It must be about five years since I started seeing thick-soled platform shoes (not 'stripper heels') in the shops, after hankering for a year or more. For me, it felt like turning the corner of an overly long road to find home laid out before me in a lush, green valley 😄 At the same time, high-waisted trousers with wide legs made their way back into the public consciousness: this was a language I knew! My repressed 1970s self danced to the fore (ska, if you've got any, DJ), grabbing her 1990s revival by the hand.
I loved everything - the boxy sweaters, the enormous shirts, the voluminous dresses. I loved the eclecticism, the experimentalism ... and the shoes. I have so many giant-soled shoes now!
I went on a long, joyous spending spree (by my standards) and I'm not even ashamed that I still haven't worn everything I bought. It had to stop. It has stopped. Now the zeitgeist of fashion - the modegeist? - is changing and, this time, I shan't be coming.
I don't believe in being too old or too fat for any style, but I am too old and fat to do justice to a waistline on the pubic bone or a slim cut designed to cling where I wobble. My old feet enjoy being far above the pavement, and they're begging me not to balance on narrow heels, even low ones. When I put on my new, super-chunky sandals today, I looked down and thought 'orthopaedic'. Then I thought 'And? So fucking what!'
I plan to go gently out of fashion as the next few years unroll. There will come a time when I observe myself in a seven-year-old outfit of anachronistic bulk. That will coincide with a fresh spate of longing for something - and that something, assuming I'm not going to stop paying attention, will be coming into fashion. My budget should have recovered by then and I can start all over again.
There's no point to this mini-essay; I was just thinking about it this morning and felt it might strike a chord somewhere. I'll miss the shopping, though!