A letter from a reader

At 67, I bought a pair of dungarees for the first time in forty years

I have never written one of these before, and I nearly did not, because I can already hear what some of you are thinking. Dungarees. At sixty-seven. I thought exactly the same thing.

Let me explain how I got here. Somewhere in the last few years, getting dressed stopped being easy. The waistbands started digging in. The zips became a fiddle. And without quite deciding to, I found myself reaching for the same elasticated, apologetic sort of clothes every morning, the ones that do not ask anything of you and do not give anything back either.

Comfortable, yes. But every time I caught sight of myself I thought, when did I start dressing like I had given up.

That is the trap nobody warns you about. You can be comfortable, or you can feel like yourself, and after a certain age the shops seem to think you cannot have both.

Then my sister turned up in a pair

Not the dungarees you are picturing. A soft grey pair covered in the most beautiful embroidered wildflowers, poppies and daisies and little bees, worn over a plain white tee. She looked comfortable and she looked wonderful, and I did not think those two things could go together any more.

They are from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now. They do a whole summer collection of them, dungarees and jumpsuits, in dozens of prints. I ordered the grey wildflower pair that evening, fully expecting to be sending them back by Friday.

What happened at the barbecue

I wore them to a family barbecue, over a white tee, with flat sandals.

Four women asked me where they were from before I had even got a drink. 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 like I had made an effort for once. I have decided to take that as a compliment.

I have barely had them off since. In the garden, to the shops, round to my daughter's for Sunday lunch. You step into them over a top and you are dressed, all in one, in about four seconds.

Three things I have learned since

One. Nothing digs in. There is no waistband fighting you, no zip, no tucking anything in. You put them on and then you simply forget about them for the rest of the day, which at our age is worth a great deal.

Two. The print is what saves them. A plain pair really would look like you were off to do the weeding. It is the embroidered flowers that make them read as a proper outfit, something you chose, rather than something you gave in to.

Three. There is one for everyone. They do them in dozens of prints, florals, stripes, a patchwork, even one covered in little bees, from a small right up to a 2XL. Half the fun was choosing which felt like me.

About the price

I will be honest, the price made me suspicious more than anything.

They are £37.95. They were £76.00.

My first thought was that there had to be a catch, because comfortable clothes that actually look nice usually cost a good deal more than that.

There is no catch that I have found. It is a small boutique selling directly, and they run a summer sale to move the season's stock. I read the reviews before I ordered, the way I imagine you are doing now. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some sites, which if anything made me trust it more. The same things kept coming up. One woman had written, “Bought the grey pair for the garden and now I practically live in them. So easy to throw on, nothing digs in, and I have had lovely comments.” That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were having a cup of tea and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have quietly started reaching for elasticated everything because nothing with a waistband feels good any more, but some part of you hates that you have, it is worth ten minutes of an evening to have a look.

Not because a pair of dungarees changes anything. It does not. But being comfortable and still feeling like yourself, at the same time, is a small thing I had stopped believing was on offer, and I would rather you did not stop believing it either.

The sale is on now, and the nicest prints go first.

I am sixty-seven and I live in dungarees now. I did not see that coming, and I could not be happier about it.

Maggie