A letter about finding colour again

At 68, I realised I had stopped wearing colour without ever deciding to. My granddaughter noticed first.

My granddaughter Lucy was sitting on the end of my bed, watching me get ready for a family lunch, when she asked me something that has stayed with me ever since.

“Nan, why do you always wear the same colours?”

I looked at her in the mirror. Navy trousers, white blouse, black sandals. Perfectly respectable. Nothing wrong with any of it.

“Because they go with everything, darling,” I said.

She looked at the wardrobe, then at the shoes lined up underneath it, and said, “But you used to wear all sorts of colours in those old photos.”

I laughed. I told her that was years ago, when I was younger and had a different sort of wardrobe.

She didn't laugh back.

“But Nan, you still like those colours. You just don't wear them anymore.”

I wanted to tell her she was wrong. But there was a photograph of me in my forties on the dressing table, wearing an orange summer dress at a family barbecue, looking completely comfortable with myself. And there I was at 68, wondering whether a pair of coloured sandals would be too much.

I had not noticed when I started dressing so cautiously. It happened gradually, until nearly everything I owned was navy, beige, white or black.

Not because I disliked colour.

Because somewhere along the way, I'd decided it was easier not to draw attention to myself.

I'm writing this because I suspect I'm not the only woman who has arrived at her late sixties with a perfectly sensible wardrobe that doesn't feel entirely like her anymore.

And sometimes it takes a seventeen-year-old to point out something you've spent years not noticing.

How I became the woman who only bought black

I used to enjoy choosing clothes.

When I was younger, I'd wear a bright scarf just because the colour pleased me. I had an orange handbag once, and a pair of green sandals that my sister thought were ridiculous. I wore them until they fell apart.

Then came work, children, school runs and the general business of keeping everyone else organised. Getting dressed became something to finish, rather than something to enjoy.

Black shoes were practical. Navy was safe. Beige didn't make a fuss.

And when you find a combination that works, you keep buying it. Another white blouse. Another pair of dark trousers. Another pair of black sandals that looks almost exactly like the pair you've just worn out.

None of that is wrong. I still love a navy pair of trousers.

What bothered me, once Lucy had pointed it out, was that I couldn't remember the last time I'd bought something purely because I thought it was lovely.

I had spent years asking, “Will this go with everything?”

I'd stopped asking, “Do I actually like it?”

The colour I kept looking at

A few days after that lunch, I was browsing sandals online.

My old pair needed replacing. The front strap had stretched, and the little buckle was becoming more trouble than it was worth. I wanted something simple, with a flat sole and proper straps, that I could wear with my ordinary clothes.

I found a pair called Selina at Perth Boutique.

They came in several colours, including the usual black and beige. Naturally, those were the first two I looked at.

Then I saw the orange.

Not a fluorescent orange that announces itself from the other side of the shopping centre. A soft, warm orange with a coral sort of tone. The colour of certain spring flowers, or the terracotta pots I've always liked in the garden.

I clicked away from it.

Then I went back.

I must have looked at that same photograph three or four times before finally admitting that I liked it better than the sensible colours.

It seemed such a small decision. A pair of sandals, not a new life.

But I was genuinely hesitating over whether a 68-year-old woman should buy orange shoes.

When I said that out loud to Kate, she asked whether the sandals came with an age restriction.

They didn't, of course.

That was that.

What made me choose the Selina

The colour was what caught my attention, but I wouldn't have bought them on colour alone.

I still wanted a sandal that made sense for everyday life.

The Selina has broad straps rather than thin little bands across the foot. There's an open toe, a shaped tan footbed and a low sole that doesn't look like it belongs on a platform shoe.

Most importantly, the front strap and the upper fastening can be adjusted separately.

I've reached an age where I'm no longer interested in forcing my feet into something just because the shoes look pretty.

I like that you can fasten these where they suit your foot, rather than choosing between two buckle holes. The back strap is another detail I look for, because I prefer a sandal that stays with my heel rather than one that slips on and off like a pair of slides.

The orange colour might have been a little adventure, but the design itself was refreshingly ordinary.

And I mean that as a compliment.

Some of my favourite clothes are the things I can put on without having to think about them.

The Sunday lunch that changed my mind

The first outfit I tried was hardly adventurous.

My usual navy trousers, a loose white blouse and the orange sandals.

I laid everything out on the bedroom chair before I got dressed, which is something I've done for years whenever we're going somewhere.

And I remember thinking how different the whole outfit looked with that small bit of colour at the bottom.

Not younger, exactly. That isn't what I was trying to achieve.

Just a little more like the woman who used to enjoy putting an outfit together.

We were going to Kate's for Sunday lunch. Nothing formal. Her husband was doing something on the barbecue, the grandchildren were in and out of the garden, and everybody had brought far too much food.

Lucy noticed the sandals before I'd even put my handbag down.

“Nan! You bought the orange ones!”

She looked so delighted that I laughed.

My daughter asked where I'd found them. Not because they were extraordinary, but because I almost never wore anything that colour anymore.

And that's the part I remember most clearly.

Nobody thought I looked silly. Nobody asked whether I was trying too hard. Nobody suggested that orange was inappropriate for someone my age.

They were simply a nice pair of sandals.

All those rules I'd been carrying around in my head had never existed anywhere else.

What happened when I wore them outside

A few days later, I wore the same sandals to visit a friend for morning tea.

She has a lovely little courtyard full of flowers, and we spent most of the morning sitting outside talking about our gardens.

It was one of those beautiful Perth spring mornings where the sun is warm without making you wish you were indoors.

I wore cream linen trousers and a plain top. The orange looked lovely beside the natural colours, and I didn't feel overdressed for a moment.

We talked about grandchildren, what the council had done to the footpath near her house, and whether our roses were going to survive another hot summer.

Very ordinary things.

But halfway through the morning, I realised I had stopped thinking about whether the sandals were too bright.

They were just my sandals.

And I rather liked that.

Three things I've learned about colour after 65

One. A little colour is sometimes easier than a whole new outfit. I don't need to wear bright orange from head to toe. A warm pair of sandals with navy, denim, white or cream is enough to make an otherwise ordinary outfit feel different.

Two. Being practical doesn't mean everything has to be dull. I still want adjustable straps, a sensible low sole and something I can wear on an ordinary day. Those things don't disappear because I choose a brighter colour.

Three. Nobody is thinking about our age as much as we are. When I finally wore the orange sandals, nobody questioned whether they were suitable for a woman in her late sixties. I had been doing all that questioning myself.

That third one took me the longest to learn.

The pair I keep near the door now

There are still days when I reach for black. There always will be.

But the orange Selinas have earned their own spot near the front door.

They work with my cream trousers, my favourite jeans, the navy dress I wear to lunch and the pale linen things I start pulling out every October.

I don't have to make an occasion of wearing them.

That's what I like best.

I never wanted shoes that made everyone look at me. I only wanted something that made me smile a little when I put it on.

And after years of automatically reaching for the safest colour, that has turned out to be a pleasant change.

About the price

I should mention what they cost, because I checked that carefully before ordering.

The orange Selina sandals are currently listed at $64.99 AUD, with a displayed comparison price of $218.00.

It is a substantial advertised reduction, so I would always suggest looking at the product details rather than making a decision based on the discount alone.

Perth Boutique lists free Australian delivery and a 30-day money-back guarantee.

The sandals come in AU sizes 3.5 through 9, and there's a foot-length guide in centimetres on the product page. I'd take a moment to measure before ordering, particularly if you usually fall between sizes.

The thing that interested me wasn't a promise that one pair of shoes could solve every problem with your feet.

It was the combination of adjustable fastenings, broad straps, a low everyday style and a colour I actually wanted to wear.

That's enough reason to take a proper look.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, and you told me you loved something but weren't sure whether it was right for a woman your age, I think I'd ask you the same question Lucy made me ask myself.

Who decided that?

Not every bright colour will suit everyone. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with choosing black if black is what you love.

But if you keep returning to a colour because you genuinely like it, perhaps that's worth paying attention to.

I spent a long time choosing clothes that wouldn't attract comment. I didn't realise I'd also stopped choosing some of the things that made me happy.

These are only sandals. They haven't transformed my life, and I wouldn't pretend otherwise.

But I do enjoy wearing them.

And I enjoy the fact that at 68, I can still surprise myself with something as simple as a different colour.

I didn't need to start dressing younger. I just needed to stop dressing as though being older meant disappearing.

Maggie