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DRESSING WITH STYLE AND ATTITUDE

Quelle coquette! That’s a nice compliment a woman can get from a man or a woman. It’s a hard one to translate, as often in French the intonation can say a lot, but basically it signifies someone who is concerned about her appearance, a good thing, bien sûr; someone who has a knack for fashion, but who also desires to gain admiration, to please, play, flirt, or seduce, or all of the above depending upon the circumstances. When it’s done a certain way—and to me it takes a woman at ease with herself and knowing herself—it shows. And forcing it also shows. Balzac said it best, “La coquetterie ne va bien qu’à une femme heureuse” (Being coquette suits only a happy woman).

Style, I have come to realize, is the manifestation of an attitude, and a personal style is a gestalt of many things, all of them about your attitude toward yourself and your surroundings.

Style goes with being coquette if we dress to impress. In France, the operative word is seduction, as social interactions for the entire nation have been and are built upon the art of seduction. And being coquette is part of the game. The French dress to seduce but not in the sense of attempting to lure one to bed (okay, not always in that sense). Plus it is something that French women would not think of abandoning in their advanced years, as it breathes life into them…into what they wear, what they say, what they think, and what they are. Look in the mirror. If you are not looking coquette, ask yourself why. Some of my friends would say, “Live, don’t die.”

At a point in my corporate career I had to make in-person, semiannual business result-and-forecast reports to Bernard Arnault, chairman of LVMH and now the richest person in France (some years the second richest). I vividly remember meeting him for the first time for one of these presentations.

He is quiet and reserved, though he can be cuttingly direct, and is known for his combination of engineering process and precision with his keen intelligence and heightened aesthetic sense, especially as relates to art, music, and style. He is also a French man.

When he greeted me for the first time, like a French man, he unabashedly looked me over in slow motion from the head down to the floor and from the floor back up to my head. It felt endless. “Il m’a déshabillée” (He undressed me) is the common French expression. What is he thinking?, I wondered. I’ll never know, but I remember some of my silly insecurities coming to mind. I am not wearing a Dior outfit, I remember thinking (he owns Dior). I also was carrying a Bottega Veneta portfolio and not one from Louis Vuitton. Ouch. He shook my hand and said, “Bonjour, Madame Guiliano.” C’est tout. That was all for the moment.

There is little question we judge people by their looks. Our looks make a powerful argument to a person about who we are. Clearly, Monsieur Arnault knew some things about me before our first meeting, certainly that my team was producing excellent results, but he did not know me.

What did my appearance say to him? What does it say to people I meet today on airplanes, in the market, at a party? What does your appearance say? It depends, of course, on how you present yourself in terms of what you wear and what your face and body project. And those are things you and I can control. It is all a matter of style.

OUR BIGGEST FEAR?

As we women grow older, arguably our biggest fear is losing our attractiveness, our very presence. We become concerned about our wrinkles, jiggly derrière, thinning hair, thickening waist, and, oh, sagging breasts. And it doesn’t get better. Hearing aids are a cross to bear (though happily they are shrinking to invisibility), but we are shrinking an inch or two as well…and our posture becomes the dreaded crooked posture of an old lady. In short, we fear being seen as old.

The French attitude toward this fear is something like, “I see myself in the mirror for what I am. I accept that, and I am at peace with that; but I will do whatever is in my control to manage the message I send. And then I won’t worry what people think. I will take care of myself and cultivate an image that is me at my current best and stay engaged in the world.” That is at the core of French style and aging. It’s an inbred attitude toward feeling good about how you look and looking like an individual set apart—that is, a person with a clear inner-and-outer style that is both comfortable to “wear” and distinguishing. And French women, if they are anything, are individualistic in how they present themselves. Their outer package is infused with inner style and beauty and an “I don’t give a damn” posture (which half the time they don’t, but they still dress to buy the morning’s baguette).

Curiously, what I take to be an American attitude gone global is either a form of delusion—seeming to see the “old them” in the mirror—or an overly critical assessment of looking in the mirror and seeing every flaw. Some women tend to sit around and talk about nothing but how much they hate their thighs, their crow’s-feet, their chins, their clothes, and how they are all wrong. It’s almost a competition for who can be the harshest on themselves and point out the most flaws. Why is there nothing in the middle? We tend to lose acceptance for ourselves and revert either to lying to ourselves about how we really look or to self-deprecation. French women don’t give a fig about perfection (and that applies not only to mix and match in their clothing but to many other aspects of their lives).

THE TELLS

When I was getting Monsieur Arnault’s X-ray-like going-over, there is little doubt in my mind the two biggest “tells” of my “identity” were my hair and shoes. Did your mother teach you that, like mine did?

A great haircut goes a long way in making you look healthier, perhaps younger, and certainly more attractive. And dress however stylishly you think you are—upscale or not—and your shoes will still say it all. Expensive clothes with inappropriate or inexpensive shoes may send an unflattering message. (Less expensive clothes with good shoes, however, could pass as a style statement.)

In looking at your style and brand positioning as you age, shoes and hair are a good place to begin. Hair is about grooming, which will come later, but shoes…shoes. Shoes are key style signifiers. What is your style? What signifies your style? What sort of shoes do you wear? Birkenstocks? American tourists of a certain age can be spotted anywhere. Got an image? What’s on their feet? I am all for comfort, but does comfort mean loss of attractiveness or identity? No, no, no. We have control over that and can achieve comfort and attractiveness and individual style.

Aren’t high-heeled shoes sexy, seductive, sensual? They are in life and art. Are they for women of all ages? Let us consider the stiletto, epitome of seduction and sex. My friend Aurélie calls them “soft porn.”

STYLE AND THE STILETTO

Certainly four-inch stiletto heels, made famous in Italian movies of the early 1950s (and now five-inch heels), make one feel and look taller and one’s foot appear smaller. They are symbols of eroticism. People have fetishes for them. The wearer’s posture is erect, bosom projected, calf muscles flexed, hips more prominent, and then there’s the resulting walk.

But our bodies are not built for high heels. When should we elect to retire our heels? Our highest heels? Partly it depends on our balance and muscle tone, which we lose decade by decade. No point risking a fall (a fear as we age and lose balance and muscles and muscle tone). But let us not despair. My dance teacher friend Juju refers to stilettos as shoes women should wear only for sit-down dinners. The most stiletto-addicted woman I know can face the brave new world in them because she goes around by taxi or limo! Sitting down is the best revenge. Forget running down the street or dancing in them at any age. Wear them at parties that don’t last through the night. Did you ever notice how we women of any age at parties and special events cannot wait to take high-heeled shoes off afterward or during? (Ever slipped yours off under the dining room table?) But we wear them nevertheless.

They make us feel young and sexy and pretty and different, I suppose. Loulou, my stylish friend who just turned seventy and wears high heels to work daily, says she has worn high heels her entire adult life, so her feet have settled into them in a way that she is physically not comfortable in shoes without heels. Certainly she is not mentally comfortable without heels, they have become such a part of her brand and identity. What are your style signatures, and how do you retain and adapt them to passing years?

The shoes industry knows that too many of us can’t resist shoes and works to provide us with a steady stream of designs that are fun and appealing. They feed the many friends I have around the globe who would be clinically defined as shoe addicts. Surely we all buy shoes we don’t need; shoes that hurt our feet, backs, and posture, and sometimes break the bank.

We make many mistakes over and over, buying the wrong shoes for all sorts of reasons—feeding the fantasy of what we want to be, perhaps satisfying some psychological need or itch, satisfying an impulse (surely some of those farfelu impulse shoes send a message about who you are…the wrong message). We often don’t think about which outfit we are going to wear the shoes with or even if we have something to wear them with. More often than not, the shoes are an end in themselves as opposed to what they should be: an accessory, a complement to what we wear, a personal-style definer, and, of course, a protective covering.

The key word for shoes, no matter if flats, pumps, or heels approaching stiletto, is comfort. (You might think “good luck” for the latter.) For me, wearing high heels is the exception, not the rule. I still have two pairs of three-and-a-half-inch high heels reserved for black-tie events or super-dressy parties, and although I’ve made plenty of mistakes buying shoes in my life, those two pairs were good investments and continue to serve me well and look new and trendy decades later. I have even danced in them without wobbling. One is Yves Saint Laurent and one is Bottega Veneta, both made in Italy and well made at that, which for me is rule #1. My feet apparently were born in Italy. (Indulge me…forget dollar signs for a moment.) These days my most comfortable ones are my black suede Ferragamo pumps, which feel like slippers and are my walking shoes in the city, on the plane, and more often than not at evening events. A few years ago in Amsterdam, I discovered United Nude, a less expensive brand (not inexpensive, though, c’est dommage) whose shoes are ultrastylish and ultracomfortable, including in what for me are high heels.

I appreciate that I have just mentioned some high-end, expensive brands, but they illustrate the French attitude toward a viable wardrobe: less is more. French men and women are culturally inclined to have fewer clothes “closets,” but to fill them with quality and classics that serve them in many combinations over a considerable period of time. Adding a pair of shoes or one quality outfit is close to a zero-sum game. Something new comes in when something old is worn or styled out. Sure, over many years a French man or woman acquires and retains a “developed” wardrobe that has grown in size from the previous decade, but not all that much. Wearing out things and weeding out things not worn is part of the less-is-more approach.

Apropos, cheap and/or trendy shoes usually do look cheap and feel cheap. Invest wisely. Your shoes don’t have to be high-priced Italian shoes. We all know a well-made shoe when we see it and wear it, and there are brands or off-brands or shoes on sale that measure up. I hear good things about a brand called Söfft and (who knew?) that J.Crew has a nice range of not-too-expensive women’s shoes, including many manufactured in Italy. Then there are Cole Haan, Ecco, and Clarks for some good brands that are widely available at competitive prices. But whether cheap, moderately priced, or high-end, it all comes down to fit and comfort, regardless of how stylish. And if it were up to me, a class in learning to shop for shoes would be taught in school to avoid the trial and error of finding out what a “good fit” is.

I learned about “fit” after a reflexology session years ago that made my feet feel so good that I wanted to learn to do reflexology, so I bought a book and discovered that our feet can’t be separated from body and mind. Call them the lower brain if you wish. If your feet hurt…(Hint, hint: just notice your tortured look when wearing the wrong heels.) It’s similar to what the corset (nowadays the slimming shapewear) does to us when we want to squeeze into that dress (watch the red carpet at the Oscars to see the women who suffer…I would not want to be with them at midnight). Not the best options to look radiant.

What are we looking for in shoes besides the tempting design, especially after forty when physical changes reduce some tolerances? Try the following recipe: a mix of balance with good support and mobility. Plenty of seductive shoes offer just that when made by designers who understand anatomy, but let the final judge be you. And here’s the checklist you did not get in school for deciding on investing in a tempting pair:

  Try both shoes, as our left and right feet were not created equal. (I’ve seen a countless number of women in a hurry just trying one foot.)

  Stand on a hard floor (versus carpet), and take a few steps to make sure the shoes are wide enough (always buy your shoes in the afternoon when you’ve retained a bit of fluid). The best test for a correct fitting is actually walking up and down a few stairs.

  Be aware that perfect sizing is impossible, as shoes are made from hardwood molds or plastic models, not your foot. I predict, though, that custom-made shoes fit to your feet will become more common in coming years. A sizing tip, though, is if the front line on the top of the shoe is higher up your foot, you will have stronger support for correct positioning.

  Look at yourself in a full-length mirror to check if you appear balanced, and make sure the weight of your body is equally distributed across the length of the shoe so that both the balls and heels are engaged for support.

  Don’t let anybody tell you that a shoe needs to be broken in. Sure, a crease here and a spread there will add to comfort, but the wrong size will always be the wrong size.

MEET CATHERINE DENEUVE

If we look at photos of Coco Chanel, her clothes, shoes, and makeup all differed in subtle ways throughout the various stages of her life. I am reminded that we all need to “update” whenever I run across Catherine Deneuve in my Paris neighborhood, whether she’s eating discreetly with a friend at a nontrendy bistro or walking down along the Jardin du Luxembourg or shopping in one of the small boutiques. She no longer wears stilettos or sharp red lipstick, and her clothes have changed, too, and so has her hair—shorter, freer, and her style is still elegant but more self-assured and timeless. Mind you, I used to see her and admired her already way back when I was a student and she was young and dating Marcello Mastroianni, who was living in the area. I’d see them walking hand in hand or sitting at the small but still-famous Café de la Mairie attended mostly by students and the area’s intellectuals, and the picture was quite different: longer hair, thinner body, more makeup, higher heels, elegant style but very trendy, often in YSL. Today when you see Catherine Deneuve, you still can’t help but go “Wow.” She is a little rounder and not afraid to show her neck, which betrays more or less her age, but she seems to be saying comfortably, “Who cares? I am the whole package, not an aging neck.” Part of her routine is a daily 5 p.m. citron pressé. She is an example of aging well and being bien dans sa peau with style and attitude.

BRANDING

I am a big advocate of being your own brand, wearing your own initials, not those you can buy at a luxury fashion store. Your brand is your identity, what sets you apart from others. It is what defines you and makes you memorable. Perhaps it is the scent you always wear that helps to define your brand. Perhaps it is a signature piece or type of clothing. It is hard for me to picture Yoko Ono without her wearing some variation of an old-fashioned newsboy’s cap.

Through your decades you can evolve with the times without losing your established identity. You can refresh your brand without going for a complete makeover and attempting to become some new person. That’s a bit like a crash diet, and such diets don’t work. You will be back to your old self sooner rather than later. Better to tweak. Update does not mean “abandon.”

Alice, my godmother, taught me about the “signature” element of the brand that is you. For her, it was all about her hats (and she did have a collection!), which she called the prolongation of herself. Being tall helped. She had a hat for every occasion and every season—for walks, church, market, for daytime and for evening, even for the garden—and with her hats she definitely turned men’s heads around in a flattering way. A trip with her to the local milliner was an experience and an education. She would never leave the shop without a hat box. When I would tease her about a particular outfit, she’d say “C’est l’élégance du chapeau,” to which her husband would reply, “No, it’s because you have class, and it does not matter what you wear.” They would philosophé (some may say argue) endlessly (a very French trait) about it. I came to understand that her class, style, and brand came from within (the “know thyself” that comes from looking in the mirror and being at peace with who you are inside and out). And for her, it exuded seduction and femininity.

As to “femininity,” Alice was imperative: it comes and expresses naturally once you accept yourself. Adolescence works against us, and “becoming a woman is not so simple,” but maturity and experience help. Remember Simone de Beauvoir’s words, “On ne naît pas femme, on le devient” (One is not born a woman, one becomes one). A lifetime of ongoing inner search. Once we become a woman, it is not something we should surrender to age.

Jewelry is certainly a signature item for many women. While I believe less is more as you age, if you always wore frog charms on your collar or lapel, or a big diamond on your finger, why should you abandon them? What would that say? However, as your hair gets lighter and shorter in your “mature” years, those big pieces of costume jewelry or loops may need revisiting. Look in the mirror.

I suppose tattoos are a form of jewelry, though I have never quite understood permanently painting one’s skin in heavy doses. Okay, a little ankle butterfly might be cute or some other symbol a form of individual branding. And while a new tattoo on a seasoned body may be seen as an attempt to be with it or recapture youth, tattoos have been around a lot longer than designer brands.

Pay close attention to your style and brand as you transition from decade to decade. What you wear and what it says is an exercise in attitude and expression. Enjoy cultivating your brand and helping it evolve with the passing years.

COQUETTERIE AND DRESSING WITH STYLE

Unless you are Sophia Loren, there comes a time when showing cleavage is a bad idea. For her it is a brand signature. For me, I don’t have enough to matter, but I have mostly thrown away my bikinis and gone back to one-piece bathing suits. There’s a phrase in American English that is very effective in describing an overexposed woman of a certain age plus five years: my cruel young friends would call it “gross.” A more venial sin and concession to dressing our age relates to exposing our arms, especially our upper arms when they have lost a bit of muscle tone, and our biceps and triceps have a bit more jiggle than joie. Hold the sleeveless dresses and blouses! Learn to carry around scarves and wraps and long-sleeved sweaters. And while hems go up and down as part of fashion’s refreshment and economics, it is the rare sixty-or seventy-year-old who can handle more than three inches above the knee. I don’t want to see it, except perhaps on their daughter or granddaughter.

When I write about the French style of dressing, I am, of course, generalizing based on a core group of women and men who have traditional anchors in the past and have evolved over the last decades of their lives. This is the “Old” France alive and healthy today, especially in the minds and hearts of the post-thirty-five set. However, fashion and style have become increasingly globalized and homogenized (and in France, multicultural), so not only do exceptions exist, but new tracks continue to emerge (in the “New” France), and some no doubt will lead to dead ends. But I am confident in mentioning such staples of French wardrobes as a good cardigan sweater in a neutral color. (Many girls in France grow up wearing uniforms to school, which surely carries over, including the obligatory cardigan as well as a less-is-more approach to wardrobes.) Other staples include, of course, a little black dress, a white blouse with high collar, a tailored jacket, well-cut and fitted pants, a stylish but comfortable travel outfit, a classic raincoat, and, naturellement, scarves and belts to accessorize and turn one outfit into three. It is the short list I revisit. The sexiness of your underwear is, well, your underwear. French women spend the most in the world annually on lingerie (but good, inexpensive basics for everyday wear). Oh, here’s a tip: no one is going to be noticing your underwear’s brand label. I cut mine off.

Business women, women of a certain age, and Hillary Clinton owe a huge debt to Yves Saint Laurent for inventing and popularizing the pantsuit as a viable fashion statement. Certainly a good-looking, well-fitting dress can be the most flattering piece of clothing a woman can wear, but a well-tailored dark pantsuit (or trouser suit, as it is called in many parts of the world) can be more than flattering at any age, besides giving great comfort, especially after fifty. It is the must piece for French women who like structured and polished clothes and a perfect combination for the twenty-first-century workplace. Wearing one well requires knowing your body so you can play with details from cut to shoulders to collar to width. Black (especially for evening wear), navy, gray, and maroon are the colors we still tend to favor, at least those among us who are pragmatic.

Often both a less expensive and more flexible alternative is the magic, timeless dark or colorful blazer over a deeper-colored pair of well-cut pants that make us look slimmer. French women like the idea as it gives us much more to fiddle with, starting with length and color. We love endless options. It’s a bit like in cooking making three meals out of one. Effortless once you get the knack for it. We tend to favor tailored jackets that hit just below the butt. Pastel colors are great from spring to fall and give a soft touch to the overall look. My husband reminded me of that last spring as we were walking near our home in Paris and saw a woman—I’d guess in her late sixties or early seventies—from the neighborhood with a light soft-pink jacket and light purple pants that were striking. The designer Elie Saab used these shades in his collection, and it’s all about refinement and understated elegance. Our Left Bank doyenne wore off-white loafers and carried a soft tote bag. She looked absolutely stunning. She wore it all with allure and elegance and projected a wonderful softness, and it complimented her age. Lots of classic women would rather opt for a shade of deep blue or Klein blue or emerald green as the one striking item, with the rest being in darker colors. It comes to picking what goes with the coloring of your hair and face, your overall look, and what you want to project. Know thy DNA.

When I retired from corporate life, I did not envision myself buying any or many dresses ever again, being partial to pantsuits. Then I was in Paris in November 2011 and walked by my current favorite designer’s shop in the 6ème, Béatrice Ferrant, and saw a stunning dress in the window. I walked in and overheard the salesperson speaking with a customer to let her know that all was 40 percent off, as they were closing for good at the end of the year.

I’ve liked this designer for the substance of her line as well as a touch of romance. Her clothes can inspire while being elegant, well-made, and easy-to-wear couture clothes at ready-to-wear prices. I tried the simple plum-colored dress with a small leather belt and it fit perfectly. I really don’t need a dress, I said to myself, but I could not pass it up. So I gave myself an early Christmas present (ah, how we rationalize pleasing ourselves at times). A few months later, I wore the dress to a party in New York City, and I don’t remember getting so many compliments on clothes in a long time from women and men. I surprised my husband, who went “Wow” and said I should wear dresses more often. I admit the little dress suited me, and when you feel great in an outfit you know it. The compliments are just an added bonus.

As it turned out, the shop did not close, but rather just became “by appointment only.” I recently arranged a long chat with Béatrice about fashion, trends, and what women should or should not wear. She is a delight, and is busy expanding to China, where she claims there is a great need for dress code education and lots of businesswomen who love French fashion and are eager to learn. She is even eyeing America. I was thrilled. Here’s a woman who is opinionated and knows how to dress women.

Béatrice’s ideas come from her experience of working at top designer firms before establishing her own atelier, traveling extensively, and observing. She dresses women from age eighteen to eighty and has a lot of businesswomen in their late forties to sixties to whom she recommends avoiding black. That shocked me. Most of us should avoid it, she says. And here I was all in black. It may have been my only point of disagreement with her till she claimed that for me, black was one of my most flattering colors. Thank you. The transfer point is, if you feel good in black, keep wearing it. I agree with her that many women look older in black after a certain age. Perhaps in France there is an unconscious connection with widowed old ladies wearing black that influences us, though the mourning practice is a fading tradition. When my father passed away, my mother wore black only one day: at the funeral. She could not stand it and did not look good in it…“washed out” as she said. Who needs it? For Béatrice and many French women, including myself, navy, charcoal, eggplant, claret, and dark purple are the new black. Softer. Color gives life. Go for it, though pause before selecting orange or striking red after fifty.

Girlish looks for mature women are not something French women are keen on. With today’s choices, one does not have to dress old at any age, but again, in France, a sense of respect in what we wear is part of the equation, which does not mean one can’t make a statement or be noticed. Accessories are an easy alternative: cool sunglasses, a vintage scarf, an unusual belt or piece of jewelry on your jacket; we can all come up with some that suit us. My fashionista Parisian friend Mélanie, known among her friends as a frustrated fashion designer, still has fun in her late fifties playing with details like replacing the standard buttons of a dark blazer with pretty pearl buttons found at the Marché St. Pierre in Montmartre, or adding a lace collar to an old little black dress.

Textures and materials are important, too. French women generally favor what’s soft, warm, and comfortable such as cotton, wool, flannel (some of us grew up with Damart flannel underwear!), jersey, velvet, and cashmere, as well as the new fabrics that make clothes affordable, casual, and cozy like the mixtures of cotton and cashmere, viscose and cashmere, silk and cotton.

Béatrice is opposed to jeans (vehemently so), and leggings as pants (except at home), overalls, any top that is shapeless (which, alas, is becoming more and more the norm as more women are overweight and think a loose, shapeless top hides their shape), running shoes, high platform shoes, and high boots. As I said, she has strong opinions. She was proud to describe how she dresses when she flies. Comfort, yes; casual/sloppy, no. Not on a plane. Not in the street. Not anywhere. She loves pencil skirts, though not above the knee after fifty, and wears hers a bit loose to avoid tightness and let it flow; long cardigans over pants; belts are very effective to get a second outfit from a basic one; she loves dresses; she feels that investing in a nice coat with a flattering cut is a wise choice. Not the oversize kind that will soon be out of style, but a well-proportioned style. She creates clothes to reveal and not hide, and she likes to be looked at.

Coco Chanel said, “I can’t understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little, if only out of politeness.” For my mother, it was a variation on the same theme with “You never know who you are going to meet.”

I remember accompanying my mother on her Saturday afternoon chore of going to the cemetery to take some fresh flowers to the family graves. She would always go and change beforehand, though to me she already looked fine and clean, and it was, after all, just around the corner. No matter, she claimed dressing well was also a sign of respect, for yourself and for others. A sense of decorum is important. More often than not we ran into some important townspeople, and my mother’s face would give me an I told you so look.

Still, style is hard to define—it is being your own brand, but it’s born from a talent for living or joie de vivre; and it can be innate or unconscious, though you know it when you see it. It has to do with individuality (maybe this explains why French women are individualistes invétérées, or stubborn individualists, especially les Parisiennes), vivacity, passion, breeziness, enthusiasm, and curiosity.

For some women, all of this may sound trivial, considering that clothes exist only on the surface, yet this is not the same as being superficial. Clothes are, after all, about communication between a person and everyone who sees them. I see it more as just a basic human instinct, and a universal one for that matter. We all wear clothes and make choices about clothes, and nobody has any scruple about judging others’ clothing.

My mother’s idea for seduction and beauty and elegance or being chic was that they are all interrelated, and her motto was simple: “Be natural, keep your sense of humor, and do whatever it takes to be bien dans sa peau without torturing yourself.” Beauty, like age, is an attitude. For me, elegance is also a silhouette, a look, a smile. When it exists, people will notice.

Diane Vreeland, the great Paris-born American fashion icon, said about style and elegance: “Style is everything…style is a way of life. Without it, you’re nothing” (to which she added, “To have style you have to be born in Paris”). Well, that might help. As for elegance, Vreeland said, “The only real elegance is in the mind; if you’ve got that, the rest really comes from it. Elegance is innate. That’s an attitude that works for any age. It is something to cling to.”

Dressing with style, having style, knows no age and is a cocktail made with equal parts sensibility, personality, audacity (without going to the extreme), and some natural class. The latter is perhaps the hardest to get, though we all aspire to it. Isn’t the best compliment a man can make about a woman “Quelle classe!” (What style!)? The best style is authentic, natural, and appears effortless. A woman may forget she has it, but when she gets noticed, she is reminded she has it.