A letter from a reader

At 67, I noticed I had spent fifteen years hiding at the back of every photograph

I have never written one of these before, and I nearly did not, because it feels a funny thing to admit in public. But I have told the story to enough friends now that writing it down seemed easier than saying it again.

Last month my son put together a slideshow for his dad's retirement do. Forty years of photographs, all up on the wall. And there I was in nearly every one, half behind somebody, or holding a drink, or a cardigan, or a handbag in front of my middle. Always something held in front of me.

I had not decided to do that. I just slowly started dressing to hide.

Nobody tells you it is coming. The body changes after a certain age, the middle softens, the tops of your arms are not what they were, and without ever quite meaning to you start reaching for the loose dark top, the cardigan in July, anything that skims over the bits you would rather not think about.

Then my sister turned up in a floral dress

It was at a garden party, and I could not stop looking at it. Not at her middle. At the dress.

She told me it was the Georgina, from a small British boutique called Manchester Boutique, and that the trick is the pleats down the front. They fall away from your stomach instead of clinging to it, so they skim the exact part you are conscious of. It has proper little sleeves that cover the tops of your arms, and it comes down to mid calf. Nothing complicated. Just a dress that somebody had clearly thought about.

I ordered the red floral that evening, before I could talk myself out of it. It is a soft, painterly wildflower print, poppies and cornflowers and little yellow daisies, on a cream background. Nothing loud. Just pretty.

What happened at the christening

I wore it for the first time to my great-niece's christening.

Two people asked me where it was from before we had even sat down. But that was not the part that stayed with me.

The part that stayed with me was that when my daughter lifted her phone to take a photo, I did not reach for anything to hold in front of me. I did not step behind anyone. I just stood there, in the photograph, at the front, in a dress I liked.

I have worn it more times than I can count since. To the christening, round the garden, to the shops, out to lunch. It has quietly become the thing I reach for.

Three things I have learned since

One. The pleats do the work. They fall from just below the bust and float away from the body over the middle, so the fabric never clings where you do not want it to. You feel covered without feeling wrapped in a tent.

Two. The sleeves matter more than I expected. They are short, but they cover the tops of the arms, which for a lot of us is the difference between wearing a dress and not.

Three. The sizing is sensible. It runs from a UK 8 to a 20 and comes in four different florals, so there is a version of it for most people. I have my eye on the blue one next.

About the price

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

The Georgina is £26.95. It was £50.00.

My first thought was that there had to be a catch, because you can pay a great deal more than that on the high street for something that looks lovely on the hanger and awful on you.

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.

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 spent the last few years quietly stepping to the back of photographs, holding something in front of you, dressing so as not to be seen, it is worth ten minutes of an evening to have a look.

Not because a dress fixes anything. It does not. But there is a small, quiet thing in being willing to be in the picture again, and I had forgotten what it felt like.

The sale is on now, and the middle sizes go first, so if yours is there I would not sit on it.

I am in the front of the photographs now. It only took a dress and about fifteen years.

Maggie