A letter from a reader

At 67, I had a wardrobe full of tops and not one I actually felt nice in

I have never written one of these before, and I nearly did not. But I have said this to enough friends now that it seemed easier to write it down.

It started on a Saturday morning, getting ready for a friend's birthday lunch. I stood in front of the drawer and pulled out top after top. The navy one. The grey one. A striped one. Three more that are more or less the same. All perfectly fine. Not one of them made me feel like I had made an effort.

I put the navy one on. Again.

Nobody warns you about this bit. You do not run out of clothes. You run out of clothes that feel like you.

It happens quietly. Everything becomes sensible, and plain, and fine. You dress so as not to be noticed, and then one day you catch yourself in the hall mirror and think, when did I start looking quite so tired.

Then Marjorie turned up in a white blouse

It was at the next lunch, and I could not stop looking at it. A soft white top with a pretty frill down the front and little flowers worked into the fabric. She had it on with ordinary jeans and she looked lovely.

She told me it was the Celestine, from a small British boutique called Manchester Boutique. A vintage-style embroidered blouse, with a frill down the centre, a V-neck, and tonal flowers embroidered right into the cloth. The trick, she said, is that it does all the work. You put it on with the jeans you already own and suddenly you look like you planned an outfit.

I ordered the white that evening, before I could talk myself out of it.

What happened at the birthday lunch

I wore it with my good jeans and a tan belt.

Four women asked me where it was from before the puddings had even arrived. 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 worn it more times than I can count since. To the lunch, to the shops, to my grandson's school play. It has quietly become the thing I reach for when I want to feel like myself.

Three things I have learned since

One. It does the work for you. The frill and the embroidery mean you do not have to think about the rest. Your ordinary jeans suddenly look like a decision rather than an accident.

Two. It is feminine without being fussy. It does not look like it was made for somebody half my age, and it does not look like I have given up. That gap is narrower than it sounds, and this sits right in the middle of it.

Three. The V-neck is easy to wear. It is on the low side, so I wear a little camisole underneath, which is how I like it anyway. With that on it sits just right and feels completely comfortable.

About the price

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

The Celestine is £25.95. It was £52.00.

My first thought was that there had to be a catch, because you can pay a good deal more than that for a plain blouse that goes shapeless after two washes.

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, “Wore it with jeans to my niece’s wedding and three people asked where it was from. The frill is so pretty and it does not feel fussy at all.” 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 a drawer full of perfectly sensible tops and not one that makes you feel nice, not one that turns the jeans you already own into an actual outfit, it is worth ten minutes of an evening to have a look.

Not because a blouse changes anything. It does not. But getting dressed in the morning and recognising yourself is a small thing I had quietly stopped expecting, and I would rather you did not stop expecting it either.

The sale is on now, and the white is the one that goes first. It comes in five colours, so there is one for most people.

I have not reached for the plain navy top since.

Maggie