A letter from a reader

At 68, I got dressed three times a day. Now it is once

I did not expect to be writing about a dress. I am 68, I grow vegetables, and until Sunday the most anybody had said about my clothes was that they were clean. Then three different women asked me about this one at the allotment open day, and I would rather write it down once than give the speech again.

First, a confession. For years I got dressed three times a day. Allotment things in the morning, because you cannot kneel in the soil in anything you care about. Something decent for the shops. And something else again if I was going round to my daughter’s for my tea, because the something decent had usually picked up a bit of the shops by then.

Nobody decides to live like that. It happens because comfortable means a housecoat and presentable means a waistband, and I owned nothing that managed both. So I changed, and changed, and changed, like a woman with a job in the theatre.

Dressed for the day, or dressed for the job. Pick one. I picked both, three times, every day.

And I do not blame any woman doing the same, because the shops give you precious little in between the two.

Then I saw one on Brenda, twice in one day

Brenda from the next plot down was on her knees in a faded blue dress with big cream flowers on it at half past eight in the morning, digging. At two o’clock I passed her outside the bank in the same dress, and she looked like she had made an effort. That stopped me. Same woman, same dress, soil in the morning and the high street in the afternoon, and both looked right.

It is called the Karin, from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now. I am careful with money and I will not pretend otherwise, but the summer sale was on, so I ordered it that evening, fully expecting to find the catch.

I have not found the catch.

What happened at the open day

I wore it on Sunday from the potatoes at seven to the prize-giving at four, and I did not go home in between, which is a first.

Three different women asked me about it. And Sylvia looked me up and down at the tea urn and asked whether I had been home to change. I had not. From Sylvia, that is practically a medal.

Here is why it works, as far as I can tell. It hangs straight from the shoulders, so there is nothing at the middle to negotiate with when you bend or sit or eat. The sleeves push up for the beans and come down for the bus. And the print is grand enough, big cream flowers on a blue like a good old pair of jeans, that nobody at the shops would guess where you have been since seven.

Three things worth knowing

One. There is nothing at the waist. No seam, no elastic, no belt, nothing to dig in when you kneel or sit or reach. It falls straight and skims, and it still looks like a dress rather than a tent, because the print does the talking.

Two. It pulls on, and that is the whole job. No zip, no buttons, over the head and done, in less time than it takes the kettle to boil. In the morning that matters more than any of us admit.

Three. It comes in every size and one colour, and the colour is going. An 8/10 up to a 20/22, the same easy shape throughout. Only the blue, and the boutique says the blue is nearly gone. I mention it because I would want to know.

About the price

I will be plain about this bit, because the price is what made me suspicious.

It is £36.95. It was £74.00.

Half price is usually where I start asking what is wrong with it. I have found nothing wrong with it. It is a small boutique selling direct, no department store taking its slice in the middle, and a summer sale on to shift the season’s stock. That is the whole mystery.

And I do not trust perfect scores, so I read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars, which sounded like real people rather than robots, so I read on. One woman had written, “Wore it gardening, then to lunch, then to the school gate. Nobody could tell. Softest thing I own.” That settled it.

If you were stood at my kitchen table

If you were stood at my kitchen table with a brew and you asked me straight, this is what I would say.

If you are still changing your clothes to match your day, it is not because you are fussy. It is because nobody sold you a dress that could keep up. This one can. It costs less than a decent roast and it does the whole day without complaint.

The sale is on and the blue is nearly gone. Once the summer stock has gone it is gone until next year. Stop dithering and go and look.

One dress, one day. I did not know that was allowed.

Pat