A letter from a reader

At 63, the most comfortable thing I owned was my husband's old shirt

Frank has known for about six years that his old blue shirt lives in my side of the closet now, and he has been gracious enough not to mention it. I am 63, and I want to explain to you why a woman with a closet full of her own tops ends up wearing her husband’s, and what finally got me out of it.

Three different women asked me about a top at the grocery store on Saturday, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

Here is how the shirt-stealing starts. Every top made for women our age seems to be one of three things. Fitted where I do not want fitting. Short where I want length. Or buttoned down the front, which is fine until you sit down and it gapes at exactly the wrong button. His shirt was none of those. Soft, long, faded, and it asked nothing of me. So I took it. And then I took it to the store.

A woman’s top that clings and stops short, or a man’s shirt that hangs right and buttons wrong. For six years I chose his shirt.

Nobody decides to dress in her husband’s clothes. It happens because the shops sell women tops for a woman thirty years younger, and a soft blue shirt that just hangs right is somehow only made for men.

Then Sue turned up in the shirt, only it was hers

Sue came to book club in June in what I would have sworn was a man’s soft blue shirt, except it had a V-neck with a little tan stitching down the front, no buttons anywhere, and it came down long over her white jeans with a slit at each side. She looked exactly as comfortable as I feel in Frank’s shirt, and about twice as put together. I asked. She said, it is a woman’s top that thinks it is a man’s shirt.

It is called the Louisa, from Iris & Nora, a small boutique here in Austin that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now. I ordered it that evening, fully expecting to send it back.

I did not send it back. Frank got his shirt back instead.

What happened at the grocery store

I wore it to the store on Saturday over white jeans, sleeves rolled twice, the way I roll his.

Three different women asked me where it was from between the produce and the checkout. And Sue, who started all this, said I looked like I had been somewhere nice on the way, which for the grocery store is a considerable promotion.

Here is why it works, as far as I can tell. It feels like his shirt, soft and washed and long, and it is cut for a woman. The V sits where a V should sit on somebody my age. There are no buttons anywhere to gape or fuss with. It comes down long enough to cover what I like covered, with a slit at each side so it moves rather than bunches. And the little tan stitching down the front makes it look chosen rather than borrowed.

It has been out six times in two weeks. Over jeans, over leggings, over the linen pants that never had anything to go with them. His shirt has been washed, folded and returned. He has not worn it. I do not think he wants it back.

Three things I have learned since

One. Borrowed comfort, cut for you. The soft washed feel of an old favourite shirt, in a shape that was actually drawn for a woman. Long, easy, and it hangs right without a single button to negotiate.

Two. The details are the difference. A proper V with a wide band, tan stitching down the front, slits at the sides, sleeves you roll to wherever you like. It reads as a top somebody designed, not a shirt somebody outgrew.

Three. Six colours, honest sizes. The soft blue I own, a black, a navy, a brown, a pink and a red, from a small to a 3XL, the same relaxed shape throughout. I went back for the black. Frank has been informed.

About the price

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

The Louisa is $44.95. It was $90.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because a top this soft with this much detail is usually priced like a jacket.

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 this is their final summer sale as they close this chapter of the shop.

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 rather more. One woman had written, “Soft as my husband’s old shirt but it actually fits a woman. Long enough for leggings and I have had compliments every time.” That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting on the porch with an iced tea and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If your most comfortable top is somebody else’s shirt, you are not being sentimental. You are being sensible about a market that stopped making soft, long, easy tops for women our age. This is that top, and it costs less than the shirt you would have bought him to replace the one you took.

Two practical things. The sale is on now, and the blue goes first. And once this stock is gone, it is gone.

Frank has his shirt back. He does not seem to want it.

Peggy