The What Not to Wear people can bite me. In July, I will be 35 years old, and apparently I'm supposed to come home the night of my birthday, drain my celebratory glass of champagne, and march upstairs to set fire to my beautiful mini skirt from Banana Republic, because it is a sin to wear a skirt that hits above the knee after 35 years of age.
I'm not entirely sure I understand their argument, but I believe it runs something like this. Women who wear skirts over the knee after the age of 35 are trying too hard to recapture their youth, and only end up making themselves look older. It's aging at best, and at worst, it ends up making you look like a slutty Mrs. Robinson wanna-be.
Well, fie on them. That skirt was an extraordinary coup. It's wool, it's purple, it's plaid and I adore it. Nothing could possibly make me look less like I'm trying to be a 16-year old or a seductress. (I can prove it--anyone who thinks wool is a youthful and seductive fabric, raise your hand.... The defense rests.) I can't look like either a teenager or a femme fatale if I TRY, and even if I do try, I still won't achieve enough of the effect to give people the impression that I'm trying. I wore this skirt over the holidays, and not one but two of my former professors said I looked "all grown up." Let's gloss smoothly over the Pandora's box of horrific extrapolations that spring to mind when we hear that statement (as Graham Norton says, "don't stumble on sadness"), and instead use it as support of the claim that I don't look like I'm trying to recapture my misspent youth as a Catholic schoolgirl* or seduce a hapless Dustin Hoffman away from the plastics industry.
No one can take my cute purple skirt. Instead, I'm steeling myself for battle. Bring it, fashion mavens. So's your momma.
*Tragically, I have to admit that my youth was in no way misspent. In fact, my youth was actually hoarded via totally misguided compliance with all kinds of idiotic rules which, much like this whole miniskirt rule, can now kiss my shiny white Irish behind.