A letter from a reader

At 63, I had not worn white in twenty years, and I could not tell you when I decided that

Frank laughed when I told him what I was about to do. In forty years my husband has never once seen me write anything longer than a birthday card, and I have always held that what another woman wears is between her and her mirror.

But three different women asked me about a sweater at Sunday lunch at the barbecue place a couple of weeks ago, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It started when my sister Sue came in from the Hill Country for the weekend. We were sitting at my kitchen table and she had a white sweater on, and I heard myself say, well, I could never wear white. Not at my age, not with my luck with barbecue sauce, not with my daughter’s labrador in and out of the house. And Sue put her cup down and looked at me.

You do know you are allowed to wear white, Peggy.

I laughed it off at the time. But it stayed with me, because when I went upstairs later and opened the closet, there was not one white thing in it. Navy, black, brown, gray. Twenty years of dressing, and somewhere in there I had crossed a whole color off the list without ever once deciding to.

I do not think I am the only one. That is really why I am writing this.

How it happens

Nobody sits down one morning and decides to stop wearing white. It goes quietly, one sensible choice at a time.

You are told it shows every mark. You are told it is asking for trouble with a dog in the house and grandchildren at the table. You are told it washes badly, that it goes gray, that it is a color for women with nothing to do all day. And half of us were raised on the rule that white goes away after Labor Day, no matter how warm the afternoon still is. Some of that came from our mothers, and the stores finished the job, because when they cut white at all they cut it thin and skimpy for the young.

So you take the navy one to the register instead. It is fine. Navy is always fine. Nobody says anything, which is exactly the point.

And twenty years later your sister has to tell you, at your own kitchen table, that you are still allowed a color you never actually gave up on. It was given up for you.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I got most wrong, and it took me until this month to see it.

It was never white that was the problem. It was the whites I had tried. Thin, plain, precious things that showed everything precisely because there was nothing to them, and that made me feel like I was wearing a tablecloth I was not allowed to touch.

A soft white with some texture to it is a different thing entirely. This one has little squares of texture worked all over it, and a few smart black ones scattered in between, and that changes everything. It does not read as precious. It does not read as plain. It reads as a decision. And a sweater you can be comfortable in stops being a color you are afraid of and starts being the nicest thing in the closet.

The sweater is called the Hannah

It is from Iris and Nora, a small boutique here in Austin that has been quietly dressing women like us for a few years now.

The sweater is called the Hannah. A soft white with a classic round neck, a relaxed cut, and those textured squares with the black ones in between, so there is something to look at without it shouting. They do it in a black and a soft yellow as well, which I will come back to.

It is soft and it breathes, which matters more than I expected now the mornings have turned. The cut is relaxed and it skims rather than clings, and nothing about it feels restrictive when you sit down to eat. And the round neck sits properly on its own, or takes a scarf over the top without any fuss when it gets colder.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just a sweater that somebody thought about.

What happened at Sunday lunch

I wore it for the first time to Sunday lunch at the barbecue place, with my navy slacks and my good earrings. Sue was in town again, which felt right, since it was her doing.

Three women asked me about it before the plates were cleared. Three. One of them was Donna, who I have known for thirty years and who does not hand out compliments, and she told me white suited me, as if she was a little surprised about it. I have decided to take that as a compliment.

What I noticed more than the compliments, though, was that I forgot I had it on. I did not spend the meal holding my sleeve away from the barbecue sauce or dabbing at myself with a napkin. I sat, I ate a full plate of brisket, and I thought about the conversation instead of the sweater.

The next morning I put it straight back on to walk my daughter’s labrador, who I had for the weekend, and felt completely myself in it. That is the rarest sort of sweater. The one that does a Sunday lunch and a morning dog walk in the same weekend and feels right in both.

Three things I have learned since

One. It goes with everything I own. Jeans, skirts, my navy slacks, all of it. Twenty years of dark bottoms turn out to be exactly what a white sweater was waiting for, which is a joke at my own expense I am still enjoying.

Two. The neck is right. A true classic round neck that sits where it should on its own, and leaves room for a scarf when the weather turns. No gaping, no strangling, no fiddling with it in the car mirror.

Three. Comfort is the whole trick. It is soft against the skin and the relaxed cut does not pin you anywhere, and because of that you stand differently in it. Half of what I thought was white not suiting me was just me being rigid in things I was afraid to mark.

About the price

I want to be straightforward about this, because it was the thing that made me suspicious.

The Hannah is $42.95. It was $86.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because you can walk into any store at the mall and pay more than that for a plain sweater with a lot less thought in it.

There is no catch that I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a cut in the middle, and they have a sale on at the moment.

I did what I imagine you are doing now and went and read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I am honest made me trust it a little more. One woman from Shiner had written, “Ordered the white expecting to regret it and it has barely been off my back. So soft, and it does not cling anywhere.” That was the one that decided it for me.

Then I ordered the yellow one as well.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting at my kitchen table with the coffee pot between us, this is what I would say.

If there is a color you have not worn in twenty years, ask yourself whether you ever actually decided that, or whether it was decided around you, one sensible warning at a time. Because I did not miss white until it was back on, and then I realized I had missed it a great deal.

Not because a sweater changes your life. It does not. But there is something in catching sight of yourself in a color you were told was not for you, and looking right in it, that I had quietly given up on, and I would rather you did not give up on it too.

Two practical things. The sale is on at the moment, and the first fall stock is already going, which I found out because I went back for the yellow and had to wait on it. If you are tempted, sooner is better than later.

I wore white on Sunday, and the sky did not fall.

Peggy