A letter from a reader

At 68, I went through my wardrobe properly and found that half of it was bought for a woman who does not live here any more.

You should picture me writing this at the kitchen table with a cup of tea going cold beside me, because that is exactly how slowly it has come. I am not a writer, and what another woman is keeping at the back of a wardrobe has never been any of my business.

But three women asked me about this at a lunch in the one afternoon, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It started with my sister Jean, who came to help me clear out and insisted on a reason for every single thing I wanted to keep.

This is for the office you left in 2011. This is for the size you were. This is for that holiday. Nancy, none of these are for your actual life.

Not one of them was worn out. Not one of them was unflattering. Every single one of them belonged to a life I am not living, and I had been calling that a wardrobe.

Nobody buys clothes for a life they do not have. You buy them for the life you are about to have, and then you do not have it, and the clothes stay.

How it happens

Once Jean started asking, the pattern was impossible to miss, and it is not a pattern about style.

There were work clothes for a job I left fifteen years ago. There were two things bought for a size I was for about eight months. There were holiday clothes from a holiday we took once and did not repeat, and a dress for a wedding where I have since been to the funeral.

None of those were mistakes at the time. They were bought for a real life. The life moved and the clothes did not.

And here is the part that took me a week to admit. I had spent forty years buying for the woman I was about to be, and she kept not turning up, and in the meantime the woman who actually got up every morning had four things she liked and wore them to death.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I had wrong, and I had it wrong for most of my adult life.

I thought timeless meant a style that does not date. A cut, a colour, a sort of classic look that stays correct for twenty years.

Timeless means it fits the life you actually have.

Which is why nothing is timeless at thirty-five. At thirty-five the life is still moving — a job changes, a body changes, children change everything — and a garment bought for a long time has no chance. But somewhere after sixty the life settles. The week looks like the week. And for the first time it is actually possible to buy something that will still be the right thing in eight years, because you will still be doing roughly the same things in it.

That is not a sad sentence, by the way. It took me a while to decide that. It is the first time buying clothes has been a sensible activity rather than an optimistic one.

What I was looking at

It is a page on the Mavira London site, gathered under that word, timeless. Mavira London is a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now. Jean found them, which she has not let me forget.

What is on it is the sort of thing you can wear on a Tuesday and at a lunch without changing: plain, unfussy, and nothing on it tying it to a particular season. No hardware, no trim, nothing that announces an event.

The test I now apply is the only one that has ever worked for me, and it takes about a minute. Picture next Tuesday — the actual one, with whatever you are actually doing in it — and ask whether you would put this on for it. If the honest answer involves a different life, put it back.

The second test is the opposite direction. Look at the four things you have worn to death and find what they have in common. Mine were all one colour, all without hardware, and all a length I never had to think about. That was not a style. It was a specification, and I had been ignoring it for forty years while buying things that failed it.

And anything that only works for an event will be saved for the event, and the events are now rare enough that saving is the same as not owning it.

What happened at the lunch

The first proper outing was a lunch for somebody’s eightieth, and then the same thing to the shops on the Thursday, which is really the point of this letter.

Three women asked about it at the lunch. The second one asked whether it was new, and when I said three weeks she said she had assumed I had had it for years. I took that exactly as intended.

The third was Margaret. Fifteen years I have known Margaret and she has never once commented on anything I have worn. She said it looked like me. Of everything anybody has said about anything I have bought, that is the one I would keep.

What I noticed, though, was that I had not saved it for anything.

It went to the lunch, the shops, the dentist and a perfectly unremarkable Sunday. Three weeks and it has been out of the house eleven times, which is more than the entire 2011 office section has managed in fifteen years.

The clear-out bags went last Tuesday. I have not missed one single thing in them, and I had kept some of them for a decade.

Three things I have learned since

One. Unworn means the wrong life, not the wrong clothes. Nothing in my clear-out was worn out or unflattering. Every piece belonged to a job, a size or a holiday I no longer have. That is the only reason any of it was unworn.

Two. After sixty the life stops moving, so the clothes can stay. Nothing can be timeless at thirty-five, because the life is still changing. Later, the week looks like the week, and buying for eight years becomes sensible rather than hopeful.

Three. Buy for next Tuesday. Picture the actual Tuesday you are going to have, and ask whether you would put it on for that. If the answer needs a different life, put it back on the rail.

About the price

I want to be straightforward about this, because the price is what made me look twice.

They start at £59.95 on the page, down from £110.00. I will be honest and say I do not know where the higher figure comes from and I did not dwell on it. What I can tell you is what left my account, which was the sale price, for something that has been out of the house eleven times in three weeks.

There is no catch I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a slice in the middle, and there is a sale on at the moment with free tracked delivery across the UK.

I did what I imagine you are doing now and read the listings properly before I ordered. Check the sizes on the page, and check any stated length against your own height, because a length you have to think about is a garment you will not reach for on a Tuesday.

There is a thirty day returns policy, which is the only reason I was willing to order without trying anything on.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sat at this table with the teapot between us and you asked me, this is what I would say.

Go to your wardrobe and pick up five things you have not worn in a year. For each one, say out loud what life it was bought for.

A job. A size. A holiday. A version of yourself who was going to be somebody slightly different. You will get through all five in about two minutes and you will not enjoy it much.

I am not going to pretend any garment changes anything. It does not. But owning clothes for the life I actually have, at 68, instead of for the one I kept expecting, has made getting dressed a straightforward business for the first time since I was a girl.

Two practical things. The sale is on at the moment with the free tracked delivery. And buy for next Tuesday, not for the version of yourself you are hoping to meet.

Margaret said it looked like me. Of everything anybody has said about anything I have bought, that is the one I would keep.

Nancy