OK, I was ready to bow out of this thread until I overheard this scenario just short time ago. I was returning a top at Aritzia (a local chain similar to Zara, for the non-Canadians) and witnessed the following exchange:
Young 20-Something to Older Woman (probably her mother?)
"You look like h*|| in your clothes; you'd look so better if you just tried harder! "
Older woman looking dubiously at cropped pants and skinny, cold-shoulder top:
"Well,..."
I frankly couldn't stand to watch what was going to happen next so I grabbed my refund and left. Even if that women was coerced into buying the outfit, it was such a departure from her khakis, tucked-in shirt, and sensible shoes, it was a stretch to imagine she'd ever walk out the door in it. I know because I was guilty of doing the makeover bit with my mum, and, more recently, have had that zeal turned on me by a well-meaning, younger relative. It wasn't until those tables were turned that I started to question exactly why I had been so bothered as a young woman when I saw older women moving away from current fashion--"giving up" as I defined it. I felt comfortable, modern, and happy in my style, so why did my younger relative want me to adopt a style which she preferred over one which I saw as mine. It made me start thinking about how my sense of how fashion fits into my life has morphed over the last few years.
If harried mothers are given latitude when they wear pj's under their coats for a school run, or yoga gear when they stop by the grocery store for a container of milk, why does an elderly woman get such a hard time when she chooses comfortable clothes after a grueling chemo session? I know, as a younger woman, I never stopped to consider if those "old lady" outfits I labeled as "giving up" were more about trying to do as best as one can under the circumstances. Chronic illnesses and physical ailments aren't always visible to the casual observer, but they are a reality which many of us have to cope with by the time we hit our later decades. Choosing comfortable footwear keeps me moving, which, in turn keeps me feeling good about myself. Same goes for flexible waistbands and non-constricting clothing. Suffering for fashion seems ludicrous; these days, I've plenty of other ways to experience discomfort, thank you. I do the best I can to keep up with fashion, but, now that I'm in moving into the final stage of my life, I'd rather just throw something on and get going, instead of obsessing about what I'm wearing.
When my ever-so-meticulous and stylish mother was in the latter stages of Parkinson's, with her eyesight failing and her hands shaking, she still tried to put on lipstick for a doctor's visit. I adored the young locum who, on seeing her in her stained shirt and wobbly lipstick, immediately said "You look lovely today, Diane!" Her smile went megawatt. She hadn't "given up", and I suspect neither will I, although it might take a discerning eye like that young doctor's to tell the difference.
Now that I've witnessed how hard women try to maintain their dignity and sense of self as they age, I wish I'd been kinder in my youthful critiques about "old lady" style. I'd like to give my former self a good, swift kick for having the audacity to pronounce judgement on something beyond my experience. My mother didn't need her makeover, but I sure did.