I'm 50. Am I Finally Stylish?
I turned 50. And I wonder—have I finally found my style? Or, better yet, have I finally stopped giving a damn about what my style should be?
I look at women like Linda Rodin, Elsa Peretti, Rei Kawakubo, or Véronique Tristam, and then at the anonymous, impeccably dressed older women I see in street style photos of Milan or New York. Women who exude a kind of effortless, intoxicating confidence. Women who wear their age with the same nonchalance as a perfectly draped coat. Women who know who they are.
For years, fashion dictated that youth equaled style. Runways, campaigns, and magazine covers worshipped the fresh-faced and the wrinkle-free. But something is shifting. The late Joan Didion for Celine in 2015. Diana Ross and Lauren Hutton for Saint Laurent. Charlotte Rampling walking for Alexandre Mattiussi. The industry is catching up to what we already knew—style doesn’t have an expiration date.
And yet, I find myself questioning: What is style at 50? If I haven’t figured it out by now, will I ever?
Style Beyond Youth
My mother is 75, and still, she turns heads. She has always had an instinct for fashion—not the trendy, fleeting kind, but the kind that roots itself in a person’s essence. She wears Yohji Yamamoto, Comme des Garçons, Issey Miyake, Marithé + François Girbaud, Jean-Paul Gaultier, and Rick Owens with the same ease as she did decades ago. She has always understood that fashion is not about age; it’s about an unwavering sense of self.
I think about my own wardrobe—how it has evolved, how it has settled into itself. In my 20s, I dressed to impress. In my 30s, I dressed for the roles I thought I needed to play. In my 40s, I began to strip away the excess. And now, at 50? Now, I dress for no one but myself.
I choose clothes that make me feel strong. Structured coats, oversized shirts, trousers that fall just right. I’ve abandoned the heels I once thought necessary and embraced flats, boots, sneakers—shoes that carry me, not slow me down. I no longer feel the need to prove anything with what I wear. My clothes are an extension of me, not a mask.
The Rise of the Ageless Muse
The fashion industry is paying attention. For years, it glorified youth, but the tides are turning. Maybe because those of us who grew up with fashion refuse to be erased. Maybe because style has always belonged to those who own it, regardless of the number of candles on their birthday cake.
Saint Laurent casts icons over 60. Marine Serre embraces the beauty of every age. The late Elsa Peretti revolutionized jewelry design, proving that elegance is about presence, not age. These are the women I look to—not for inspiration, but for validation that I was never wrong to believe style is an evolving, lifelong dialogue.
No More Rules, No More Apologies
Turning 50 isn’t about finally "getting" style. It’s about realizing I never had to chase it in the first place. The women I admire, whether famous or anonymous, all share one thing in common: they dress without fear.
So, am I finally stylish? Maybe the better question is: do I finally not care? And if the answer is yes, then maybe—just maybe—I always was.