After Lucy went home, I sat down with a cup of tea and tried to think of the last occasion that had felt special enough for one of those dresses.

A birthday lunch, perhaps.

A wedding.

Christmas.

But the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

I'd had some of the loveliest afternoons of my life sitting in somebody's garden, having tea with an old friend or going out unexpectedly with my sister.

None of those occasions had come with an invitation printed on expensive paper.

They had simply happened.

And yet I had decided that ordinary days weren't worth getting dressed nicely for.

Not dressed up, mind you.

I have no desire to wear heels to the supermarket or a formal dress while hanging out the washing.

But there had to be something between everyday clothes that made no effort at all and special-occasion dresses too precious to wear twice.

Something pretty enough to enjoy, but relaxed enough to actually live in.

That became what I started looking for.

The little yellow flowers I couldn't stop looking at

I was browsing Perth Boutique one evening when I came across a dress called the Georgina.

There were several floral versions, but the yellow floral caught my attention straight away.

It's a soft white dress with little blue and yellow flowers scattered across it, connected by delicate green stems.

Not a huge, heavy floral print.

More like the wildflowers you find growing in unexpected places after a bit of spring rain.

The blue flowers are a lovely gentle shade, and the yellow ones remind me of the daisies my mother used to grow outside the kitchen.

I liked that it looked fresh without being too bright.

And I particularly liked that it looked like a dress I could wear with the sandals and cardigans I already owned.

But I didn't order it immediately.

My first thought was, “That's lovely. I must remember it for the next family occasion.”

Then I heard Lucy's voice in my head.

Who was I saving it for?

So I went back to the page.

Had another look at the shape.

And this time, I ordered it because I wanted to wear it.

Not because I had anywhere particularly important to go.

When it arrived, I laid it on the bed and stood looking at it for a moment.

The pattern was exactly the sort of thing I have always liked.

Something about the little blue and yellow flowers made me think of spring mornings, open windows and the first really warm days after winter.

And I liked that it didn't look like a dress that required an occasion to justify it.

The reason I chose the Georgina

At 68, I am much more particular about the way clothes fit than I was twenty years ago.

Not because I'm trying to look younger.

I'm not.

But I know what bothers me about a dress, and I've stopped pretending I'll somehow grow to love something that doesn't feel right.

I don't want a tight waistband pressing across my tummy when I sit down.

I don't want sleeves that make me feel as though I need to put a cardigan on in the middle of summer.

And I don't want a dress so loose that it hangs straight down like a nightgown.

What appealed to me about the Georgina was the shape.

It has a rounded neckline, short sleeves and a softly gathered front that gives the dress a little definition without a stiff-looking waistband.

The skirt falls into a flowing A-line shape, so it has room to move rather than sitting closely against the body.

There's a little stretch in the material, according to the product details, and the length is described as mid-calf.

Then there are the pockets.

I know I've said this before, but why so many otherwise lovely dresses are made without somewhere to put your glasses is a mystery to me.

The Georgina has two discreet pockets, and that alone made me look at it more carefully.

It's a pretty dress.

But it also looked like somebody had thought about the woman who would actually be wearing it.

That was what I wanted.

The Sunday lunch that wasn't supposed to be special

The following Sunday, my daughter Kate invited us over for lunch.

Nothing formal.

Her husband was making something on the barbecue, the grandchildren were coming around, and Kate wanted everybody to have a proper catch-up before the week began again.

Normally, I would have worn my usual navy trousers and a loose cotton top.

I know exactly where they are in the wardrobe, and I don't have to think about them.

But that morning, I looked at the Georgina hanging on the bedroom door.

And I decided to wear it.

Not because it was somebody's birthday.

Not because there were going to be photographs.

Not because anybody had asked me to make an effort.

Just because I liked the dress.

I put it on with flat tan sandals, my everyday earrings and a little cardigan that I could take off when the sun came out.

The whole thing took about ten minutes.

And I remember thinking how nice it was to put on something pretty without spending half an hour convincing myself there was a good enough reason.

When I arrived at Kate's, the back door was open and the grandchildren were already running around the garden.

There was a bowl of salad on the table, somebody was looking for the barbecue tongs, and Kate was telling her husband he'd forgotten to put the drinks in the fridge.

Exactly the sort of ordinary family lunch we've had a hundred times before.

Lucy noticed my dress as soon as she saw me.

“Nan, that's pretty. Is it new?”

I told her it was.

She asked whether I had bought it for a party.

“No,” I said. “I bought it for today.”

She smiled.

And I felt rather pleased with myself.

What happened when nobody made a fuss

Here's the part that surprised me.

I think I'd imagined that wearing a nice dress to an ordinary lunch would make everyone ask why I was dressed up.

It didn't.

Kate said it was lovely.

Lucy asked about the flowers.

Then somebody needed help carrying plates outside, and the conversation moved on.

We sat in the garden, ate far too much, and talked about the usual mixture of family news and things that had happened during the week.

I used the dress pockets for my glasses and a tissue, which was very satisfying.

I didn't need to keep adjusting the skirt while I sat down.

And I liked the way the soft gathering gave the dress a little shape without making it feel overly fitted.

After lunch, I helped Kate clear the table and then went back outside for another cup of tea.

By the time we left, I had almost forgotten I was wearing something new.

Which is really what I had been hoping for.

Not a dress that needed constant compliments.

Just one that felt right to wear.

Why I wore it again the following week

A few days later, I had a quiet morning at home.

There were some letters to answer, a little shopping to do and a neighbour coming around for tea in the afternoon.

Nothing special.

I stood in front of the wardrobe, reached past my usual trousers, and put the Georgina on again.

That might not sound like much.

But for somebody who had spent years saving her nice dresses for imaginary future occasions, it felt like a little change worth noticing.

I wore it while doing the things I would have done anyway.

Made the bed.

Had breakfast.

Went to the shops.

Came home and put the kettle on.

And not once did I think I was wasting a good dress on an ordinary day.

I began to realise how much of our lives is made up of ordinary days.

Not birthdays.

Not weddings.

Not grand celebrations.

Just mornings and afternoons, visits from friends, a trip to the shops, a Sunday lunch with the family.

And if we're only going to wear the things we love for special occasions, we're leaving an awful lot of days out.

Three things I've learned about saving things for best

One. The best occasion is sometimes the day you're already having. I spent years waiting for invitations before wearing the nicer things in my wardrobe. Now I think there's something lovely about wearing a pretty floral dress to an ordinary Sunday lunch simply because you feel like it.

Two. A good everyday dress should be easy to live in. I appreciate the Georgina's rounded neckline, short sleeves, softly gathered front and flowing skirt. Those are the sort of details that make a dress feel practical rather than something you have to be careful with all afternoon.

Three. Buying something nice only makes sense if you actually enjoy it. Three unworn dresses hanging in the wardrobe aren't doing me much good. I'd rather have fewer things I genuinely reach for than a collection of lovely clothes I'm forever saving for another day.

That last one has changed the way I look at my wardrobe.

I no longer ask whether a dress is too nice to wear today.

I ask whether I'd enjoy wearing it today.

It's a much simpler question.

Why I chose the yellow floral

The Georgina comes in other floral colours, and some of them are very pretty.

But I particularly liked this one because it reminded me of the gardens I grew up around.

Little yellow daisies.

Blue flowers scattered between them.

Green stems against a light background.

It's cheerful without being loud.

And because the dress itself is mostly white, with touches of blue and yellow, I find it easy to imagine with the sandals and cardigans already in my wardrobe.

I don't need a new handbag to go with it.

I don't need special jewellery.

And I certainly don't need an invitation.

It looks lovely with simple flat sandals, and that's how I'd want to wear it most of the time.

That is what appeals to me about it.

It feels like a dress for the life I actually lead.

About the price

I want to mention the price properly, because I looked at that carefully before ordering.

The Georgina is currently listed at $49.95 AUD at Perth Boutique, with a displayed comparison price of $166.50.

That's an advertised saving of seventy per cent.

It is a substantial reduction, and I think it's sensible to check the product details rather than buying something simply because there's a sale.

The Georgina is described as a lightweight dress with a little stretch, a rounded neckline, short sleeves, soft front pleats and a flowing A-line shape.

It also has discreet pockets, which I consider a very welcome addition.

The length is described as mid-calf, and the sizes run from S through 3XL.

I would recommend looking carefully at the measurements before choosing, particularly if you tend to be between sizes.

Perth Boutique also lists free home delivery within Australia.

For me, the appeal wasn't only the price.

It was finding a pretty dress that seemed suitable for everyday wear, rather than something I would be tempted to hang up and save for an occasion that might never come.

I've already got enough of those.

And I don't need another one.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting in my kitchen with a cup of tea between us, and you told me you had a few lovely dresses in the wardrobe that you were keeping for something special, I would understand completely.

I did exactly that for years.

I kept the best tablecloth for visitors.

I kept my nicest perfume for special occasions.

And I kept dresses hanging in the wardrobe for birthdays, weddings and lunches that somehow never seemed important enough when the day arrived.

But at sixty-eight, I'm beginning to think I've spent quite enough time waiting.

I'm not suggesting we all need to dress up to take the rubbish bins out.

Far from it.

I still love my comfortable trousers, and there are days when nothing will persuade me to wear anything else.

But if you find a dress you genuinely like, one with a shape you feel comfortable wearing and a pattern that makes you smile, there's no reason it has to stay on the hanger until somebody sends you an invitation.

The yellow floral Georgina is worth looking at if you like that sort of easy, feminine everyday dress.

Have a look at the photographs, check the measurements, and see whether the style would suit you.

I can't promise it will be perfect for everybody.

We're all different, and we all like different things.

But I do think there's something lovely about choosing clothes for the life we have now, rather than the occasions we imagine might come along someday.

A beautiful spring afternoon.

A cup of tea with an old friend.

A Sunday lunch when the grandchildren are home.

Those are good days too.

And after all these years, I'd rather enjoy them than keep waiting for something better.

At 68, I've decided I don't need a special occasion to wear something lovely. Being here to enjoy another day is quite a good occasion on its own.

Maggie