I'm having a moment!

So there I was, sitting in the hairdressers flicking though a very glossy magazine when I came across an article discussing fashion trends and advice for women over a certain age. Fronted by half a dozen celebrities, all beautifully made-up and attired of course, it focused on styles such as the Contemporary Fashionista, the Femme Fatale, the Scandinavian Minimalist, the BoHo…
 
Now, had you asked me in my twenties exactly what my style was, I could have easily told you. As I could in my thirties. But today? The thought left me feeling somewhat deflated and wishing I’d picked up a gossip rag instead. Where was my category, the I’ll buy it as it’s such a bargain/will fit me once I’ve lost a few pounds/you can never have too much black category, often associated with the either way I’m sure it’ll go with the (fill in the blank) I bought last year and never wore?
 
The thing is, I’d love to have a particular style. And given the money, I'd nudge towards Patsy from AbFab. But I have a confession to make. I hate clothes shopping. And not just hate, but loathe and detest!! Some will be astonished and wonder how on earth such a thing is possible, and yes I’m talking to you Miss Tall and Willowy and a Perfect Size 8. Others I’m sure know where I’m coming from.
 
I have to say though, pondering over my latte I did wonder if perhaps it was time to re-think my wardrobe of odds and sods, and even consider a less-is-more approach. After all, wouldn't a capsule of cleverly selected and very stylish pieces say all the right things about me? Not to mention have me ready on time, rather than stamping around the bedroom rejecting one unsuitable outfit after another and getting in a temper!

Feeling decidedly motivated by then, an hour later and coloured, conditioned and blown dry into my Cilla-bob, I was trying on a pair of retro, turned up and faded boyfriend (or are they girl-friend? Is there even a difference?) jeans while thinking ‘I don’t believe it! I’m a size twelve?? Oh joy of joys. I’ll take them.’
 
(That they are distressed did, I will admit, gave me a moment. Especially since the last time I wore ripped denim I had big hair and shoulder pads, and Bros were headlining Top of the Pops with ‘When will I be famous?’!) But on the plus side, now I've  got them I can match them to the gorgeous black patent brogues I recently bought on a whim. (They were in the sale and just happened to be my size, so what is a girl supposed to do?)  They'll go together perfectly. Now, if I can just find a Lady Di blazer...