Tailored for mature women?

What, you using fishing line in the basting to see if you can hook us? Are you even now looking for the bones of ancestors to reinforce the stays you’re hoping to put back in our blouses? Stay was never a smart command anyway, although it might make a reasonable request from a partner more into respect than careful constructions of acceptable appearances.

Tailored for mature women?

Honey, you think a tuck and dart could possibly contain us? We will bust your seams, strip your stitches and move on. They were never sewn with us in mind, those bits of disconnected thread, and it shows. We are too much, too many, too big for you to handle. Love handles? You should be so lucky.

Tailored for mature women. Ha. Women over 50 know what’s worth worrying about, and what’s worth fighting for. Your cute little swaying tops with floral arrays charmingly arranged to accentuate our bosoms and keep eyes off our hips are so many fire extinguishers sent to a flood. You honestly think most men have spent our careers looking anywhere besides our breasts? We’ve had 30 years of professional experience that says otherwise; just where are these marketing surveys about our flesh being conducted, boys?

Send us bespoke blazers in faux-equity-repelling prints. Fashion us a transparent blouse that makes others see how we feel. Trousers where the rubbing fabric sounds warnings. How about shoes that do the dancing for us, backwards, high heels optional. If we want to wear them we will, and if we don’t, we won’t.

That’s just one of many ways we expect to decide what happens to our own bodies, all you tailors out there making your stitches smaller and more binding.

Tailored for mature women, my ass.