Two days before I leave for a business conference, I realise I need emergency fashion advice.
I phone my sister, Sarah, and explain the situation. ‘I’m going to a conference in London,’ I say. ‘What do I wear?’
‘A dress,’ she says, without hesitation. ‘Wear that M&S one you’ve got.’
‘The green one?’ I last wore this in August for dinner at Wagamama, followed by a Peter Kay show. ‘It’s more casual than conference.’
‘What about the Hobbs one you’ve been wearing everywhere recently?’ Sarah suggests.
I was hoping this dress might be a possibility. It was an emergency purchase a few weeks ago after realising I had nothing to wear for a family function (because Mum also bought the green M&S dress, and she wore that).
When I’d ordered online, the description said it was navy and multicoloured. When it arrived, it looked black and I might not be a fashion expert, but isn’t there a rule that navy and black should never be together?
I tried it on for Mum, who made me stand in front of the window. ‘Definitely navy,’ she said. ‘When the light catches it—navy.’
So, I’d ordered a jacket to go with it. I already had some navy wedges, so for the first time in my life, I was colour coordinated (as long as I stood in front of a window). If I stood in a dark corner, I would be the fashion faux pas talk of the town.
I imagined people shaking their heads, dismissing me as hapless in the fashion stakes. ‘Look at her in her black dress and navy coat and shoes.’
Despite the is it black is it navy dilemma, I love everything about this dress. It has red and blue shapes to give it colour, a mid-calf length, short sleeves, with a flattering V neckline, and I feel comfortable in it. But again, it’s not something I would pick for a conference.
‘Will it be okay?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Sarah says. ‘That’s what everyone wears to business events now.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes, just not with trainers. Don’t wear it with trainers.’
‘What shoes, then?’ My voice is inching higher because I know shoes are going to be the problem. The wedges I wore before ripped my feet to shreds so are not an option.
‘Ballet pumps,’ Sarah says.
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Well, flats then, but not trainers.’
I think of the footwear I own. Trainers for running, trainers for casual wear with jeans and dresses, long boots for my skinny jeans (I know skinny jeans are not ‘in’ anymore, but I love mine), walking shoes, walking boots, and wellies for mucking out.
‘I don’t have anything.’
‘Why haven’t you got any shoes?’
‘I’ve been locked up for years! I haven’t needed any.’
Sarah goes quiet, unable it seems to comprehend what she’s hearing. Or maybe she’s wondering how she’s related to someone who doesn’t have a ‘thing’ for shoes. She loves them, has an entire room for shoes, handbags and clothes, all perfectly organised and displayed.
I use the cupboard under the stairs for my shoes, where I throw everything in, then forget about them, and spend my life in the same ‘driving pumps’ I bought on Amazon two decades ago.
‘You need to get yourself some shoes,’ she says. ‘Order some ballet pumps.’
‘Can you send me a picture of what I should buy?’
‘Yes.’
‘And once I’ve got the shoes sorted, will my navy denim jacket be okay?’
She hesitates for a moment, before saying, ‘yes’.
I don’t ask why she’s paused because I can’t face the trauma of having to get an emergency coat as well as emergency shoes.
‘It’s a shame we’re not the same size,’ I say. ‘That would make life easier.’ I’d have hundreds of shoes to choose from.
‘Try Mum,’ she says, before hanging up.
Mum, like me, is a size seven. I can’t be bothered to order anything online and definitely can’t face a shopping trip, so I pick up the phone.
‘Do you have any shoes I can borrow?’ I ask.
‘What do you want—heel or flat? Black or brown or navy?’
‘Navy,’ I say. ‘Flat.’
‘I’ve just the thing.’
‘I’ll take them.’
Sarah sends a photo of the ballet pumps and Mum’s are a perfect match.
Now that my outfit is sorted, I can relax, but all I can think about is my loss of style confidence. How did this happen? When did dressing myself become such an ordeal?
I’ve always struggled to coordinate outfits with matching bags, shoes and accessories, but I did okay. I had my own sense of style. I loved dresses with heels, skinny jeans with long boots and had a work wardrobe of dresses, tights and shoes.
Things changed with the lockdown years. Fashion became more about functionality and comfort. Like many, I started working from home and my wardrobe changed to jeans and jumpers. Not skinny jeans either, but M&S boyfriend jeans (I couldn’t work out the mom jeans style, so went for boyfriend).
When the world opened up again, I remained working from home. It’s only now with my new job—still home based but with more travel — that I’m facing up to the fact that when it comes to fashion, I’ve been left behind.
Where once there were obvious distinctions between casual and workwear, eveningwear and loungewear, now there are none. The boundaries I knew so well have blurred. Styles have changed and because I’ve not been keeping up, I am clueless.
The conference organisers originally said business casual, but then changed their brief to smart casual. ‘What’s the difference,’ I thought, immediately going online to find out.
I discovered a website offering advice about what to wear to a work event. All the outfits were lovely, but I owned nothing they suggested. That was the moment I realised I’d lost my style and phoned my sister for help.
On the day of the conference, I decide that Mum’s shoes will be far too uncomfortable, so instead I wear a pair of pumps I’ve had for years. They’re from Carvela’s comfort range. They are delicate, comfortable and although they are grey and don’t match my navy outfit, I don’t care.
I feel amazing. I take the early train to London and arrive at the conference, thinking that if there’s an award for the best-dressed person, I could be a contender.
It’s so wonderful to be out of my M&S boyfriend jeans that I snap a photograph of myself. I imagine a photo where I’m pouting and looking stylish and perfectly made up, like the fashion influencers on Instagram.
This is the photo I take.
I was going to delete it and try another, but this photo—blurred and chaotic as it is, perfectly captures my style. It’s a style I’ve always had—that of almost, but not quite getting it right and being happy with that.
Hi all, Am I alone in losing my style? I’d love to know your experience. Let me know in the comments. Liz x
This is me, before every single event I attend. But you made me smile, thinking of you having to stand in a dark corner.
2010: Wearing a shirt and tie to work as it gave me confidence.
2017: Wearing a shirt to work as ties were sooo last century
2024: Wearing a shirt and my pyjama bottoms as on a Zoom call no one can see below your middle.