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Style: Optional

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I used to live in New York. I used to live in LA. Some of my best style ideas came from watching the people I saw on the street, where fashion creativity reigned supreme. It wasn’t always good, mind you, but there were ideas to be found and outfits at which to marvel and snicker.

Now I live in a small town in the Sierra foothills where style is optional. Very optional.

That’s not a criticism. In truth, it’s more of an observation. When I first moved here, I fell in love with the beauty and charm of the area, and those things still affect me in a positive way. When friends come to visit, I like taking them for a stroll along the main street of town, which is filled with small shops and places to have a great cup of coffee.  But when you look around at the people…

It’s a little startling.

In the spring and summer, you’re likely to see women in shapeless dresses or terribly unflattering shorts. In the fall and winter, bulky layers rule: a clump of fabric wrapped around a skirt worn over leggings, with more tops than I can count. It reminds me of the Incan women I saw in Peru who wear all their clothes at once, lest someone steal them.

In the first year of living here, my biggest fear was that I would go native, succumbing to the anything-goes rule. My worst nightmare was that one of my friends from New York would somehow see me dressed like a local and write me off as a lost cause. I eventually realized that there wasn’t even the remotest chance of that happening, because I have too much fun with style to abandon it completely.

I like to dress up. I like to put outfits together. I like to accessorize. And if on any given day I’m the only person walking down Broad Street wearing skinny jeans and heels, so be it.

And that person you might have seen walking into spin class wearing cropped workout pants and Ugg boots? That wasn’t me. Really. Honest. No kidding. (Anyway, I changed into cycling shoes as soon as I got inside.)

 

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life(DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Long Hair after 50: It’s Not as Forbidden as It Used to Be

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We women over 50 have all heard the admonitions: long hair is for ingenues, long hair no longer flatters the “mature” face, long hair makes you look like a cavewoman (okay…I made up that last one). But look around and you’ll see significant numbers of woman over 50—dare I say, over 60 and beyond—who are pulling off the look with grace and style. Case in point: Christie Brinkley, Michelle Pfeiffer, Phylicia Rashad, and Barbra Streisand.

And it’s not limited to celebrities.

Think long hair is just for the rich and famous—those who can afford someone to tend to their tresses on a daily basis? Think again. My friends Heidi, Merille, Wendy, and Kim have it down:

Heidi

Merille

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We boomers are playing by different rules. In fact, we’re creating new rules. And I, for one, love where those new rules are taking us. For more about hair styles of all lengths, check out: 15 Things Older Women Should Know about Hair.

 

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life(DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Shopping in the Kids’ Department: Don’t Knock It if You Haven’t Tried It

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I’ll get straight to the point: I have a really dinky torso. The distance from my shoulders to my waist is…how shall I put this?…a very short ride. As a result, most women’s tops are far too long on me. What is meant to reach to mid hip can easily extend far below my butt, making it impossible to tuck in and laughable to leave out. Even petite-sized tops don’t solve the problem, because short-waisted and petite are not the same thing.

Cropped tops have often been a good solution for me. Until recently, cropped tops were designed to hit just a bit above the waist on a more evenly proportioned body. That meant they landed an inch or two below my natural waist, which is ideal.

Then came the let’s-show-as-much-skin-as-possible movement, which elevated  cropped tops to just below the bust. Now they’re not even remotely suited to anyone with less than stellar abs. And even if you’re an astonishingly fit woman, they’re not an appropriate choice for anyone much over twenty.

So now what?

While shopping in Nordstrom just before Christmas with my friend Heidi, we happened to walk past the girls’ department. Mixed in with the ruffly dresses and the frou-frou tops—the obvious signs of the holiday season—was an assortment of simple crewneck sweaters. I spotted one I particularly liked and pulled it from the rack.

“That’s really cute,” said Heidi, whose fashion sense I trust implicitly. “You should try it on.”

“But it’s a kid’s top!”

“But it looks like it will fit.”

I looked at the tag—extra large—and decided to give it a shot.

Body length: check. Fit in shoulders: check. Room for boobs: check. Sleeve length: inches to spare! The muted, multi-colored fabric—with just the teeniest bit of shimmer—and the black banding would be ideal with my mostly black wardrobe. And the price tag was well below what I would expect to pay in the women’s department. So I bought it.

This is not to say that I will henceforth do all my shopping elbow to elbow with fashion-hungry ten-year-olds, but my positive experience will keep the door open in the future.

PS – I wore the sweater today, and received three compliments. Definitely a plus!

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

How to Go Grey Gracefully

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For me, the decision to go grey was a no-brainer. I looked at all the dye stains in my bathroom from those twice-a-month touch ups, calculated the amount of money I spent at the salon, and decided it was time to let mother nature take her course. At the time, I was almost sixty.

Of course, my hairdresser tried to talk me out of it. She said I’d look older, and perhaps the color grey wouldn’t be flattering. I told her that I’d take my chances. I could always go back. Besides, I started going grey in my twenties, and at thirty my bangs were snow white, not the mottled grey many women experience.

It also helped that one of my half-brothers has snow white hair, and a picture of my birth mother at fifty reveals a young face with the same bright white color. Time might not be on my side, but DNA certainly is.

How to make the transition was the looming question.

To keep me as a client, my hairdresser was suddenly very supportive. She suggested cutting my hair short, which was fine with me, and adding very light highlights. This way, the grey would be less noticeable as it grew in. At some point, she added low lights. For a very brief time, I resembled Cruella Deville. When I walked into the house, my daughter started humming the theme song. Let’s just say the contrast was a bit much for my skin tone.

As I recall, the transition from brown to blonde to white took about a year. Miraculously, one day, I had a head of white, almost translucent hair. I’ve never looked back.

The key to pulling this off is having a contemporary style and wearing lipstick—especially the lipstick. Otherwise, I look a bit ghostly and washed out.

Since going grey—or, in my case, white—I’ve experimented with a variety of hair styles and streaks of color. I also played with hair chalk.

My favorite streak of color was purple—probably because it lasted so long. But teal highlights garnered a lot of attention while I was on vacation in Cabo. Most recently, I added a lot of teal, and the color was so bright I freaked out. My daughter Lexi, who is a hairdresser, suggested washing my hair with Pert shampoo, whose power is a beauty school legend. Fortunately, after three or four washings, it toned down the color to a very soft, pretty hue.

If you’re thinking about going grey, why not give it a try? It’s just hair, and you always have the option of going back to color. If it turns out that your particular shade of grey isn’t what you hoped for, there are many options to brighten it up. The simplest one is purple shampoo, which strips out any dulling yellow.

After reading this post, Lexi added, “If you’re even thinking about going grey, it’s best to switch from a permanent hair color to a demi-permanent one, which blurs the line between the color and the new growth.”

 

 

Jan Fishler, MA, is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). She is also the author of Searching for Jane, Finding Myself (An Adoption Memoir), and has written several articles about alternative health and PTSD. You can learn more about Jan at www.JanFishler.net.

The Invisibility of Aging

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I wrote this piece several years ago when I was living in Los Angeles, and it’s still relevant today. If you struggle with the invisibility of aging, how do you deal with it? Have you found solutions that make a difference? We’d love to hear from you.

The invisibility of aging can take a toll. Can you see me? I’m right here, next to the cute twenty-something, the sexy thirty-something, and the sophisticated forty-something. I’ll wave my arms around for you. There…better?

My name is Elle, and I’m forty-five years old. Okay, I’m fifty-nine. I really don’t like to lie, but I hate that glazed-over look younger people often get when they hear the truth—as if anyone whose age starts with a five or a six is beneath acknowledgment. When that happens, one of my greatest fears is realized: I am becoming invisible to everyone except my family and friends.

I’m not very good at this aging thing. Oh, I have the deepening lines and the gray roots down pat, but I haven’t caught up on the inside. A big part of me still feels twenty-two, as if I have years and years ahead of me to do everything I’ve ever wanted to do. But then I discover another body part that has taken a nosedive, and I’m reminded that none of those beliefs is true. I am growing older, and I don’t have a road map to show me the way.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not exactly a shriveled-up crone. I drew from an Italians-only gene pool whose surface was marked by a slick of olive oil. For years I wore that shiny badge of heritage on my face, only to emerge in my forties with the not-so-bad-for-my-age skin my mother always promised. My Mediterranean ancestry helped me out in the sun-abuse department, as well. My days of using baby oil spiked with iodine as my only barrier against UV rays left me with fewer age spots than might be expected, and I gleefully referred to the ones I had as freckles. I might have gone on with that delusion for the rest of my life, were it not for an episode that occurred when I paid a recent visit to the dermatologist.

I had decided that perhaps I could do “a little something” to add a splash of vitality to my face. My husband had recently said, “You’re beautiful just the way you are,” but I heard only the last five words. So what way am I? Wrinkled? Droopy? When I looked in the mirror, all I saw were the lines that extended from my nose to the corners of my mouth. So what if those creases were the result of years of smiling? Maybe a strategically placed injection or two might make me look younger—albeit not quite so happy. I picked up the phone and made the call that I hoped would bring back a smidgeon of my youth.

Three weeks later—just try to get in to see a Beverly Hills dermatologist right away—I was sitting on the exam table waiting for Dr. Anti-Crevices to show up. His assistant, who appeared to be about twelve, entertained me with small talk. I barely listened, focused instead on what treatments the doctor might recommend and whether or not I would agree to them. She suddenly interrupted her own banter, pointed to the little brown garden blossoming above the V of my T-shirt, and asked, “Do those spots bother you? ‘Cause we can fix ‘em, ya know.”

Bye, bye, freckles. Hello, Fraxel. I walked out even before the doctor walked in.

And so it goes. I figure I basically have two choices: resist the aging process by utilizing every youth-restoring methodology know to man and medicine or accept my age gracefully. Unfortunately, it’s not so easy to decide which route to take, as evidenced by my hasty departure from the derm’s office.

I recently saw a TV commercial featuring an actress who is about my age. She dazzled moviegoers when she was in her twenties, but descriptors like “perky” and “adorable” don’t cut it thirty years later. She has clearly made the decision to fight time, and the result is a little scary. When she opened her mouth, her face barely moved. She sounded as if her top and bottom teeth were fused together with peanut butter and she was trying to speak around the goop. Compounding the problem was the fact that her lips were unnaturally large, creating a further barrier to speech. Aging may be cruel, but what she’s done is crueler still. In my quest to regain my youth, I do not want to risk terrifying small children because there’s a not-quite-human quality about me.

And then I experience the flip side when I l allow myself to be dazzled by the before-and-after photos on the websites of cosmetic surgeons who clearly know their way around a scalpel. That could be me, I think, with unlined porcelain skin. I should do this! After a minute or two of getting caught up in the fantasy, I remind myself that my Italian genes never granted me a single day of milky-white, rosy-cheeked skin in my entire life, and therefore would likely not offer it up now. So here I am, firmly back at square one. And the invisibility of aging goes on…

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Internet Shopping…or…I’m in Love with the UPS Truck

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Some women fall in love with the UPS driver, a fantasy kind of love that usually stems from boredom or a less-than-perfect marriage. I suppose if your life is really empty, a guy dressed in dung brown who appears at your front door might be an amusing (and if you’re smart, unfulfilled) diversion. Not for me, though. I have a thing for the truck—and it all ties in to internet shopping.

It’s all the fault of department stores, actually. Department stores are not kind. Most of them employ overhead lighting in their dressing rooms, which is utterly unforgiving. Any female with less-than-perfect thighs (translation: any female over the age of fourteen) knows that lighting from above casts shadows that make even the teensiest bit of cellulite look like lunar craters. I’ve heard twenty-something woman complain about it, and if it makes them look bad, it’s downright merciless to anyone past fifty.

I’ve expressed my dismay to scores of sales associates over the years, but let’s be realistic—they don’t care. Unless you’re personally addressing Mr. Nordstrom or Mr. Bloomingdale, the complaint falls on deaf ears. A nineteen-year-old, part-time employee really doesn’t give a rat’s patoot if you put that sleeveless silk blouse back on the rack because your upper arms look like dimpled pie dough when illuminated by the dressing room’s horrific lights.

The solution is to try everything on in a place with strategic side lighting. This can be accomplished by shopping exclusively in ultra-high-end boutiques whose dressing rooms are scientifically designed for the sole purpose of flattery, not frustration. If spending $300 on a bathing suit is beyond your budget, no matter how good your thighs look in the dressing-room mirror, I have two words for you:

Internet Shopping

It’s a simple strategy: search for it, find it, order it, wait for it. And that’s where the love affair with the UPS truck comes in. I have been known to dash up the driveway to greet it, and even though several different drivers service my neighborhood, whoever is behind the wheel always waves at me if we pass each other on the road.

To me, it’s a relationship made in heaven.

 

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Age-Appropriate Dressing…or Not

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Age-appropriate dressing is a true dilemma. Looking like we’ve raided our daughter’s closet is one of the greatest fears of the baby boomer woman, and it’s no wonder. It’s hard to figure out what’s right and what’s not as we age, and we certainly can’t use our own mothers as a guide. Mine, for one, dressed in pretty shirtwaists and heels when she was the age I am now, but that’s hardly going to work in 2018. So the dilemma continues…

Can we rely on a style that has served us well in the past, or is it time to rein in…to be more conservative…to turn away from high fashion—or any kind of fashion, for that matter?

Sometimes, the fear of invisibility is so great that we feel compelled to dress younger. But sometimes we just love a particular look, and there’s nothing more to it than that. It’s not about trying too hard. It’s not about an attempt to recapture one’s youth. It’s simply a matter of being flat-out crazy about something that makes us feel good when we wear it. Period.

I feel that way about my Doc Martens. Yes, some would say I’m about 45 years too old to own a pair, but that doesn’t stop me. They’re fun and comfortable and they make me smile, so I just tuck in my skinny jeans and go.

These have an inside zipper, so getting them on and off is easier than it is with the traditional lace-up ones. Also, the shiny leather on these adds a bit of polish to the usual matte-finish nubuck, which I think takes them up a notch. Or perhaps that’s simply my rationale for not being willing to let go of the motorcycle/military look just yet.

I don’t wear my Docs with skirts or dresses, so that’s something to my credit. I have a respectable collection of heels that range from Stuart Weitzman to Tory Burch to Christian Louboutin, so I know how to handle girlie footwear. But every now and then, the Docs beckon. And I always heed the call.

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Tolerance and the Style Double Standard

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When it comes to style, I’ve had to develop tolerance. I used to live in Los Angeles, where it’s all about style. While there, I made a concerted effort to spiff up whenever I was out in public. That was never a big challenge, since I inherited the love-to-shop/love-to-play-dress-up gene.

I currently live in a small town in Northern California that I have alternately described as arty, charming, friendly, and touristy. Of all the labels this town have received—from others and from me—the one that stands out most is tolerant.

Tolerance is a good thing when it comes to allowing those who are different to let their individual flags fly. But there’s a flip side to tolerance, which is marked by an anything-goes attitude that can often generate some pretty questionable results.

I’ve blogged before about bizarre outfits I’ve seen on the streets of our fair community. We’re home to many earthy hippie types of all ages—ranging from authentic ’60s throwbacks to their offspring—who dress in multiple layers of long flowy things. We have back-to-nature folks who wear nothing but hemp and other natural fibers. We have cowgirls at heart who cling to denim, flannel, and dusty boots. And, really—all of that’s okay. Unless those not-fit-for-the-big-city outfits are on me.

Most of the time, I maintain my fashion sense wherever I am, thanks to my love of style. I often dress up more than the local rules require, and I’ve gotten used to the fact that when my husband and I go to a restaurant in town, we’ll be more decked out than the majority of diners. (A server once said to us, “You both look so nice! Where are you going?” to which we replied, “Um…here.”)

But occasionally, much to my dismay, I find that I wear things here that I would never wear in LA. I’ll spare you the details—and myself the embarrassment—but suffice it to say that I’m beginning to notice a very real double standard. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it scares the heck outta me.

It might be a when-in-Rome thing: a settling in to a quieter, less fashionable lifestyle and trying to fit in with what surrounds me. It might be a lowered-profile thing: not needing to stand out from the masses. It might be a let’s-not-be-so-superficial thing: after all, they’re just clothes, not accomplishments. It might be a practical thing: I’m just going to the grocery store/gym/post office, so I really don’t need to focus on fashion. I can live with any of those meanings, but God forbid it should be a slackening-of-style-values thing. That, I just can’t accept.

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Successful Style: High End + Low End

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Style tip from the pros: if there’s one thing I’ve learned from people in the style business, it’s that an outfit put together with a combination of high- and lower-end elements can absolutely work. Sure, it would be wonderful to buy designer everything, but there’s a challenge in mixing the expensive items with the bargain finds to create a great style that’s uniquely you.

Examples of high end + low end = successful style

A Sympli top, Gap jeans, and a $15 hat from a street vendor in Santa Monica:

Wit & Wisdom jeans with a Catherine Malandrino sweater:

Chloe jacket with a Sympli tunic and leggings:

A vintage Ungaro bustier with an Anthropologie midi skirt:

Interestingly, the statement piece of the combo isn’t always the costly one.

Experiment. Play. You just might land on something fabulous.

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.

Fashion: Sophisticated, Age Appropriate, or Just Plain Frumpy?

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As a woman of (ahem) a certain age who has always had an interest in fashion, I struggle with redefining my personal style to reflect the passing years. Because I’m still active in the business world, I consider it important to look contemporary…to look like some thought went into my clothing selection…to look fashionable while still being age appropriate.

But as I get older, the challenge becomes greater. What exactly, constitutes age appropriate? Most of us know the obvious rules: avoid too-short skirts, too much skin. But what about wearing shorter skirts with tights in winter? Showing off toned arms in a sleeveless dress in summer? If you spend hours each week in the gym, should you be able to flaunt it a bit? And who decides the answers to these questions anyway?

Then there’s the issue of what elevates an outfit to sophisticated and what plunges it into the realm of frump. Here’s an example.

If you add a classic cardigan and a black 3-inch heel to this basic plaid wool sheath, the look is totally fine, but blah. However, if the dress is left uncovered, the cut-in sleeve (as opposed to classic sleeveless) reveals a more modern look. A higher heel helps keep it from looking too conservative, and a shoe with a pop of color, like the pair on the model, adds an unexpected punch.

If you feel the need to cover your arms, try a brightly colored cropped cardigan. Choose one with 3/4 sleeves, since showing a bit of forearm adds a feminine touch and prevents you from looking too covered up. Don’t match the sweater to your shoes, since matchy-matchy always looks contrived. In this case, opt for black stilettos instead. Toss a long necklace and a bracelet into the mix, and you have a look that’s elegant without looking grandmotherly.

I welcome suggestions from readers who’ve made it though their 50s, 60s, and beyond with fashion solutions that look fresh and interesting. We’re all in this together, and I think the best advice comes from women who’ve been there and figured it out.

Elle Gianforte is an award-winning writer and published author whose work includes non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, including adoption, fashion, food, design, healthcare, and memoir. She is currently co-authoring a new book, Don’t Stop Now, Making the Most of the Rest of Your Life (DontStopNow.us). You can see a complete list of books on her Amazon author page.