An illustrated letter about being easy to find

AT 68, I GOT SEPARATED FROM MY FRIEND AT FREMANTLE MARKETS FOR FORTY MINUTES. SHE SAID, "MAGGIE, YOU DRESS LIKE CAMOUFLAGE. I WALKED PAST YOU TWICE."

On the first Saturday of every month, my old school friend Pam and I catch the train down to Fremantle Markets. We've been doing it for nearly nine years, ever since we both retired within a month of each other.

The routine never changes. A flat white from the stall near the entrance. A slow wander past the soaps and the jewellery and the man who sells hot sauces with frightening names. A bag of fresh produce from the back hall. Then lunch somewhere along the cappuccino strip, where we put the world to rights.

Last month, on a warm and very busy spring Saturday, the routine went wrong.

Pam stopped to look at a stall of silver rings. I drifted on to the next one, a woman selling hand-painted tea towels. When I turned round, Pam had gone.

Well, not gone. Swallowed. Fremantle Markets on a sunny Saturday is like trying to find one particular sardine in a very large tin.

I rang her phone. It went to voicemail, because Pam's phone lives at the very bottom of her handbag, under a cardigan, two tissues and a packet of mints. She rang mine. I didn't hear it, because mine was at the bottom of my handbag too.

We found each other forty minutes later, both a bit pink in the face, outside the hot-sauce stall. Pam was holding her chest dramatically.

"Maggie! I walked past you twice. Twice! You were right by the tea towels."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't see you, love. Look at you."

I looked down. Oatmeal linen trousers. A pale beige top. A stone-coloured cardigan over my arm.

"You dress like camouflage, Maggie. In a crowd, you just disappear into the background."

THE COLOURS OF A WALL

I laughed about it on the train home. But that evening, I went and stood in front of my wardrobe and had a proper look.

Pam was right. Oatmeal, stone, sand, cream, beige, taupe, a very pale grey that the shop called "pebble." If I'd painted my bedroom wall in the colours of my clothes, it would have looked like the inside of a nice new apartment.

I'd never thought of it as a problem. Neutrals are elegant, aren't they? They go with everything. They don't date. Every magazine I've read since I was fifty has told me that a capsule wardrobe of soft neutrals is the sensible choice for a woman of a certain age.

And they are sensible. But I'd never thought about the other thing neutrals do, which is blend in. On a beige couch, at a beige café, in a crowd of three thousand people on a sunny Saturday in Fremantle, a woman dressed in beige is very hard to find.

THE OTHER HALF OF THE PROBLEM

Once I'd got over the camouflage, I realised there was a second problem, and it was just as silly.

The handbag.

Both of us had missed each other's phone calls because our phones were buried in our bags. I'd been carrying the same roomy handbag for years, and my phone always sank straight to the bottom, under my purse and my reading glasses and the umbrella I take everywhere in case Perth surprises me.

I never hear it ring. I never feel it buzz. My daughter has given up texting me after four in the afternoon, because she knows I won't see it until the next morning.

So that was the second thing. I needed my phone somewhere I could actually feel it. Somewhere that wasn't the bottom of a bag.

WHAT I DECIDED I NEEDED

I made a list, as I always do. It turned out to be a short one.

Something with colour, proper colour, that Pam could see from across a crowded market.

Pockets, real ones, deep enough that my phone could sit against me where I'd feel it buzz.

Comfortable and cool, because Fremantle Markets on a spring Saturday is warm, crowded and involves a great deal of walking.

And loose. Nothing clingy, nothing tight across the middle, nothing I'd have to keep adjusting while I juggled a coffee and a bag of tomatoes.

I'll admit I was nervous about the first item. I hadn't worn proper colour in years, and I wasn't sure I'd know how.

FINDING THE KWANI IN ORANGE

I'd ordered from Perth Boutique before, so that week I sat down with my list and had a look through their dresses.

I found the Kwani Easy Casual Flow Dress fairly quickly. It's a relaxed midi dress with a round neckline and short sleeves. The listing says it's made of 100% cotton and describes it as soft and breathable, with an A-line fit that skims rather than clings.

And it has two big, deep pockets on the front of the skirt. The listing says they're deep enough for a phone, keys and lip balm. In the photographs, the skirt gathers into soft folds around them, which gives it a relaxed, rounded shape.

It comes in black, beige, green and orange. A deep, warm, burnt orange, like a Perth sunset over the Indian Ocean, or the inside of a ripe mango.

I hovered over the beige for a long time. Then I thought about Pam walking past me twice by the tea towels, and I chose the orange.

WHEN IT ARRIVED

The parcel came on a Wednesday afternoon. I unwrapped it in the lounge room and laid the dress over the sofa.

Against my cream sofa, it looked almost startling. Like someone had dropped a basket of oranges in the middle of the room. I stood back and laughed, because for the first time in years, there was something in my house that was not beige.

Up close, the colour was warm and deep, more burnt orange than traffic cone, and the cotton had a soft, slightly textured feel. Not shiny, not stiff. The sort of fabric that looks better the more it's worn.

Naturally, I tested the pockets straight away. My phone went into the right pocket and sat right at the bottom. Then I rang it from the landline, which I still have because I'm sixty-eight and stubborn. It buzzed against my hip.

I may have said "aha!" out loud, to nobody.

HOW IT ACTUALLY FIT

I'll be honest with you, as I always try to be. Fit is personal, and every body is different. I'm sixty-eight, rounder in the middle than I once was, and I don't enjoy anything that clings.

The listing has no size chart, so I ordered my usual size. If you're between sizes, I'd ask the shop before ordering. In my usual size, it fit easily and comfortably.

The shape is relaxed and roomy. The round neck sits comfortably and doesn't need fussing with. The short sleeves cover the tops of the arms. From the bodice down, the skirt gathers into soft folds that fall away from the body, so nothing grips the tummy or hips.

On length, it's a midi. On my five-foot-five frame it came to around mid-calf. Long enough to feel covered, short enough to walk briskly through a crowd without tripping over it.

I wore my own wooden pendant with it, on a long cord, because it seemed to suit the warm colour. In the mirror, I didn't look like a traffic warden, which had been my secret fear. I looked bright, relaxed and, I thought, quite cheerful.

THE FIRST SATURDAY OF THE MONTH

On the next first Saturday, I hung the dress on my old wooden ladder rack in the bedroom while I had breakfast, beside my straw hat and a cream scarf.

I put it on with tan sandals, my straw hat and my wooden pendant. Phone in the right pocket. Keys, a lip balm and a folded twenty in the left. For the first time in years, I took only a small woven shopping basket for the vegetables, no handbag at all.

Pam was waiting at the train station. She saw me from the far end of the platform and raised both arms in the air like someone signalling a ship.

"Well!" she called out. "I'll not lose you today!"

The markets were as busy as ever. Warm sun, the smell of coffee and frying dumplings, a busker with a guitar playing something by Paul Kelly. We did our usual slow wander. At one point, Pam went off to the ring stall and I stayed with the tea-towel lady, purely to make a point.

This time, when I turned round, Pam was waving at me from twenty metres away, grinning. She'd spotted me straight away.

And then, near the produce hall, my phone buzzed against my hip. It was my daughter, asking if I wanted to come for dinner on Sunday. I answered on the second ring. She was so startled she asked if I was feeling all right.

For nine years I'd blended into the crowd at Fremantle. That Saturday, three people stopped me to say they loved my dress.

One of them was the tea-towel lady herself, who said she'd been admiring "that wonderful colour" all morning. Another was a woman of about my age at the coffee stall, who wanted to know where it was from. I showed her the pockets, and she said, quite seriously, "Oh, that's what I need."

Pam and I had lunch on the cappuccino strip as usual. She looked across the table at me and said, "You know, I'd forgotten you used to wear colour. At school you had that yellow cardigan." I had forgotten too.

THREE THINGS I LEARNED

Neutrals are sensible, but they're also camouflage. I'd chosen my wardrobe so it would go with everything. I'd never considered that it also helped me disappear in a crowd. Sometimes being easy to find is a perfectly practical reason to wear colour.

Where you carry your phone matters more than which phone you have. For years I'd blamed my phone for being too quiet. It was simply at the bottom of my handbag. A deep pocket against my hip solved a problem I'd been grumbling about for a decade.

A bright colour on a simple shape is far less frightening than you think. I'd worried that orange would be too loud. On a relaxed cotton dress with no fuss to it, it just looked cheerful. The simplicity made the colour feel easy.

ABOUT THE PRICE, PLAINLY

I've always been careful with money, and I'd rather give you the plain facts than oversell anything.

When I'm writing this, the Kwani is listed on Perth Boutique at $69.99 AUD, the same in every colour and size. The listing shows a regular price of $179.00. I can't speak for that higher figure, only for what I paid, which I thought was very fair for something I've now worn to the markets, to the shops and to my daughter's for Sunday dinner.

It comes in sizes S through to 5XL, in orange, black, green and beige. There's no size chart on the listing, so if you're unsure, ask the shop before ordering. Delivery was free, sent with Australia Post, and the shop lists a money-back guarantee. Do read their Returns & Refunds page first, so you know exactly where you stand.

The pendant, I should say, is my own. It isn't included with the dress.

WHAT I WOULD TELL YOU IF WE WERE FRIENDS

If we were sitting together on the cappuccino strip, watching the Saturday crowds go past, I'd tell you this.

There's nothing wrong with beige. I still love my oatmeal trousers, and I'll go on wearing them. But it's worth asking whether you've chosen your wardrobe or whether it's quietly chosen you, one sensible neutral at a time.

Somewhere along the way, I'd started dressing as though the aim was not to be seen. Not on purpose. It just crept up, the way these things do. And it took a friend walking past me twice at the tea-towel stall to make me notice.

Being easy to find is no bad thing at our age. Easy to find in a crowd, easy to reach on the phone, easy to spot from the far end of a train platform by a friend waving both her arms.

I'd spent years blending into the background. It turns out the people who love me would rather be able to find me.

With love from Perth,
Maggie