Last night, I wore my sexy Beacon Corset Harness from Free People, which my boyfriend loves, but I squirmed when a construction worker outside the restaurant did a double take. For me, being female and in my mid-50s often translates into this vexing paradoxical desire to be seen and to be invisible, sometimes within the same hour. This makes dressing a challenge, especially at this time of year, when both the sun and more of our skin are out in public.
It’s always been this way. Clothes are strategic for women. Even in elementary school, I wore pants to make chasing boys at recess easier. As a young teenager, freshly aware of the effect my blossoming body had on the male species, I had a short list of hot weather favorites — a striped tube top, a purple halter, my older sister’s cutoff jeans, a pink string bikini.
Every time I wore each of these items, I ended up whipsawing between praying that the schoolboys and buff lifeguards would notice me and that the creepy older men on the beach and sidewalk would not.
While I was married, I adopted the summer uniform of a devoted mother and wife: my husband’s abandoned cargo shorts and T-shirts. They were shapeless and oversized, designed to hide my femininity and signal to the world that I was NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL! I was using clothing to blunt our culture’s fierce resistance to the glorious reality of the female physique, which we should flaunt with pride at every age.
Now that I’m single and my teenage body is 56, the warm weather dress code has gotten even trickier. Somehow, no matter how many birthdays or wrinkles I accumulate, I am still that girl who craves a response to my physical presence. But these days, I want certain body parts to be visible, like my sharp collarbones and trim ankles, and others invisible, like my flabby, three-baby tummy.
I enjoy attention, but only the kind that feels positive.