The 40 Year Make-Over

Newsflash: The next few posts from me won't be remotely about photography or modelling, so if you're only looking for photography related topics, please call back on 1st February. Thank you for your understanding in this matter.

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About 20 years ago I promised my despairing mother that I would finally grow up at 40, smarten myself up and dress like a mature grown professional woman rather than a scruffy student.
I am now only one week away from that fateful day, and although my mother is long gone, I feel kind of obliged to reconsider that promise.
Although she was definitely the closet rebel of the family (I inherit my wild streak from her!), I’m pretty sure my mother wouldn’t approve of my nude modelling, and she’d definitely tell me to grow up and start acting like the mature mother-of-three that I actually am.

So although I prefer to dress in jeans, sweatshirt and a leather jacket, this really doesn’t cut it style-wise when I’m 40. I’ve always existed in my own little intellectual bubble and felt that how people look wasn’t very important at all. What is important is the intelligence and personality of the person. I’ve never judged others by appearances, only by their brain. Yes, I am the worst kind of intellectual snob. It's a wonder anyone ever talks to me.

Now I read Vogue and Harpers and Queen as much as the next woman, but I read them like comics, and I’m far too lazy and broke to get off my scrawny butt and take an interest in actually dressing fashionably. That is, until you mention latex, whereupon I suddenly become a raving shopaholic and start slavering at the thought of shiny red rubber outfits. But I can hardly wear that on the school run can I ? (The kids have threatened me with death if I try).

So the problem is that within the next week, I have to acquire some style. Since I mostly mix with yummy mummys, this means some sort of emulation of the alpha-mother uniform. Richard tells me that it’s not just about the way I dress, it’s about acting the way the yummy mummys do as well. This can’t be that hard. Surely if you dress into a particular role and if you study for the part, then some of the role rubs off on you eventually ? In order to become the clone, you must first understand the clone.

If only it wasn’t the complete antithesis of who I am. I feel like I’m selling my soul to the devil. If I become a yummy mummy/alpha mother clone, then where will it end ? If I sacrifice my principles, plaster on the makeup, designer clothes and accessories, and start throwing extravagant dinner parties every couple of weeks (the yummy mummys strongly hinted a few weeks back that this is expected in order to guarantee entry to the social circle), then will this abandonment of values lead to the complete breakdown of all my hitherto held values? (Sorry. I am a yummy mummy. I can’t use words like “hitherto” any more).

Before I know it I’ll have thrown away all my principles, gone to the dark side and be modelling for “40+ Readers Wives magazine” (And don’t think I haven’t considered it either. I have three kids at private school to pay for you know)

By now you’ll probably have become fed up with this and gone to another blog, but assuming you’re still reading this, you’ll be sharing Richard’s view that I have completely lost my marbles.

But assuming that you do share my view that dressing a bit more elegantly might actually be good for me, then let us continue with the social experiment. Let the mummification begin!



Apologies that this image of me isn't nude. But this is a good thing, I promise you. After all, I'm nearly 40.