Caftans: My Cloaks of Invisibility

I'm always amazed and especially touched when friends truly hear what I say, process it, internalize it, relate to it, and repeat it back to me. It's very satisfying and very validating.

This morning my co-worker of 20 years repeated back to me about how she's starting to see what I said is true--how after a certain age we become invisible. Granted, she's about 7 years younger than I am, but still she's starting to get a sense and a handle on what I said.

We complimented each other on our ensembles today, and after 20 years of togetherness, she and I have found we are dressing similarly these days. Yesterday was all black, and today is a splash of colors--we both are wearing multicolored garments with a lot of yellow and orange in it today. I said, "I chose this outfit because #1 it is clean and readily available; and #2. It doesn't make me look or feel fat." 

She then went on to say how she's doing what I have done, and came to the conclusion that comfort above all else is more important. She's not wearing stilettos anymore, and is choosing to wear what she wants. 

I was telling her about Imani Gandy, who I follow on twitter, and how Imani got well into what we'll call "the caftan life," and I have to say, I'm emulating that this year. So far, I've bought three caftans, and I have taken to swanning about my condo wearing them, and I hope one day to be swanning about a cruise ship wearing them too, with cute sandals and maybe some big chunky statement jewelry in primary tones, too.  Perhaps matching turbans are not far behind?

My coworker and I both compared notes about what I said, regarding our invisibility. While on the surface, some folks might say it is a negative statement on women aging; whereas, I will say the direct opposite: IT IS FREEING. It is freeing to wear what I want because it's comfortable or it makes ME happy. It's freeing not to have to consider if what I am wearing or how I appear might attract the attention of a romantic partner. 

It's freeing to be invisible and not have unwanted attention too. It's freeing to walk into the office and realize halfway through the day that my shirt was put on inside out and not one soul informed me of such. It's freeing to realize I neglected to pluck a chin hair or I might have a blemish on my face. The only one who sees it is me, the only one who matters is ME. 

Why did it take nearly 54 years for me to finally come to this realization?