A letter from a reader

At 67, I had decided dresses simply did not flatter me any more, and had rather stopped trying them on

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 dress at a dinner a fortnight ago, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It had been years since I felt right in a dress. My waist, which I once rather took for granted, had quietly disappeared, and every dress I tried either hung off me like a sack or clung where I did not want it to.

Somewhere along the way I had decided dresses were simply not for me any more.

So I stopped trying them on, wore trousers to everything, and told myself I did not mind.

I did not choose that. Nobody decides to give up on dresses. It happens quietly, one disappointing changing-room mirror at a time.

How it happens

The trouble is that most dresses cut for women our age are simply straight up and down. A shapeless shift in a sensible colour, designed to skim over everything and, in doing so, to hide any shape you have left.

And the ones that do have some shape tend to cling to it, which after a certain age is not what any of us are after either.

So you try one, decide it is not for you, and go back to trousers. And the longer you leave it, the more certain you become that dresses and you have simply parted ways.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I got most wrong. I thought a flattering waist was something you either still had or you did not, and mine had gone.

It turns out the dress can do that part for you. This one has a clever little twist, a soft knot gathered at the waist, and it draws the fabric in at exactly the right place, so you have a waist again without a belt and without any squeezing. Above and below it, the silky fabric simply skims and drapes.

The dress does the flattering, so you do not have to. That is the thing I had assumed did not exist, and it took me until 67 to find it.

The dress is called the Vivette

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

The dress is called the Vivette. A flowing midi in the softest sage green with a blush abstract print, with that clever twist knot at the waist, an easy V neckline and short sleeves. There are other colours as well, which I will come back to.

It is light and it drapes beautifully, the fabric skimming rather than clinging, which after years of the two extremes felt like a small revelation. The twist at the waist does its quiet work, the V neck is flattering without being low, and the colour is so soft and pretty that it does something kind to your face.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just a dress that was actually designed to flatter a real woman.

What happened at the dinner

I wore it for the first time to a dinner, with gold 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 marvellous. I have decided to take that as a compliment.

What I noticed more than the compliments, though, was that I stood up a little straighter in it. I did not spend the evening holding anything in or wishing I had worn something else. I simply felt like myself, which I had not felt in a dress for a very long time.

I have since worn it to a lunch and to a garden do, dressed down with flat sandals both times. That is the rarest sort of dress. The one that does the flattering for you, so you can forget about it and enjoy yourself.

Three things I have learned since

One. The twist is the whole trick. The little knot at the waist gives you a defined shape without a belt and without holding anything in. It is the cleverest thing, and you would never guess how simple it is.

Two. Drape beats both extremes. The silky fabric skims rather than clinging or hanging like a sack, so you feel graceful without feeling wrapped up.

Three. The colour is doing more than you think. That soft sage green lifts your face in a way beige and black never will. I had forgotten what a real colour does.

About the price

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

The Vivette is £27.95. It was £56.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because a dress that fits and flatters this well usually costs a great deal more.

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. Real people, mixed opinions, mostly very good.

Then I had a look at the other colours.

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 quietly decided that dresses do not flatter you any more and stopped trying them on, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and look.

Not because a dress will change your life. It will not. But there is something in catching your reflection and standing a little straighter that I had 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. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

I am wearing dresses again, and standing a little taller in them.

Maggie