A letter from a reader

At 67, every morning began with holding one thing up against another and 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 this outfit at a birthday lunch here in Cheshire on Saturday, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

For years the worst part of my day was the first ten minutes of it. I would stand in front of the wardrobe holding a top up against a pair of trousers, then a different top, then a different pair, trying to make two things that were never meant for each other look like they belonged.

Every morning began with holding one thing up against another, and giving up.

Most days I gave up and reached for the same dark trousers and the same loose top I had worn a hundred times before, not because I liked them but because at least they matched. And I would feel a little flat about myself before the day had even started, which is no way to begin a morning at my age.

I did not set out to dress like that. Nobody does. It happens quietly, one separate top and one separate pair of trousers at a time, until one morning you realise you own a great deal of clothing and not one thing that actually goes together.

How it happens

I used to enjoy getting dressed. In my forties I could put an outfit together without thinking twice.

What changed was not me. It was the shops.

Somewhere along the way the high street decided that women our age only want separates, sold one lonely piece at a time, in a dozen shades that never quite match the next thing on the rail. You buy a top you like, take it home, and discover it goes with nothing you own. So you buy trousers to go with the top, and then a different top for the trousers, and on it goes.

And once that is all there is, getting dressed stops being a pleasure and becomes a small daily puzzle you never quite solve. You settle for the two dark things that match, because at least they save you the bother.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I got most wrong, and I think a great many of us have.

I thought the answer was more clothes. More tops, more trousers, more choice, until surely something would go with something.

It turns out that was never the problem.

The thing that made every morning such hard work was that nothing I owned had been made to go together. Two separate pieces, however nice on their own, will always be a decision. A top and trousers cut as one set, meant for each other from the start, are not a decision at all. You simply put them on.

The same amount of getting dressed, done as one considered piece instead of two hopeful ones, reads completely differently. It reads as though you thought about it. That is the whole difference, and it took me until 67 to work it out.

It is called the Lucía

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

It is called the Lucía. A two-piece set in a soft navy, a relaxed V-neck top with three-quarter sleeves and wide-leg trousers made to match, so the whole thing goes together without a second thought. It comes in a few quiet colours, which I will come back to.

It is cut easy through the middle, so nothing digs in and nothing clings, and the wide leg is comfortable to sit and walk in. In a plain navy it looks refined and considered, the sort of thing that flatters the shape without any fuss. And it is simple to care for, which anyone who dreads the ironing basket will be glad to hear.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just two pieces that somebody thought about together, so you do not have to.

What happened at the lunch

I wore it for the first time to a birthday lunch, with flat sandals and my good earrings.

Four women asked me where it was 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 like I had made an effort for once. I have decided to take that as a compliment.

What I noticed more than the compliments, though, was that I forgot about it. I did not spend the afternoon tugging at anything or wondering whether something had ridden up. I sat down, I had a very large piece of cake, and I did not think about what I had on once.

The next morning I put the trousers straight back on with a plain top for the shops, and felt completely myself. That is the rarest sort of thing. The one you can wear to a lunch, or split up and wear all week, and feel right in either way.

Three things I have learned since

One. The sizing is honest. It runs from a small all the way to a 3XL, and it is the same easy cut the whole way up, not a different shape once you pass a certain size. I wish more places would bother with that.

Two. Getting dressed became one decision. The top and the trousers already match, so there is no holding things up against each other of a morning. You pull on two pieces, and you are done, and the day starts better for it.

Three. It goes both ways. Worn as a set with sandals and earrings for a lunch, or split up across the week with the plain things you already own. And in a quiet colour it goes with everything, so nothing ever feels stranded.

About the price

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

The Lucía is £39.95. It was £80.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because you can walk into any high street shop and pay more than that for a single top that goes with nothing.

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. One woman had written, "It looks far more expensive than it was and I have worn it three different ways already." That was the one that decided it for me.

Then I ordered the grey one 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 spent the last few years standing in front of the wardrobe holding one thing up against another and giving up, not because you have nothing but because nothing goes together, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and look.

Not because a two-piece will change your life. It will not. But there is something in getting dressed in the morning and recognising yourself, without the daily puzzle, that I had quietly given up on, 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, which I found out because the size I went back for in grey was nearly gone. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

I have not stood in front of that wardrobe giving up since.

Maggie