It’s been a long time since I’ve had much to do with what my eldest child wears. From a very young age -– maybe two and half –– Iole knew exactly how she wanted to dress. On her third birthday, I wrote her a note on the back of a post card that said, “ich bin mein stil” –– “I am my style.” At that time, her outfits were an eccentric mix of hot pink tutus, tiaras, cowboys boots and frilly tops. These days, she’ll rarely wear a dress. And her choices are steered by comfort and conformity. Physical comfort has always been a priority, but dressing to fit in, that’s new. To her chagrin, I won’t buy, “teenager clothes” –– tops that show her belly and leggings with dollar signs on them –– but I do understand, that for now, at least, flower crowns and fairy dresses are out. Iole still knows how she wants to dress, it’s just not how I would like her to dress. And so I resist the urge to force her into a pretty frock with velvet bows and printed tights, because I know that that is my taste, and not hers. And because few girls want to be the kid in polka dot culottes when your pals are all in jeans. One day she may choose to stand-out, but today, all she wants is to fit in. And so we navigate our way through this awkward terrain, (that my Mum and I navigated our way through, also) where I accept her need to feel the same as everyone else, while gently whispering to her that it’s okay to be different.

“Fashion makes me feel like the other version of myself, like my Sunday best,” wrote Sarah Jessica Parker in an interview on Net-a-Porter. “Just putting stuff on creates a feeling so specific and different than every day. Anytime you are in a fitting room, it’s very much about you becoming something else, and sometimes it’s a familiar place, but sometimes it’s completely pretend. I think a lot of other women want to feel that.” Most of us believe in the trans-formative power of fashion. Indeed, woven into the hems of skirts and sleeves of blouses is some weird, wonderful magic that makes us feel sexy, strong, smart, demure, delicate, prim, whimsical or wild. In the right dress, you may even feel all those things at once.

I’ve always been a magpie for things that sparkle. In my early teens, one of my favourite party pieces was a mini skirt made up of hundreds of fucsia sequins. I’m amazed it survived as many fêtes as it did. In my late teens, I got pushed into a swimming pool on New Year’s Eve wearing a full length red sparkly gown. That dress did not survive. When I turned 18, my father took me to Whistles as a birthday treat, and we came home with two bags of bejeweled cardis, tops and dresses. Even after all these years, I still have one of the sequin tops and a beaded cashmere cardigan the colour of pink champagne. These days, this is just the sort of boho frock I’d like to throw on late summer, or mid-winter with a big woolly sweater.