Grumpy Old Woman in training

I turned 35 this week. I am completely happy about this. So much so that I hereby, proudly declare myself a ‘Grumpy Old Woman in training’. My inner ‘Grumpy’ has been creeping up on me for ages but this week has sealed it for me - can someone please tell me where I sign?

On a recent trip to the bank I took a short diversion into Miss Selfridge largely to marvel at what the young people are wearing these days. (It’s probably worth pointing out that my days of Miss Selfridge shopping ended c. 1988. I can still hear my school-friend’s mum’s wise words when we, aged 13, trooped off to Kingston with thirty quid in our purses: “Don’t spend it all and don’t get anything that’s ‘dry clean only’"!)

Anyway, inside I quickly realised that if they don’t do your size (16, sadly, since you ask) then they probably don’t want you darkening their door. Everything and everyone was tiny: under 14 (in both senses) and Über trendy. It was like I was on another planet that looked a bit like twenty-odd years ago but with less fabric. It was your basic ‘you’re old you know’ smack in the face. But, my friends, I would happily take out another mortgage, move-in and redirect my post to my local Miss Selfridge than ever again have to set foot inside another Hollister.

If you haven’t been to a Hollister or an Abercrombie & Fitch then you’ve probably heard about them. It’s an amazing experience. Everything is styled to perfection including – sorry – especially the staff who are young, beautiful and stylish – and that’s just the boys. How they get away with it in 2010 with all our equal opportunities legislation is beyond me.

If you happened to be in the Bluewater Hollister today you would have seen me. I was the one with the ‘clearly shopping for someone else’ sign flashing above my head. Thankfully for my husband and daughter there isn’t enough room to manoeuvre a buggy around inside (this speaks volumes on the sort of rich teen clientele they are after) so they waited outside. Had they been with me they would likely have felt much as I did when, as children, my brother and I had to listen to my Nan ask for the ‘knives & forks’ in MacDonalds.

There are two words that come to mind when in Hollister: Dark and Small. The place is sooooo dark and the clothes (and the gaps between the rails) are sooooo small. Partly because I couldn’t entirely see where I was going but mainly because of the lack of material on show I honestly thought I was in the children’s section. But no, some women clearly live on water and polo mints and can actually wear these clothes. Still, at least I now know what a size zero actually looks like. Shame they are available in shops – they should only be available in some kind of Victorian style freak show. It’s enough to make me pick up the phone and order pizza except I already have.

I bought three things (FLASH: Not for me, FLASH: Not for me) and left with the obligatory brown paper bag. Annoyingly this made me feel a bit cool and I will probably keep it and trot it out occasionally in that lame way people do to imply they have just/always bought/buy something fab/expensive like when you keep Gucci and Tiffany bags. I just hope my brother likes his shirts or else I fear a return trip may be required.

If all this makes me sound bitter and twister about my age then I should point out that I am really not. Ok, so I may not legitimately be able to claim to be in my early thirties anymore but I have a theory that people only get really unhappy with their age if they don’t feel they’re quite where they want to be in their lives. Sure, I’d love more cash and another child and few more holidays but I’m pretty happy with my lot. Add the fact that I have never been skinny (and consequently afraid of ‘losing my figure’) and that I had my first grey hairs in my early teens and generally speaking I don’t think middle-age has much to keep me in fear of.

Incidentally, I have started to notice that my skin actually looks better without foundation (too much emphasis on the fine lines) . So hand me the tinted moisturiser and let me get on with my ‘Grumpy’ practice. I intend to be fabulous at forty anyway so, ner.

Jec
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