When Frank and I sold the house in Wilmette and moved to Scottsdale in 2015, I stood in front of my closet and had what I can only describe as a reckoning. Thirty-five years of Chicago weather had produced a wardrobe that was approximately 80% wool, 15% down filling, and 5% items I'd bought on sale at Nordstrom Rack that still had the tags on. Moving to the desert. The desert does not require wool.
I donated fourteen sweaters to Goodwill in one afternoon. Fourteen! More sweaters than some people own in a lifetime, and I was just getting started. By the time the Great Downsizing was over, I'd parted with two winter coats, a collection of turtlenecks that could've stocked a small boutique, and a pair of lined leather gloves I'd owned since 1993. Frank watched the bags pile up by the front door and said, "Are you sure about this?" I was not sure. Never been less sure about anything in my life. But my bones had demanded sunshine, and sunshine demanded a new wardrobe.
That was ten years ago. And somewhere between the panic of an empty closet and now, I figured out something about getting dressed after 70 that nobody bothered to tell me.
The Myth of "Age-Appropriate" (and Why I Ignore It)
Can we talk about the phrase "age-appropriate"? Because I'd like it removed from the English language, and I say this as someone who spent 34 years teaching the English language to teenagers who were actively trying to destroy it.
"Age-appropriate" is what people say when they mean "beige." The fashion equivalent of being told to use your indoor voice. And look, I understand that the leopard-print miniskirt I wore in 1987 is probably not making a comeback in my rotation. But the idea that turning 65, or 70, or 75, means you graduate to a uniform of elastic waistbands and muted florals? Absolutely not!
My daughter Carrie, who is an interior designer in Chicago and has opinions about everything (she inherited this from me, which I take full credit for), once told me that good style has nothing to do with age and everything to do with fit. She's not wrong. A well-fitted blazer looks stunning on a 30-year-old and stunning on a 72-year-old. The blazer doesn't know how old you are. It just knows whether your tailor did their job.
The women I admire most, at the grocery store, at book club, at the Scottsdale Civic Center, aren't dressing young or dressing old. They're dressing like themselves. The whole trick, right there.
Comfort First, but Make It Look Good
I used to think comfort and style were enemies. This was because I spent the 1990s wearing shoes that actively hated my feet. Pointed-toe heels from Nine West that I wore to parent-teacher conferences because I thought looking professional meant looking uncomfortable. My podiatrist in 2018, Dr. Ramos, told me my arches had "given up." His exact words. (I did not ask for a review — he volunteered it.)
So yes. Comfort first. But comfort doesn't have to mean shapeless. The fashion industry has finally figured out (after approximately a hundred years of ignoring anyone over 50) that people want clothes they can move in and still feel good wearing.
Soft-structured blazers from Eileen Fisher. Pull-on trousers with real pockets from Chico's. Knit dresses from J.Jill that travel without wrinkling and don't require a PhD to put on. Not frumpy. Smart. The fabrics have caught up to what we've been asking for: cotton-modal blends, bamboo knits, ponte that stretches without bagging out by 2 PM.
Frank, bless his heart, wears the same three polo shirts on rotation and thinks he's dressed up when he tucks one in. He is proof that comfort is a priority for everyone. He's just less interested in the "look good" part. Forty-seven years of marriage — and the man owns one belt.
Bold Colors and the Courage of a Good Red
Sometime around 60, women get handed an invisible memo that says: "You may now only wear navy, gray, and safe prints." I must have missed the meeting. Because the older I get, the more color I want.
A friend from book club (we've been meeting for 22 years, more wine than literature at this point) showed up last month in a cobalt blue linen jacket that made her look like she was about to accept an award for something important. She's 74. She bought it at Anthropologie. Told her she looked fantastic and she said, "I know." Exactly the right energy.
Color theory isn't complicated: warm skin tones look good in coral, mustard, olive, and warm reds. Cool skin tones shine in jewel tones: emerald, sapphire, plum. If you don't know which you are, hold a white towel next to your face and a cream towel next to your face. Whichever makes you look less tired is your answer. (I'm warm-toned. Terrible in pastels. Pastels make me look like I need a nap.)
But honestly? The best color is the one that makes you stand up straighter when you catch your reflection. For me, it's red. A good red blouse with dark jeans and simple gold earrings, and I feel like I could teach The Great Gatsby one more time and actually make the kids care about the green light.
The Footwear Situation
Shoes. Oh, shoes.
I currently own eleven pairs, which Frank considers excessive and I consider — at best — a bare minimum. The breakdown: two pairs of walking shoes (New Balance 990s, because my friend Diane swears by them and she walks four miles a day and has the calves to prove it), one pair of leather sandals from Vionic, three pairs of flats in varying states of respectability, one pair of ankle boots I bought in Rome in 2018 that I refuse to part with even though the left heel is scuffed, two pairs of athletic shoes for pickleball, one dressy pair with a low block heel for occasions, and one pair of slippers that have seen things I won't discuss.
Here's the thing about shoes after 70: your feet have opinions now. Strong opinions. They want arch support. They want a wide toe box, especially if you're dealing with arthritis. They want to not swell up like bread dough by 4 PM. And the shoe industry, to its credit, has started listening. Brands like Vionic, Allbirds, and Hoka make shoes that are actually attractive and won't send you to a podiatrist. My New Balance sneakers cost $184.99, which is more than I paid for my first month of rent in 1976. But my feet and my knees and my back all agree: worth every penny.
Actually, scratch that. The slippers are my best purchase. $24 from Costco. Frank has the same pair. We shuffle around the kitchen in matching slippers like two people who have completely given up on impressing each other. Peak honesty in a 47-year marriage.
Smart Clothing and the Future Nobody Asked For
I need to talk about "smart clothing" because it keeps showing up in fashion articles aimed at seniors and I have questions. Shirts with built-in heart monitors. Socks that track your steps. Jackets that warm up when the temperature drops. Sounds less like fashion and more like being surveilled by your own wardrobe.
Now, I admit: after the Bluetooth Speaker Saga of 2022 (bought a portable speaker, spent forty-five minutes pairing it, accidentally connected it to Barb's hearing aids across the patio, and then couldn't figure out how to disconnect without turning the whole thing off), I might not be the ideal audience for technology embedded in clothing. So the idea of troubleshooting a pair of socks is not appealing.
But. Some of it actually makes sense. Adaptive clothing, though, with magnetic closures instead of buttons, side-zip pants for people with mobility challenges, seated-wear designs? Not gimmicky. Thoughtful design that lets people get dressed independently, and independence is never a small thing. Tommy Hilfiger's adaptive line and a company called IZ Adaptive are doing this well, and without making the clothes look medical. They just look like clothes. Which is the whole point.
Accessories: Where Personality Lives
Accessories are where you stop following rules and start telling people who you are. My mother, Dorothy, who had the sharpest wit of anyone I've known and the wardrobe to match, wore a gold bangle every single day from 1970 until the day she died in 2012. Not expensive. Not designer. But it was hers — completely hers, and when I see it in my jewelry box now, I see her hands.
A few practical notes, because I'm still a teacher at heart and old habits die hard:
- Scarves do more work than any other accessory. A silk scarf from a thrift store can make a plain white tee look intentional. I own six and rotate them like a person with a system, which I am
- Bags should have a crossbody option. Your shoulders will thank you. I switched from tote bags to a crossbody from Fossil two years ago and it was like discovering I had two free hands for the first time since 1978
- Jewelry gets simpler as you get older, and that's fine. One good pair of earrings beats a pile of costume jewelry from Charming Charlie (RIP)
- Hats are non-negotiable in Arizona. My dermatologist, Dr. Keane, says a wide-brim hat does more for your skin than any $47.99 serum in a jar the size of a thimble. She's right. I own a straw hat from Target that cost $15 and makes me feel like I'm in a Nancy Meyers movie
If you're looking for more fashion brand recommendations for seniors, we've got you covered.
Sustainable Fashion (or: Why I Still Own a Blazer from 1998)
I didn't set out to be "sustainable." I set out to be cheap. But it turns out that buying well-made clothes, wearing them for years, and refusing to throw things away because "it might come back in style" is actually an environmental strategy. Who knew. My generation has been accidentally eco-friendly this entire time.
The blazer from 1998 is black, single-breasted, from Talbots. Wore it to back-to-school nights for a decade. Wore it to my retirement party. Wore it to Tom's wedding. It still fits because it's well-constructed and I am roughly the same shape I was in 1998, give or take a few editorial changes.
Consignment shops and thrift stores are where the real finds hide. If you haven't tried ThredUp or Poshmark, they're worth the learning curve. Carrie set me up on Poshmark last year and I've bought three things: a cashmere cardigan for $32, a pair of Cole Haan loafers for $28, and a silk blouse I didn't need but couldn't resist for $19. Total cost: $79. Total guilt: zero.
Fast fashion, the kind that falls apart after two washes and costs $12.99 at places I won't name, is a waste of money at any age. But especially at our age, because we know better. We've worn the good stuff and the cheap stuff and we can feel the difference in the first ten seconds.
Making It Yours
When I was teaching, my wardrobe served a purpose: look professional, don't distract the students, survive eight hours on your feet in a classroom that was somehow always either 62 or 85 degrees. Fashion was a uniform. Retirement changed that. Suddenly I wasn't dressing for an audience of thirty teenagers who would absolutely notice if I wore the same thing twice in one week (ask me how I know).
Dressing for myself. And it took me longer than I'd like to admit to figure out what that meant.
It meant red. It meant comfortable shoes that didn't make me feel like I'd surrendered. It meant the gold bangle that was my mother's, and scarves from thrift stores, and a straw hat from Target. It meant saying yes to cobalt blue and no to the beige memo. It meant getting dressed every morning not because anyone was watching, but because I was.
Frank told me last week that I looked "really nice" in a new top I'd bought — a rust-colored linen from J.Jill, $59 on sale. Coming from Frank, "really nice" is the Pulitzer Prize of compliments. The Nobel! The whole ceremony. Said thank you. He went back to his golf magazine.
Forty-seven years. Still the best straight man I've ever met.
If you're ready to feel fabulous at any age, you already are. You just might need a better mirror. And possibly a tailor. The mirror is metaphorical. The tailor is not. Find a good one. Alterations change everything, and everything worth wearing is worth wearing well.
For more on downsizing your wardrobe along with the rest of your life, I've written about that too. A different kind of fashion advice, the kind where you cry at a garage sale and eat cereal out of your mother's china. But that's another story entirely.
