A letter from a reader

At 67, I had not worn anything louder than a polka dot since 1998

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 three different women asked me about a blouse at my grandson’s school summer fair on Saturday, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

Here is the confession. I had not worn anything louder than a polka dot since 1998. I can date it, because it was a red-and-white blouse at a christening and somebody I will not name said, well, that is brave. And that was that. Twenty-seven years of navy, sage, stone and quiet.

Bold prints at our age seemed to come with a warning label. So I wore quiet, and I disappeared in it, politely, for nearly three decades.

Nobody decides to disappear. It happens one safe blouse at a time, and the shops help you along, because everything with any colour in it is either cut for a twenty-year-old or shouts so loudly you become the print.

Then Sue turned up in one and looked like she ran a gallery

Sue arrived at book club in June in a loose shirt in three bands, thin black stripes across the shoulders, big black half-moons across the middle, and a block of proper red at the hem, and the room went quiet in the good way. It was bold, but it was tidy. All that colour, organised, like somebody had framed a painting and put sleeves on it.

It is called the Molly, from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now, and it is one of a whole collection of these art blouses. I ordered mine before book club had finished discussing a book none of us had read, fully expecting to send it back.

I did not send it back.

What happened at the summer fair

I wore it to the fair over white trousers, top button undone, sleeves pushed up, and I stood behind the tombola for two hours.

Three different women asked me where it was from before the raffle was drawn. And Sue, who started all this, looked at me in her discovery and said I looked like I ran a gallery, which from Sue is a considerable promotion.

Here is the part I keep coming back to. The colour is loud, but the shirt is not. It is cut loose and long, it buttons all the way down, it skims everything and covers the hips, and it is the print that does the talking, not me. I do not have opinions about art. Apparently I do now.

It has been out five times in two weeks. To the shops, to lunch, over jeans on a cool evening. Everything I own is plain, which it turns out was the perfect preparation.

Three things I have learned since

One. Bold and tidy is the trick. Three organised bands, stripes, half-moons, red, all in a row. It reads as design, not noise, and people assume you know about art. You are not required to correct them.

Two. It is a shirt first. Loose, long, buttons all the way down, a proper collar. It goes over white trousers, jeans, a plain skirt, and it covers what a woman my age likes covered, so all the nerve is in the print and none of it is in the cut.

Three. There is one for everyone. A dozen art blouses in the collection, in every size from an 8/10 to a 22/24, the same relaxed cut throughout. Choosing was half the fun. I am watching the one with the shells.

About the price

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

The Molly is £36.95. It was £110.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because a shirt with this much design in it usually prices the design in twice.

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 move the season’s stock.

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, “Bold without being silly. I get stopped about it every time and it goes with every plain thing I own.” That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting in the garden with a cup of tea and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have been wearing quiet and disappearing in it, you are not a quiet woman. You were sold quiet, one safe blouse at a time. This is one shirt where somebody else already had the nerve, and it costs less than the christening blouse did in 1998.

Two practical things. The sale is on now, and the nicest prints go first. And once the summer stock is gone it is gone until next year.

Turns out I was never a quiet woman. I just dressed like one.

Maggie