A letter from a reader

At 67, I had quietly stopped wearing trousers, because the smart ones hurt and the comfy ones looked like giving up

I have never written anything like this before, and I want to say at the start that I am not a writer and I am not in the habit of telling other women what to wear.

But four different women asked me about these trousers at a lunch a fortnight ago, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It crept up on me over a few years. My jeans had started to pinch by the afternoon and leave a red mark at the waist, and the only comfortable trousers I owned were the ones I would not be seen in outside the garden.

Smart and uncomfortable, or comfortable and frumpy. Those seemed to be the only two choices.

So more often than not I reached for a skirt, or simply did not bother, which is a sad thing to admit about a wardrobe full of trousers.

I did not choose that. Nobody sets out to give up on half their wardrobe. It happens quietly, one uncomfortable waistband at a time.

How it happens

The high street seems to think a woman my age wants one of two things. Stiff, structured trousers with a hard waistband and a zip that digs in the moment you sit down to lunch. Or shapeless elasticated things cut like a sack, sold as comfortable, which is a polite way of saying nobody thought about you.

So you buy the smart ones and put up with the pinching, or you buy the comfy ones and feel dowdy in them.

And once trousers have become a small daily discomfort, you stop reaching for them, more than you would think.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I got most wrong. I had decided that comfortable and smart simply could not live in the same pair of trousers.

It turns out they can, and the secret is all in the waist. These have a wide, soft smocked waistband, all gentle stretch and no button or zip, so there is nothing to dig in. But the leg is cut wide and full, so it drapes and flows and reads as elegant rather than lazy.

Comfortable at the waist, smart in the leg. That is the combination I had assumed did not exist, and it took me until 67 to find it.

They are called the Blythe

They are from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now.

They are called the Blythe. A wide-leg trouser in a soft, faded blue, with that lovely wide smocked waistband and proper pockets. They come in a grey and a printed one as well, which I will come back to.

They are light and they breathe, which in the last few weeks has mattered more than I expected. The smocked waist simply gives with you, whether you are sitting down to a long lunch or bending to the garden, and the wide leg does all the elegant work. Nobody would guess they are as comfortable as they are.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just a pair of trousers somebody actually thought about.

What happened at the lunch

I wore them for the first time to a lunch, with a simple tucked top and my good sandals.

Four women asked me where they were from. Four. One of them was Ann, who I have known since our children were at primary school and who has never once commented on anything I have worn.

She said I looked very put together. I have decided to take that as a compliment.

What I noticed more than the compliments, though, was that I forgot about them. No red mark at the waist, no shifting about, no undoing a button after pudding. I sat through a long lunch and simply did not think about what I had on.

The next morning I put them straight back on to potter about, and felt completely myself. That is the rarest sort of trouser. The one you can wear out to lunch and then wear to do the watering, and feel right either way.

Three things I have learned since

One. The waist is the whole thing. A soft smocked waistband with no button or zip means no digging in, ever, whether you are sitting, standing or bending. It changes the entire day.

Two. Wide legs are quietly flattering. The full, draping leg skims straight over everything and makes the whole outfit look considered, even with the simplest top.

Three. The sizing is honest. They run from a small right up, the same easy cut the whole way, not a different shape once you pass a certain size. I wish more places would bother with that.

About the price

I want to be straightforward about this, because it was the thing that made me suspicious.

The Blythe trousers are £26.95. They were £50.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because you can pay more than that on the high street for stiff trousers that pinch by lunchtime.

There is no catch that I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a cut in the middle, and they run a summer sale to shift the season's stock before it turns.

I did what I imagine you are doing now and went and read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I am honest made me trust it rather more. Real people, mixed opinions, mostly very good.

Then I ordered the grey pair as well.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sat in the garden and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have quietly stopped reaching for trousers because the smart ones hurt and the comfortable ones make you feel like you have given up, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and look.

Not because a pair of trousers will change your life. It will not. But there is something in getting dressed and being comfortable and pulled-together at the same time that I had stopped expecting, and I would rather you did not give up on it too.

Two practical things. The sale is on at the moment, and the middle sizes are the ones that go first. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

I am back in trousers, and not once have I had to undo a button after lunch.

Maggie