The Midult’s guide to... fash­ion

The Daily Telegraph - Telegraph Magazine - - 04.03.17 - Annabel Rivkin & Em­i­lie Mcmeekan

There is no longer any such thing as mut­ton dressed as lamb. That idea has ex­pired and all that re­mains is an empty, hate-loaded phrase. The rules are all bro­ken. Twenty-year-olds have Bo­tox and 45-year-olds wear braces: go fig ure. Time was, jump­suits were for other peo­ple. They were ei­ther boiler suits or cat­suits: both im­prob­a­bly evoca­tive choices for your av­er­age Midult. To­day, jump­suits are a state­ment of rel­e­vance, of ca­pa­bil­ity, of ‘here’s a trend I can pull off’. And, cr ucially, they are not dun­ga­rees. Dun­ga­rees are almost in­sur­mount­ably t ricky, where jump­suits are doable.

Inevit ably, by t his t ime next year they will be con­signed, like the bal­let flat (so ver­sa­tile, so tremen­dously ter­ri­ble for your feet), to the ‘she has no idea’ scrapheap. But for now, Midults ev­ery­where are mak­ing hay while the jumpsuit shines. And there’s a jumpsuit for ev­ery­one... with caveats:

1. Pee maths. Some­times, it gets to 3pm and you re­alise you haven’t been to the loo since break­fast. Other times? Well, it’s as though some­one’s hav­ing a laugh wit h your blad­der. ‘ Rea l ly? Again? Al­ready? Oh, God…’

And with a jumpsuit there are cal­cu­la­tions to be made about the length of time it takes to un­fold your­self from its con­fines and the im­pli­ca­tions of that de­lay. Also, how cold is the bath­room? Be­cause you are go­ing to be sit­ting there, naked but for a bra from the an­kles up, and com­plete dis­robe­ment leaves you chilly, not to men­tion ex­ces­sively vul­ner­a­ble.

Fi­nally, how clean are the fa­cil­i­ties? You can bet that, at the very least, the sleeves of your jumpsuit will be trail­ing across the loo floor. This is par­tic­u­larly true when drunk.

2. Es­capol­ogy maths. If it zip sup at the front then you are laugh­ing. But­tons from chest to groin (a word that is more fun to write than to read) are also ne­go­tiable. A side zip, pro­vided it be­have sand you can shrug off the con­tor­tion-in­duced shoul­der cramp, is a rea­son­able exit strat­egy.

But what about the back zip? Only yes­ter­day, one of us found her­self bent over the kitchen sink, spray­ing the zip on a new jumpsuit with WD-40. Didn’t work. Lis­ten, if you can’t reach back and ease the zip over an in­so­lent seam on a frock, then it’s a bore. But if you can’t un­zip an all-in-one then you can’t go to the loo. Yes, we’re back in the loo. We’re al­ways back in the loo .‘ Use the coathanger trick,’ you say. Good plan, ex­cept that ‘mod­ern’ zips are a lit­tle teardrop with no hook-wel­com­ing hole, and most clutch bags aren’t roomy enough for a wire coathanger.

Now, let’s talk about t he dif­fer­ent flavours of jumpsuit:

1. Strap­less. Ac­tu­ally, we don’t want to talk about strap­less. Few of you will feel com­fort­able with the idea of strap­less any­thing, so shall we let this lie?

2. Denim. This is the way for­ward if you are in a util­ity mood. It’s wash­able, which is not noth­ing, and if you turn up the col­lar (you’re a Midult, you can get away with this lit­tle dol­lop of ab­sur­dity) and wear it wit h your white Adi­das shell-toes, you are ready for any­thing.

3. Pat­terned. We’ll have to ad­dress this on a case-by-case ba­sis. They can make us look like summer. Or a sofa.

4. Jersey. By which we mean made from T-shirt ma­te­rial. This wor­ries us. For ever y fierce suc­cess there’s go­ing to be an­other t hat looks like a pile of dirty laun­dry.

So we wish you luck with your jumpsuit mo­ment. And let’s make a pact: if we bump into each other in the loo, let’s just zip each ot her up? No ques­tions asked.

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