Over the next few years, the oldest millennials will reach a major milestone. Welcome to
40 Is the New 40, a series of stories about — and for — a generation rethinking what it means to grow old.
In March of this year, when I was 39 years old, all kinds of emotions came to my mind: excitement, joy, confusion, anxiety. I’m in my 40s and I always thought I’d be a published author, married with kids, living in a Brooklyn brownstone, bought with the booty of my success. But my life, while rewarding – thank God I’m still playing post-pandemic – looks so different from the image in my head. I’m a mid-term proposal and have a great relationship, but I’m nowhere close to getting married; owning a home seems like a long way off.
Still, I felt a huge amount of confidence. I look – and feel physically – better than ever. In my 30s, I developed a sense of lightness in my skin that I haven’t seen for most of my life and has a lot to do with how my body has changed over the past few years.
Like many women, I became more curvaceous as I got older. One day I looked down and saw that I had grown a hip, a butt, and a little more love around my abs. I’m not sure if it’s the weight of Covid or if I’m just entering my Rihanna era, but things have definitely changed. I rocked gently as I walked, exuding a femininity that excited my boyfriend and reminded me of the southern women in my family who pushed the earth to move along the way. Despite my new shake, I feel stronger and stronger.
This new power is a welcome change. In previous years, I’ve felt a little unlucky after leaving a big job in fashion. With no institutional standing behind me, I was tormented by self-doubt and lost confidence in myself as a writer. I struggled to become a freelancer, or to find a sense of purpose—or even worth. Looking back now, I can see that I played so small in so many ways that my mental atrophy was almost physical. I am half the woman I see in the mirror now. As I gained weight, I started taking up more space. I’m there, I’m here, I feel good.
I hope this new growth is reflected in my clothing as well. Although it actually had to: none of my old clothes fit me anymore. Despite being in lockdown, I started accumulating bolder, more statement-making fashions that I felt sent a message of where I was in life.
While Instagram might lead you to think that you need to wear the exact same clothes as young people (or any fashion for under-26s), I was drawn to an entirely different extreme. I find myself drawn to clothes that have stamina, originality, and sensual appeal: great pieces that transcend a season and showcase what nature has to offer me. Marni, JW Anderson, Christopher John Rogers, Wales Bonner, Proenza Schouler, and Loewe all started taking up residence in my wardrobe.
Mind you, I don’t wear much outside the living room, but I feel like they are an exterior billboard for the interior progress I’m making. I am no longer a young fool; I am older and wiser. I’m writing big cover stories and clearing career opportunities. I had a significant relationship with someone and built a life. I have a strong community of friends who support me. I’m starting to take center stage.
Of course, there are challenges in dressing for a new body. I found the skirts and trousers to be harder because everything had to change, so I had to adjust the size and get my trusted tailor to take everything. It’s tedious, but it’s the only way to ensure a custom fit. Instead, the act of power is always done once and for all. My closet is full of them – like swimwear.
I spent most of my 20s poolside trying to hide my stretch marks and small boobs, blaming myself for not being able to fill a string bikini with rich cleavage or smooth, flawless skin. But one summer, while sunbathing in Miami, I was drawn to the high cut of a French bikini bottom: a retro silhouette whose extra-high hips both elongate your lower body and accentuate you lower body. When I was younger, I might have been hesitant about the amount of bare flesh a suit called for, but the combination of sun, salt water, and age gave me an epiphany: What’s the value of still feeling self-conscious while on vacation? What kind of escapism is that?
Allowing those insecurities to subside, I started letting it all hang in the almost endless stream of suits from Isa Boulder, Louisa Ballou, Attico, and Miaou. Using bold, flashy prints, and bottoms that don’t know where to cut, these designers know how to style for a woman who has weight, and there’s very little F to give.
I won’t lie, though: I’m still battling the anxiety surrounding the changing body in front of me. I had to constantly challenge the size mindset that I had instilled in my years working in the fashion industry – not to mention that once you’re in your 30s/early 40s, you’ve completely lost the notion of fashion relevance. There are too many fashion icons to prove this is a lie (Tracee Ellis Ross, Chloë Sevigny, Jane Fonda, Diane Keaton, Tilda Swinton, Michelle Obama, the list goes on). But in an industry obsessed with youth and novelty, there’s a tacit understanding that at my age, you should be taken to the ranch to make room for the latest generation of entry-level freshmen.
I never want to hold grudges against up-and-coming people – in fact, my life experiences have made me an auntie figure for this upcoming class – but what do you do when you actually start to like and enjoy who you are And you’re ignoring PYT via TikToks? Our culture’s obsession with the 30 Under 30 list reinforces the sense that by the time you reach the top, the expiration date of success and popularity is approaching.
However, the truth is that being behind you for many years can let you know that your journey will never be linear. It’s a circuitous path. In your 30s, there are a lot of twists and turns and too many evolutions. We’ve gotten older, we’ve moved to different jobs, cities, and we’ve taken on new responsibilities in our families and communities—but we still love dressing ourselves.
Before I blew out the birthday candles this year, I walked out the door and saw my own reflection in the mirror. Wearing a flowing, daisy-print Marni gown for full-on socializing with friends and family, I smiled and thought, “Wow, I love her.”
