Ugly ducklings to Silver Swans

They admit they were no beauties in their youth. But the stories of their late-life blossoming are so uplifting

I FELT SO PLAIN UNTIL I DITCHED MY SPECS AT 50

SHAYNE BRODIE, 60, works for a communications company. She is divorced and has two daughters, Jessica, 26, and Annabelle, 23. UNTIL I turned 50, I’d always considered myself ugly compared to my pretty, stylish, or fashionable friends. I hid behind large glasses and convinced myself I was chubby, plain and that my arms were too fat to be seen in public.

My confidence began to grow in my 40s; as a mum of two daughters, I wanted to be a positive role model.

But my transformation to a silver swan really began in my early 50s, when my hairdresser told me: ‘You just can’t buy this colour that’s coming through in your hair.’

He gave me the courage to have it chopped into a pixie crop so I could grow out the colour and go grey. Now, my hair is really long and thankfully it’s still soft and luscious. Red clothes and lipsticks that suited me when my hair was dark have been swapped for rich but muted shades of orange and pink.

My hair gets more attention from men than it ever did 20 years ago, and though I’m not in a relationship now, I enjoy going on dates.

Although I wouldn’t try plastic surgery or Botox, I did have laser eye surgery and found it liberating to finally ditch my specs. As for my clothes, I wear classics such as cashmere jumpers and shoes from Harvey Nichols, mixed with trousers from Zara or Topshop.

A few close friends also feel that they have finally bloomed. It’s not about looking younger, I simply want to be 60 and fabulous.

I’VE LEARNT THE POWER OF CONFIDENCE

ISABELLE HUNN, 60, is a film extra. She lives with her husband Richard, 56, who works in engineering. ON A HOT day last June at the races, I had never felt more beautiful in my life. I lost count of the racegoers admiring my look.

What a difference a year makes. Twelve months earlier, I’d been diagnosed with leukaemia. Oddly, that’s when my silver swan transformation began.

My hair fell out in great clumps when I started chemotherapy, which was the most distressing part of my illness, even though I’d always hated my hair.

But when it began to grow back, it was thicker, wavy and a slightly lighter colour. Suddenly, I had a confidence that I’d never had before.

At school, I was terribly conscious of being 5ft 7in and very skinny. When I was about 40, a friend said: ‘Your twin sister is better looking, but you have a great personality!’

So nobody is more surprised than me that I have unexpectedly bloomed in the past year, despite going through so much.

Gone is the plain Jane of old. Richard has always complimented me on how I look. A year ago he thought he might lose me, so the fact I’m alive is everything he could have hoped for.

Realising that beauty is no longer the preserve of the young has been a revelation. If only I’d known the power of a little selfconfidence when I was younger, I may have bloomed sooner.

MY NATURAL GREY IS SO MUCH SEXIER

JOANNA CHAMBERLAIN, 58, a milliner, lives with her business analyst husband Patrick, 59. Their children are 32 and 30. I OWE my transformation to a comment made by my mother-in-law on Christmas Day around ten years ago.

Then 47, I weighed more than 15st and wore a dress size 20 when she said: ‘What’s happened to you, Jo, you’ve got so fat?’

I cried myself to sleep but woke the next day resolved nobody would ever make me feel like that again.

I was an ugly duckling and, weighing 8st at age eight, was sent to an obesity clinic — but I left age 11 weighing 10st. As a teenager, I almost starved myself to get to a size 12.

I met Patrick when I was 19 and we both worked in banking, but when I became a mum, I gave up work and was so happy at home with my children I didn’t look after myself.

After my mother-in-law’s comment, I lost 5st over 18 months through sensible eating and exercise. By the time I hit 50, I was a size 10.

When I embraced my naturally white hair, I felt even sexier and I get constant compliments about it.

A young woman stopped me recently and said: ‘Wow, I love your hair. I hope mine looks like that when I’m your age!’ And when I put a selfie on social media, my nephew said that I was a ‘very glamorous auntie’.

It’s a privilege to grow old — especially at a time when women my age are being coveted for their style, beauty and grace.

FINALLY I’M HAPPY IN MY OWN SKIN

SALLY MONTGOMERIE, 59, is a divorced prosthetics technician. LAST weekend, I was in a cafe when two trendy young men told me I looked ‘cool’ and asked if I was a designer.

It still surprises me to receive such compliments, because I used to feel embarrassed about how I looked — but now I have never felt more beautiful or stylish.

My mum died when I was a baby so there was no strong female influence to teach me how to do my hair or make-up, or how to choose clothes.

Dad worked long hours as a builder so nannies came and went and I grew to be a skinny tomboy with buck teeth, cropped hair and a flat chest.

The feminist era of the 1970s and 1980s was a relief because it became okay for women to look masculine and strong. For a while I was a punk, which suited my naturally angry, skinny look.

I only began to blossom when I reached my 50s and discovered that a more feminine, 1940s-inspired silhouette really suits me.

The more feminine I looked, the more positive comments I received. And going grey not only saved me money, it also increased the compliments.

Before turning 50, I vowed that if I had enough money I’d get a boob job, veneers and Botox, convinced that only then might I feel beautiful.

Now I wouldn’t entertain such thoughts — I finally like the way I look.

I FELT TOTALLY INVISIBLE, NOW I’M STRIKING

RACHEL MAUNDER, 64, is divorced with two children aged 24 and 20. She works as a speaker, trainer and mentor. STEPPING out for a lunch meeting last week wearing faux leather trousers, a silk blouse and heels, I couldn’t have felt less like the dowdy, invisible 64-year-old I once imagined I’d be.

As a teenager, I considered myself the archetypal plain Jane. I’d grown up a mousybrown-haired ugly duckling to my slimmer, prettier, blonde older sister.

I’ll never forget a customer in the pub where I waitressed age 18 telling me that I reminded him of Olive from the TV series On The Buses. Cue floods of tears from me.

When I became a mum in my 40s, people asked if I was my children’s grandmother — it was souldestroying. For years, I mainly wore my ‘mum uniform’ — shapeless trousers and sweatshirts. But eight years ago, I decided it was time for a transformation.

An image consultant gave me tips — crucially, never wear black or white by my face; there must be silver jewellery or a bright scarf in between.

I started wearing makeup every day and having my silvery grey hair highlighted every three months to keep it bright and youthful. Now, I get a lot of compliments. My 24-yearold daughter tells me I’m contemporary and ‘trendy’.

I’ll never be described as pretty, but I aspire to be striking. I feel I’m finally achieving that.