Mature reflection

A MEETING with photographer Garvan Gallagher and hearing his plan for a project with older people in Dublin 15 sounded like something I wanted to be involved in.

Over a cup of coffee Garvan told me the question he wanted to ask was “has the fashion industry abandoned older people or had older people abandoned fashion?” He had my interest.

During our chat I found myself telling Garvan about my own experience with fashion, hair, make-up, body shape and the many changes that have occurred over the years. I also spoke about the “new me” that has appeared in my mirror every five to 10 years since I was 20. To say he looked a bit lost would certainly be an understatement.

It’s like this, I told him. When I looked in the mirror in my twenties and up to about thirty-five, I saw a young woman who lived a busy life, had four children, worked part time, played hockey, didn’t wear much make-up apart from eye liner and lipstick, who dressed casually and looked reasonably good, slim and fit.

Over the next few years the changes started. My hair had to go a lighter colour. I began to wear more make-up and noticed some lines around my mouth and at the corner of my eyes. Mostly I ignored them. Then, one day I looked in the mirror and said out loud, ‘Who are you? I don’t know you.’ It took a few months to get used to this new person, but after a while I got to know and like her and started minding her a bit more. I loved my forties. I felt good, more confident. I did the return-to-work bit, changed how I dressed, fell in love with suits and jackets and smart looking clothes. I felt I would love this stage to last for a long time.

One morning a few years later, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and the face I saw looking back at me in the mirror was my Mam’s. “Ronnie, get out of my mirror, you’re seventy-five,” I shouted. I’ve always known that I really look like my Mam and was happy about it as she aged beautifully, but that morning I knew that the next change was on the way and I was not one bit happy about it.

My hair was now golden blonde and new lines were appearing around my mouth, on my forehead and strange dark skin was developing under my eyes.

Turning 50 was strange. My kids had an open house party for me and invited lots of my friends at different times during the day. They decked the house out with black balloons with ‘50’ written on them. That’s the part that I remember most. Once again it was “getting to know you” time, only this time it took a bit longer. The make-up bag got bigger as I added new goodies, including my latest piece of armoury — a concealer to deal with the weird bluish colour that was appearing along with the bags under my eyes. I also installed a full-length mirror in the bedroom so I could check the full view, both front and rear, before I went out. I just had a feeling that I might be developing a small shelf on my ass.

I began putting my make-up on in stronger light and wearing my glasses to iron my clothes. This time it took much longer to get to know the new me. This person needed much more care. A change of appearance was needed so I began wearing long skirts, knee-length boots, hats, fake tan in the summer. I also decided that I would grow my hair.

I think mildly eccentric was the look I was trying to cultivate. I was caught somewhere between middle aged and mature and heading somewhere that I was very unsure of. I also had a new name to get used to; was it to be granny, nanny, grandma or just my own name? In the end the kids decided themselves that it would be granny or granny Lily.

One day I was in town doing some Christmas shopping and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of myself when passing one of those pillar mirrors they have in clothing shops, “O God! That couldn’t be me” was my thought, so I went back and stood directly in front of the mirror. There was no doubt, another “new me” had arrived but this time I hadn’t noticed the changes, they were just there in the mirror looking back at me.

Lots of things had happened in the previous few years, both my parents were now gone, my husband had been very seriously ill, my youngest daughter had a horrific traffic accident and my family had continued to grow to now include seven wonderful little people. I simply did not have the time to notice how I looked. I decided that once again it was re-invent time, this time with the realisation that I was no longer middle aged, I was now in my sixties. What is the fashion for women in their sixties? I needed a new look but didn’t know what it was.

Out of the blue I got a call one day from Ena, a friend of mine, and she asked me if I would be willing to be a guinea pig for her. She had been taking a course to become a stylist and needed someone to practice on. Of course, I jumped at the chance. So, for the first time in my life, I spent an evening with a stylist. I answered lots of questions, I stood and had a life sized outline of my shape drawn and pinned on the wall. When asked what I thought of my outline, I told her that she had made a mistake, the shape on the wall was nothing like me, it had normal size shoulders, nice hips and a waist. She got me to stand against the wall again and outlined my shape again.

I could not stop looking at the shape, the me on the wall was not the me in my head, and so began my next fashion adventure. Ena advised me about colour, accessories, scarves and clothes. I did as I was told and got all my long clothes taken up to the knee, got the shoulders taken in a bit, some extra darts put in and bought some fitted dresses and lots of belts. The hair is now very pale blonde, the fake tan still goes on every Saturday during the summer, the make-up is a bit lighter, the lipstick a bit darker and the eyebrows are dyed a nice shade of brown.

I kind of like where I am right now. I’m not too sure what’s around the next corner, but I guess that’s for another day.

* Abandoned by Fashion — photographs by Garvan Gallagher, is at Draíocht at Blanchardstown Shopping Centre, 10am-6pm, Monday to Saturday, until November 5