Can we discuss the case for snake skin shoes? There is a well known poem that infers that when I am old I shall wear purple. But recently while in New Orleans, I noticed a lady about my age wearing snake skin shoes and wondered something slightly different. What about snake skin shoes?
As I sat in a café watching the city wake up, there they were peeking out from under the wide hem of this woman’s frayed edge jeans. New Orleans has never been a place that encourages quiet living. Music drifts through open doors. Color appears on balconies and shutters. Even the sidewalks seem to carry a little personality. So, since New Orleans seems like the right place to ask philosophical questions about snake skin shoes, it made me wonder.
At what point exactly are we supposed to stop dressing with a little flair?
Retirement quietly brings that question into view. There is an unspoken expectation that as we age, we soften things a bit. Colors become neutral. Shoes become sensible. Personality slowly fades into what the world considers “appropriate.”
But I am not sure I remember agreeing to that. The women who raised me certainly never did.
Both my grandmother and my mother dressed beautifully their entire lives. Not extravagantly. Beautifully and with class. They understood that how you present yourself is not about vanity. It is about respect. Respect for the life you have lived and the person you have become. They never wanted to look like “old people.” Looking back, I realize now they weren’t trying to appear younger. They were simply refusing to disappear.
There is a difference.
Aging does not erase personality. If anything, it reveals it. The years strip away the unnecessary things. What remains are the parts that were always ours, like humor, confidence, curiosity, and sometimes a sense of style that refuses to fade quietly into beige.
The poem about wearing purple captured something important. As we age, we slowly stop asking permission to be ourselves. Freedom does not always arrive wearing purple. Sometimes it shows up in snake skin shoes. Or a bright scarf, bold earrings, and a jacket someone younger might consider “too much.”
The Lady in the Green Beret
Later that day I wandered into a shop on Camp Street called Mad Liberation Vintage. It felt like the sort of place where stories might be hiding among the clothing racks, and as it turned out, one was.
I met a woman there who told me, almost casually, that she was “seventy-five plus.” From the small signs you notice when you have lived long enough, I suspected she was also quietly fighting cancer. She was petite and a little frail, but you would never have described her as fading.
She wore a kelly green beret pinned with a custom jeweled brooch. A black long-sleeve tee. Gold and green earrings swung slightly as she talked. Around her neck hung a gold chain with a large flower pendant. Flowing below it all was a long green tulle skirt that moved gently as she walked. She was completely alive in what she wore. Just beautiful. I told her so. Without hesitation she smiled and said something I suspect I will remember for the rest of my life.
“We can wear anything we want as long as it commands respect.”
Because of her obvious frailty, I did not give her the embrace I wanted to give. Instead I thanked her. She smiled and we parted ways. The gratitude was for something more than the moment. She had quietly finished a thought that had been circling my mind all morning. She put the period on this story.
Retirement, it turns out, is not just about slowing down.
It is also about deciding what parts of yourself you intend to keep. For my part, I suspect a few things will remain. Like a good pair of shoes. Definitely a little bit of flair. And the quiet understanding that growing older does not require becoming smaller.
And if that occasionally includes snake skin shoes…Well, that seems like a perfectly reasonable place to start.
Until Next Time,
Catherine
#personal style #women aging #confidence #life after work #identity in retirement #retirement reflections
Warning
by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandles, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
