An illustrated letter about finding elegance in ordinary days

At 68, I told my sister maxi dresses weren't for women like us anymore. She asked when I'd last actually tried one on.

My sister Helen has a habit of asking questions that make me feel rather foolish about things I've believed for years.

Last month, it was about a dress.

We had been invited to an afternoon tea in a friend's garden. Nothing terribly formal. There would be flowers on the tables, little sandwiches, a few ladies we'd known for years and probably more cake than anybody needed.

The sort of occasion I normally look forward to.

But when Helen rang to ask what I was wearing, I told her I hadn't decided.

I'd tried on two dresses already.

One was too fitted through the waist. The other was such a shapeless thing that I felt as though I'd borrowed a nightdress.

Helen suggested a long, flowing dress.

I told her maxi dresses weren't really for women like us anymore.

There was a pause.

Then she asked me something that stopped me.

"Maggie, when was the last time you actually tried one on?"

I thought about it.

I couldn't remember.

Not last summer. Not the summer before.

Possibly not for the better part of ten years.

And yet there I was, absolutely certain that a whole category of dresses was unsuitable for me.

I hadn't decided I disliked maxi dresses. I'd simply stopped looking at them, and somewhere along the way I'd mistaken that habit for a preference.

Helen laughed when I admitted it.

Then she told me to stop deciding what I couldn't wear before I'd even tried it.

Which was irritatingly sensible advice.

I am sixty-eight years old.

I've spent enough of my life wearing things that didn't feel right, and I have no desire to start doing it again.

But perhaps I'd also spent rather too long ruling out perfectly lovely clothes without giving them a chance.

I suspect I'm not the only woman over sixty-five who has quietly developed a list of clothes she no longer considers.

Some things are too young.

Some are too formal.

Others are too loose, too long or too difficult to wear.

And after enough years of making those decisions, you find yourself buying the same three styles over and over again.

Not necessarily because they're your favourites.

Simply because they're familiar.

How I became so particular about long dresses

When I was younger, I wore long dresses quite often.

Nothing especially glamorous.

Usually something cotton or lightweight, with sandals and a cardigan if the evening became cool.

I liked the way a long skirt moved when you walked.

And I liked having something that looked pretty without needing a complicated outfit underneath it.

But as the years went by, I seemed to have less success finding them.

One dress would be lovely around the shoulders but cling through the middle.

Another would be so heavily lined that it felt like wearing two dresses in the Perth heat.

Then there were the very loose ones.

They looked wonderfully relaxed on the hanger.

But once I put one on, it hung from my shoulders with no shape at all.

And of course there were the long dresses that were simply too long.

I'd spend the afternoon lifting the skirt whenever I went up a step, wondering whether the hem was going to drag along the ground.

Eventually I gave up.

I decided that maxi dresses were either for weddings or for young women wandering along beaches on holiday.

Neither seemed especially relevant to my ordinary life in Perth.

So I stopped looking.

And for years, I didn't question it.

The part I had wrong about looking elegant

After that conversation with Helen, I went upstairs and looked through the dresses I still owned.

There were several I had bought because I thought they were sensible.

Dark colours.

Plain designs.

Lengths that stopped somewhere around the knee.

Nothing wrong with any of them.

But there was very little that made me feel particularly pleased to put them on.

I think I'd begun confusing elegance with making an effort.

A proper dress needed a waistband.

A nice outfit needed a jacket.

Something suitable for afternoon tea apparently needed to look slightly formal.

But when I thought about the women whose style I'd admired over the years, it wasn't always the most formal woman who looked the loveliest.

Often it was the one wearing something simple.

A flowing dress.

Comfortable sandals.

Perhaps some earrings she'd owned for years.

Nothing that looked as though she'd spent the whole morning trying to impress somebody.

Just a woman who looked comfortable being herself.

That was much closer to what I wanted.

And I began wondering whether the right maxi dress might actually be simpler than the things I'd been buying instead.

The apricot dress I kept coming back to

A few evenings later, I was browsing Perth Boutique and came across a dress called the Linnea.

Its full name is the Linnea Lace-Trim Maxi Dress.

There were several colours available, but the apricot caught my attention immediately.

It's a very soft shade.

Not a bright peach or an orange that would take over the whole outfit.

More of a gentle apricot-cream, like the colour of old lace or the pale roses my mother used to grow near the back fence.

But the thing that made me stop scrolling was the shape.

A soft V-neckline.

Short, gently shaped sleeves.

A gathered section under the upper part of the dress, allowing the skirt to fall into a long, flowing A-line.

And delicate lace trim running down the front.

Not an enormous amount of lace.

Just enough detail to make the dress look a little more special than a completely plain summer dress.

I looked at the photographs again.

Then I thought about Helen's question.

When had I last tried one on?

So I decided it was time.

When it arrived, I laid it across the bed and looked at it properly.

The apricot colour was lovely against the white bedding.

The lace was delicate without making the whole dress look overly fussy.

And the shape looked like something I could imagine wearing for more than one occasion.

That mattered to me.

At sixty-eight, I am no longer interested in filling my wardrobe with dresses that only come out once.

I wanted something I'd enjoy wearing again.

Not just something that looked pretty in a photograph.

What I noticed when I finally tried it on

I have a little routine whenever I try on something new.

First I look in the mirror.

Then I turn sideways.

Then I sit on the edge of the bed to see whether the waistband starts bothering me.

And finally, I walk around the room to see whether the length feels practical.

It isn't particularly glamorous.

But I've learned that a dress needs to work when I'm moving, not only when I'm standing still.

The Linnea's softly gathered shape was what I had wanted to try.

Rather than a tightly fitted waist, the skirt fell away in a long, relaxed line.

The V-neckline gave it a little openness without requiring a complicated necklace.

And the sleeves made it feel more suitable for the everyday occasions I actually attend.

I particularly liked the lace trim.

There was something quietly feminine about it.

Not overly decorated.

Not trying to look younger than I am.

Just a lovely little detail.

Of course, I still needed to consider the length.

A maxi dress needs to be the right length for the person wearing it, and that is something I'd recommend checking before ordering.

But the style itself was very different from the stiff, heavy dresses I had been remembering.

And I realised I'd been judging all maxi dresses by a few that hadn't worked for me years ago.

That seemed rather unfair.

The afternoon tea that started the whole thing

The garden afternoon tea was the following Saturday.

It was a beautiful Perth spring day.

Not yet the fierce heat of January, but warm enough that the garden was full of flowers and everybody wanted to sit outside.

I decided to wear the Linnea with a pair of simple flat sandals and the little earrings Kate gave me several birthdays ago.

I didn't need a belt.

I didn't need a formal jacket.

And I didn't feel the need to add a large necklace, because the lace down the front already gave the dress some detail.

Before leaving, I laid it over the dining chair while I made sure I'd put everything I needed into my handbag.

I remember looking at it there and thinking how much I liked the soft apricot against the old wooden furniture.

It had exactly the understated look I'd hoped for.

Helen arrived just before midday.

She noticed the dress before I'd even picked up my handbag.

"Well, look at you," she said.

I told her I'd finally tried on a maxi dress.

She looked rather pleased with herself.

"Only took you ten years."

That is the sort of encouragement you get from a sister who's known you all your life.

We drove to our friend's house with the windows open a little and arrived just as the others were settling into the garden.

There were little tables arranged under the shade.

Flowers in old glass jars.

A pot of tea already going around.

And several women I hadn't seen since the beginning of winter.

It was exactly the sort of afternoon I enjoy.

The compliment that surprised me

Our friend Margaret was standing near the table when we arrived.

She welcomed us in, looked at my dress and said, "Maggie, that's lovely. What a pretty colour."

I thanked her.

And then, because I am apparently incapable of accepting a compliment without explaining myself, I told her I'd nearly decided the dress wasn't suitable for someone my age.

She laughed.

"What a lot of nonsense."

Helen agreed immediately.

Of course she did.

And that was really the end of the discussion.

We sat down, had our tea and spent the afternoon talking about gardens, grandchildren and all the ordinary things women who've known one another for years tend to discuss.

At one point, Margaret asked where I'd found the dress.

I told her Perth Boutique.

She said she liked the lace detail.

Then somebody brought out another plate of sandwiches, and everyone became much more interested in that.

Which was exactly how I wanted it.

I hadn't worn the dress to be the centre of attention.

I simply wanted to look nice and enjoy myself.

And I liked that the long, flowing shape felt appropriate for the occasion without requiring anything particularly formal.

The moment I realised what I had been missing

Later in the afternoon, the sun moved around and we shifted our chairs further into the shade.

Helen was telling a story about something that had happened to her neighbour.

Margaret was laughing.

And somebody had started talking about organising another lunch before Christmas.

I remember looking around the garden and feeling rather grateful for the afternoon.

It wasn't a wedding.

It wasn't a birthday with a hundred guests.

There was no elaborate dress code.

Just good company, lovely weather and an excuse to wear something pretty.

And I began thinking about all the years I'd divided my wardrobe into ordinary clothes and special-occasion clothes.

Perhaps I didn't need such a strict division.

Perhaps some dresses could be both.

Something you could wear to a lovely afternoon tea and then put on again for an ordinary lunch with your daughter.

Something feminine without being fussy.

Something that didn't require an occasion to justify wearing it.

That was the sort of dress I'd actually been looking for.

When we got back, Helen asked whether I was pleased I'd kept it.

I told her I was.

She suggested I might now reconsider a few of my other rules about what women over sixty-five were allowed to wear.

I told her not to get carried away.

One new dress at a time.

Three things I've learned about long dresses after 65

One. Long doesn't have to mean formal. I'd spent years associating maxi dresses with weddings or holidays. But a simple flowing dress with a soft colour and a few delicate details can look perfectly natural at a garden lunch or an ordinary afternoon with friends.

Two. The shape matters more than the label. A maxi dress can be fitted, straight, gathered or flowing. The Linnea's softly shaped sleeves and gathered A-line skirt were the details that interested me. I should have been looking at the actual cut rather than dismissing everything called a maxi.

Three. Elegance doesn't have to mean fuss. I don't want a dress that requires a special bra, an elaborate belt and a particular pair of heels before I can wear it. I like something that looks considered with ordinary sandals and the jewellery I already own.

That last one has become particularly important to me.

At sixty-eight, I want clothes that make getting dressed easier.

Not another little project I need to complete before I can leave the house.

Why I chose apricot

The Linnea comes in several colours, including darker shades and brighter options.

But the apricot appealed to me immediately.

I have always liked gentle, warm colours.

They're easy to wear with the cream cardigans, tan sandals and woven bags I already own.

And there is something lovely about a pale apricot dress when the spring sunshine comes through the windows.

It looks soft without being plain.

The lace detail gives it a little interest, and the gently gathered shape stops it looking like a completely straight column of fabric.

I particularly like that the design isn't covered in enormous patterns.

There's nothing wrong with a bold print.

But sometimes I want something quieter.

Something that looks lovely because of the cut, the colour and a few small details.

That's what drew me to the Linnea.

It reminded me of the kind of understated clothes I admired on older women when I was younger.

Funny that it took me until sixty-eight to recognise that I was now one of those women myself.

About the price

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

Perth Boutique currently lists the Linnea Lace-Trim Maxi Dress for $89.95 AUD, with a displayed comparison price of $224.00.

That's an advertised saving of approximately sixty per cent.

It's a substantial reduction, and I think it's always sensible to look at the actual dress rather than ordering something simply because there's a sale.

The Linnea is described as a lightweight, breathable maxi dress with a relaxed A-line silhouette.

It features a soft V-neckline, gently shaped short sleeves, front gathering and delicate lace detailing.

The store lists sizes from S through 3XL, with several colour options.

I would recommend checking the measurements before choosing, particularly the length.

A maxi dress should suit your height and the shoes you're planning to wear with it.

What falls nicely on one woman may sit differently on another, and I think that matters more than the size label alone.

Perth Boutique also advertises free Australian home delivery.

I'd check the store's current returns information before ordering, just as I would with any clothing purchase online.

For me, the appeal is in the simple combination of a flowing shape, pretty lace detail, soft colour and practical sleeves.

It looks like a dress made for the kind of spring afternoons I enjoy.

And I like the idea of wearing it again, rather than putting it away for another special occasion.

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 hadn't worn a maxi dress in years because you thought they were too formal, too shapeless or simply not suitable anymore, I would understand completely.

I had been saying much the same thing for the better part of a decade.

Without really trying one on.

I'd decided what they would look like.

I'd decided how they'd feel.

And I'd decided they didn't belong in my wardrobe.

Then my sister Helen asked one perfectly reasonable question, and I realised how little of that opinion was based on anything I'd actually tried recently.

I'm not suggesting every woman should wear a maxi dress.

Some women prefer trousers.

Some prefer dresses that finish at the knee.

Others like something with longer sleeves or a higher neckline.

We all have our own preferences, and there's nothing wrong with any of them.

But I do think there's a difference between choosing what you genuinely like and avoiding something because you've convinced yourself it's no longer appropriate for your age.

At sixty-eight, I've started questioning that second kind of decision.

The Linnea is worth looking at if you enjoy long, flowing dresses with a little delicate detail.

Have a look at the photographs.

Check the measurements.

Think about whether the neckline, sleeves and length would suit the way you like to dress.

And if it isn't for you, that's perfectly fine.

But perhaps don't dismiss it simply because it's a maxi.

Or because you haven't worn one in years.

Or because somebody once decided that women our age ought to dress a certain way.

I spent a long time choosing the same safe things because they were familiar.

And there is nothing wrong with familiar.

But there is also something lovely about discovering that a style you've ignored for years might still have a place in your wardrobe.

Especially when it means you can enjoy a beautiful spring afternoon without spending half the morning wondering what to wear.

Helen has already told me she expects to see the apricot dress again before Christmas.

I told her she probably will.

And for once, I think she may be right.

At 68, I've stopped deciding what doesn't suit me before I've even tried it. There are still lovely things to discover, and I don't intend to miss all of them.

Maggie