A letter from a reader

At 59, I realised I had stopped wearing dresses because I thought they were for somebody else.

On the first properly warm Saturday of spring, I stood in front of my wardrobe for twenty minutes and pulled out the same black trousers I had worn every weekend since Easter.

My daughter Kate was coming over to take me to a little garden lunch in South Perth. Nothing fancy. Just a table outside, a few women I had known for years, and probably too many plates of food. It should have been the easiest thing to dress for.

But every dress I owned seemed to belong to a different version of me. There were the ones I had bought for weddings and never worn again. The ones with awkward waistbands. The ones that looked lovely on a hanger and somehow needed constant adjusting once I put them on.

And then there were the black trousers. Safe, familiar, and not quite what I wanted to wear to a spring lunch.

Kate saw them on the bed and said, quite gently, "Mum, you know you're allowed to wear something you actually like."

I had spent so long dressing to avoid getting it wrong that I had forgotten what it felt like to simply enjoy getting dressed.

That annoyed me more than I expected. Not at Kate. At myself. I was 59, perfectly capable of making up my own mind, and somehow I had started treating a pretty dress as though I needed permission to wear it.

When I finally went looking for something different, I wasn't looking for a dramatic new wardrobe. I wanted one dress that could go to a lunch, a market, or a family afternoon without making me feel dressed up as somebody else.

How I ended up in the same trousers every weekend

I did not stop liking dresses all at once. It happened gradually, over several springs.

I'd buy a dress because it looked elegant in the shop. Then I'd wear it out and spend the afternoon thinking about it. Was the neckline sitting properly? Had the skirt twisted when I stood up? Was it too dressy for where we were going?

Eventually the calculation stopped seeming worth it. Trousers and a blouse were predictable. I knew exactly how I would feel in them, even if I was thoroughly bored of the combination.

The funny thing is that I had convinced myself I was being practical. What I was really doing was choosing not to be noticed, even by myself.

Spring made that harder to ignore. The days were longer. We were eating outside again. Friends were making plans. I wanted something a little lighter and more cheerful without feeling as though I was trying too hard.

What I was getting wrong

I thought the answer was finding a dress plain enough to disappear.

But a completely plain dress can feel just as difficult as a fussy one when the shape isn't right. A neat photograph tells you very little about whether something will suit an ordinary Saturday.

What I actually wanted was a dress with a little character, but not a lot of fuss. A pattern that gave the outfit some interest. A skirt with room to move. A length that felt comfortable for my age without looking as if I had borrowed it from a different decade.

And, most of all, something I could put on with the shoes and bag I already owned.

The dress is called the Rina

Kate sent me the Perth Boutique midi dress collection one evening, and I nearly scrolled straight past it. There were plenty of lovely styles, but I was supposed to be looking for something I'd genuinely wear, not another nice thing to look at on a screen.

Then I saw the Rina. Cream-coloured with charcoal-grey stripes, a softly gathered shape through the bodice, and a skirt that falls into a relaxed midi length. Sleeveless, unfussy, with enough pattern to look interesting all on its own.

I liked that the stripes weren't all going in the same direction. The bodice has its own detail, and the skirt falls in a way that gives it movement even when it's hanging still.

It looked like the sort of dress that didn't need a necklace chosen specially for it or a pair of shoes that only came out twice a year. Flat sandals, a woven bag, and perhaps a cardigan later in the afternoon. That was enough.

So I stopped arguing with myself and put the trousers back in the drawer.

What happened on Saturday

Before Kate arrived, I laid the Rina across the armchair while I decided which shoes to wear. I chose the old tan sandals I've had for years. They were already by the back door.

What I remember about getting ready is how ordinary it felt. No second outfit waiting on the bed. No elaborate plan. I looked in the mirror, smoothed the skirt, and went downstairs.

Kate glanced up from her phone and said, "Oh, Mum. That's lovely." Then she asked whether I was ready. That was the whole conversation, which is probably why I remember it.

At lunch I did all the ordinary things: walked across the lawn, carried a plate back to the table, sat for far too long talking about the grandkids, and took a group photograph without first trying to hide behind someone.

The dress didn't turn the afternoon into something extraordinary. The afternoon was lovely already. What changed was that I wasn't distracted by wishing I'd worn something else.

When I got home, I hung it where I could see it. Not in the back of the wardrobe with the occasion dresses. On the hook by the door, ready to wear again.

Why I kept reaching for it

A week later I pulled it out again for coffee with a friend. Then I looked at it for Sunday markets. I wasn't saving it for a special occasion, and I hadn't expected that.

There is something useful about a dress that has a clear look of its own. The neutral stripe does the work of making an outfit feel considered, while the shape doesn't ask for elaborate styling.

I also liked the balance. The sleeveless top makes sense for a warm spring day, while the midi skirt feels appropriate for a family lunch or an afternoon out. It doesn't have to be one thing or the other.

That is a smaller pleasure than people sometimes imagine. But once you have spent years buying clothes for imaginary events and wearing the same three pieces in real life, it is a pleasure worth noticing.

Three things I have learned since

One. A little pattern can be easier than no pattern. I used to think plain was the safest choice. The Rina's stripes are quiet enough for everyday wear but give the dress a finished look without lots of accessories.

Two. Midi is my favourite length for a reason. It feels right at a café, at lunch, and on a casual afternoon. I don't need to think of a different outfit for every little plan.

Three. I don't need a new version of myself. I needed clothes that worked with the person I already am. A dress can be pretty without being precious, and getting dressed can be enjoyable without becoming a project.

About the spring sale

Perth Boutique has its spring and anniversary sale on at the moment, which was another reason I looked at the collection properly instead of buying the first thing I saw in a shopping centre.

When I checked, selected midi styles in the collection were marked down to $69.95, although the price for each dress is shown on its own listing. I would check the Rina's current price there rather than assume every style has exactly the same offer.

They also advertise free shipping Australia-wide, a 30-day money-back guarantee, and extra savings when buying several pieces from the spring sale: buy two and save ten per cent, three and save fifteen, or four and save twenty. Those are the collection offers, so it is worth checking what applies when you order.

I looked through the different midi dresses for longer than I meant to. Not because I needed to buy a whole new wardrobe, but because for once I was thinking about where I would actually wear them.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were having a cup of tea out the back and you told me you hadn't worn a dress in ages, I wouldn't tell you to throw out your trousers. Mine are still in the drawer, and I still love them.

I would tell you not to assume you have outgrown a style just because the last few things you tried were wrong for you.

Look for the small things. A length you actually like. A pattern you won't tire of. A shape that works with your favourite sandals and the plans you really make, not the ones you imagine making one day.

The Rina reminded me that I had been making getting dressed much harder than it needed to be.

And if you have been standing in front of your wardrobe in the sunshine, wondering why nothing feels quite like you anymore, perhaps have a look at the collection. You might find something that makes an ordinary Saturday feel like yours again.

The black trousers are still there. I just don't reach for them automatically anymore.

Maggie