A letter from a reader

At 67, I bought myself purple cowboy boots

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 pair of boots at our village autumn fair, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it all down properly.

First, a confession. For about ten years, every time I picked up something I actually loved in a shop, a little voice said the same thing.

Not at your age.

So I would put the beautiful thing down and buy the sensible thing. The black version. The beige version. The flat version. Ten years of putting things back on the shelf, and I could not tell you a single sensible purchase I remember fondly.

I did not choose that voice. That is the part I want to be clear about. Nobody hands it to you. It arrives quietly somewhere in your fifties, and it sounds so reasonable that you mistake it for your own opinion.

Then I saw a woman my age in red boots

It was at the garden centre, of all places, back in the spring. A woman who must have been seventy if she was a day, in ordinary trousers and a raincoat, and a pair of red boots.

And here is the thing. She did not look ridiculous. She looked wonderful. She looked like somebody who had somewhere to be and was pleased about it.

I thought about those boots for months. Which is how, when Manchester Boutique brought out their autumn boots, I did something entirely out of character. I ordered the purple ones.

What I had wrong

I had always assumed that dressing your age meant dressing quietly, and that anything bold past sixty tips into fancy dress.

It turns out that is backwards. The woman in the red boots taught me that, and owning these has confirmed it.

What actually looks odd is a woman spending her whole life in things she does not like, waiting for permission nobody is ever going to send. A pair of boots you love, worn with completely ordinary clothes, does not read as fancy dress. It reads as a decision. And people respond to a decision.

The boots are called the Wilhelmine

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

The boots are called the Wilhelmine. Knee-high western boots in a deep plum purple, with a pattern of little bronze studs swirling down the shaft and a gently distressed finish, so they look like something with a history rather than something out of a plastic bag.

And the joke is, the boots I bought for the joy of them turned out to be the most practical thing I own. The heel is a wide block, so there is height without a hint of wobble on cobbles or wet pavements. There is a zip up the side, so they are on and off in one motion, no lacing, no hopping about in the hallway. And they come to the knee, so with thick tights and a skirt I am warmer on a cold morning than I ever was in my sensible flats.

That is really all there is to it. They are not complicated. They are boots somebody actually thought about.

What happened at the autumn fair

I wore them properly for the first time to the village autumn fair, with dark tights and my rust skirt.

Three women asked me about them before I had got past the cake stall. One of them was Valerie, who I have known for thirty years and who has never once commented on anything I have worn.

She asked me where I had found the nerve. And then she asked me for the website.

What I noticed more than the compliments was how I stood. You do not slouch in boots like these. I went round that fair feeling like the woman from the garden centre, and I understood at last what her secret was. There was no secret. She had simply bought the boots.

The next morning I put them on again to walk down for the paper, with jeans, and they were just as right for that.

Three things I have learned since

One. The block heel is the whole trick. It gives you the height and the shape of a proper heel with none of the teetering. I have worn them on cobbles, wet leaves and the church car park, and not once thought about my footing.

Two. The zip earns its keep every single day. On and off in one motion, standing up, no laces, no fuss. It is the difference between boots you wear and boots that stay in the cupboard.

Three. They go with far more than you would think. Dark tights and a skirt, jeans, my long grey coat. Because the rest of my wardrobe is quiet, the boots do all the work, and everything I own suddenly looks more interesting.

About the price

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

The Wilhelmine is £77.95. It was £156.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because boots with this much work in them, all those studs set in patterns, do not usually come in under a hundred pounds.

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 this is their launch price on the new autumn 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, “Bought them for my 70th birthday and I have worn them to everything since. The heel is steady and the zip means no struggling.” That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sat by the fire and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If there is a pair of boots, or a coat, or a colour you keep picking up and putting back down, the voice telling you not at your age is not your own opinion. It is a habit. And habits can be broken for £77.95.

Not because a pair of boots will change your life. It will not. But there is something in catching sight of yourself in a shop window and liking what you see 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 first autumn stock is already going. They come in five colours, from a UK 1 to an 8.5, and once this batch is gone it is gone before the cold weather has even properly arrived.

Sensible can wait.

Maggie