Last weekend I saw a sight that has no doubt graced many a household over the years. It was that of my daughter strutting about in a pair of my shoes. She is three and a (little) size 9, I am older and generally wear a size 8. They were red, suede heels from LK Bennett and my daughter’s gorgeous mini-feet were stuffed deliciously into the ends of my shoes as she dragged them along the floor. Evidently she was enjoying the experience of pretending to be mummy if the pout and bum-wiggle were anything to go by. (She made that last part of the impersonation up. I don’t do that, often.)

There’s something great about being a little girl and trying on your mum’s stuff. My own mum had some particularly fabulous lace up, espadrille style wedge sandals from c. 1978 which along with some black suede platform heels were my dress-up shoes of choice and I was particularly disappointed when my own plates out grew them.

As someone with a genetic fondness for dressing up a recent family wedding was a great opportunity to go to town and the other girls in my family do just that; hats, fab shoes, the works. (As an ex-boyfriend’s mother, of whom I was extremely fond, once said “Well, someone has to be the best, dear”.) In fact I recall that a hat hire shop in nearby Crayford did particularly well out of us during the great wedding rush of 2005/6 and I believe even still has a photo of us on their wall to prove it.

I should say at this point that I like the thought of shopping for any outfit far more than the actual experience and even more so when it’s an outfit for a wedding. This dislike is directly proportional to how heavy I am at the time of the shopping event. Lighter = ok, heavier = a hideous, God-forsaken experience. I try and convince myself that size is just a number but I haven’t quite managed it yet.

Anyhoo, I managed to squeeze a trip to the shops into a lunch break and had one of those rare moments when not only do you see something you like but , Lord be praised, it actually fits and better still it looks pretty good. We’re talking a nice dress and jacket combo from one of those ‘designer’ ranges at Debenhams. (Incidentally I have two questions: Do they really design them and is it ok to claim to be wearing ‘designer’ if you get one? Sadly I doubt it on both counts but you can dream.) I even had some shoes etc that would go with it so, as Anneka Rice used to say, ‘Stop the clock, I’ve found the clue!’Chuffed, I headed back to work safe in the knowledge that I had found an outfit and, unless the miraculous happened and something even better could be stumbled upon, I need search no more.

About two weeks or so before the wedding I was taking my daughter to her babyballet class and asked my mother-in-law if she wanted to come along too to see her granddaughter’s mastery of ‘good toes, naughty toes’. This would work well, she said, as she had to pop to Lakeside to take back the jacket she’d bought because she’d ordered it online and got the wrong size (when will the middle-aged learn not to mess with things they don’t understand?!).

“Where did you get it from”, I said.

“Debenhams.” She said.

Oh, God. Please, no.

“Oh, really? Which range?” I said, tentatively.

“Betty Jackson. Black”. She replied.

Bugger.



I knew before she said it that it was the same suit.

Now, who should feel worse in this scenario? Was she risking ‘mutton’ accusations or was I seriously about to dress way beyond my years? When did this happen? When did the little girl in her mum’s shoes actually become keen to dress like a grandmother. To be fair (and through still gritted teeth) she did look great in it; young yet still stylish and entirely appropriate. Not in the least bit mutton. She got first dibs of course because she’d already bought hers whereas I’d simply flirted with mine. Damn it. It was a lovely suit.

I had thought this might be the preserve of us ladeez but it seems men are not immune. My husband (34) has a nice lilac polo shirt which looks great on him and that I have seen on at least two OAPs. Does this makes us old or them young? Should it matter, even? When do you actually become old nowadays anyway? I have a photo of my brother and I as babies in the arms of our grandmother who, if I’ve worked out the dates correctly, would be the same age as my mother-in-law is now. My nan could quite literally be my m-in-law’s mother in that picture – grey perm and cardie a-go-go.

Eddie Izzard talks about a desire for ‘total clothing rights’ and I have to say I’m with him on that one. Women can wear trousers so men should be allowed to wear skirts. If I like a ‘classic’ outfit I should be able to wear it without fear of ridicule, godammit!

And you know what? I’m proud of my mother-in-law for making good choices, after all I made the same one. Maybe it’ll be her shoes my daughter struts about in next – I suspect that soon there won’t be much to choose between them...

Jec
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