'Not Dressed As Lamb'.
That's what I hope I am at the ripe-old age of 39. I'm also trying not to be predictable mutton either. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a great believer in women of all ages being able to wear whatever they like (as long as it doesn't harm or deeply offend anyone). And I also believe in making the most of what you've got, whether you're a nubile 18 year old or a 40-something cougar.
And while I love - no, adore - reading gossip/celebrity magazines, where I drool over the "Best Dressed" pages and, likewise, recoil in enjoyable horror at the "What Were They Thinking" ones overleaf, I can't help but feel differently when out on the street and seeing women in similar attire. In the past I've found myself judging other women on what they're wearing, but what right do I have to do this? They may well have taken as much time over their appearance as I did that morning, and left the house feeling a million dollars.
It's this feeling that I think every woman should work towards achieving as a direct result of her chosen outfit every day, whether or not the trained eye of a stylist thinks the result looks like Audrey Hepburn reincarnate or a downright mess. If she loves what she's wearing, feels great, then who cares? The fact that her outfit makes her happy is the main thing.
Case in point: Su Pollard. I think she looks bloody amazing.
I know, you're thinking, OH - MY - GOD. I used to think that too, until recently.
The eccentric English actress has always dressed as madly as this, and if you've never seen or heard of her before then all you need to know is Su Pollard was the Lady Gaga of her day. Why on earth would I publish a photo on a fashion blog of someone looking like the teen section of Chelsea Girl had thrown up on her? Well, I also thought she was a walking fashion disaster. During the 80s, whilst I was wearing my white stilettos, electric blue jumpsuit and matching mascara, I wondered how she could even leave the house in the most uncoordinated, migraine-inducing ensembles I'd ever seen. But now that I'm older (and a little bit more tolerant) I can see that bloody hell - she's always looked happy. And didn't seem to care what anyone else thought.
Think how much time and effort went into that outfit. That's not an outfit that just happened to be whatever was to hand that morning - she went all out, guns blazing, I'm-gonna-rock-the-striped-socks-fur-and-feathers-look today. The contents of her wardrobe must be to fashion what Willy Wonka was to chocolate: tacky, over the top and absolutely delicious (in a bonkers way). You've got to hand it to the woman - she accessorises beautifully with all the confidence in the world. And it's not a one-off, this is her whole raison d'être.
Now you're probably still thinking, I don't care, it's still O-M-G. Well, at least it's not 'meh'.
Plain old, boring, lifeless... meh. You know, the outfits where there's no thought, no care, no effort, just total apathy. With unattended-to hair and make-up to match. They're the women I see on the street that I want to drag into the nearest department store and allow to run amok, be free, have a fling with an orange and cerise striped kaftan, tickle the fancy of those cerulean platform wedges, and never darken the door of apathy ever again. Personally, I prefer O-M-G to meh.
Bloggers write blogs because they have something to say. Something they're passionate about. Something they love. So next time you read a nasty, spiteful comment on someone's fashion blog (or, god forbid, think about posting one), think about Su. Deliriously happy in her outrageous colours and fluffy accessories. Is there a single ounce of happiness coming through those nasty words you see on your screen?