My love of mustard dates back to the mid-80s when as an eight year old child I used to sit in the bay window of my school watching children spill out from the school across the road in mustard cable knit jumpers and rust coloured knickerbockers wishing my uniform was anything as cool. You could spot a Hill House kid from a mile away. Other schools dressed girls in grey flannel skirts and navy pinafores; knickerbockers just seemed like the epitome of fun. Who knows if the kids across the road were having as much fun as I thought they were but their uniform communicated that they were a fun loving bunch. In British slang, “mustard” refers to someone excellent and/or enthusiastic. “She’s mustard!” is how a part Geordie friend describes her ebullient teenage daughter. I wonder whether the school’s founder, Liberal Party politician, Stuart Townend had that in mind when designing the Hill House uniform back in the late 40s. I read that he and his wife, Beatrice wanted a uniform that was vibrant and versatile so that their students could be spotted all over London, as comfortable in the classroom as on the playing field. “Grey uniforms produce grey minds,” said Mrs. Townend. I updated my profile photo last week, and no surprise, I’m wearing a mustard linen jumpsuit from one of my favourite British brands, Toast. Forty years on, and the colour still represents fun and play, warmth and nostalgia.

There was a brief period in the early 90’s when blue dungarees over tiny t-shirts (and a push up bra) was my uniform. I was an avid Neighbours watcher and Kylie Minogue –– aka Charlene the mechanic –– left a mark. There was something in the comfort of dungarees, open on one side, low in the front, that was so appealing to me at a time in my life when I wanted to be highly visible and I wanted to disappear. The uniform allowed for both, and straddled the line between masculine and feminine, flirty and modest, too much effort and none at all. I look at my daughter’s generation and see similar contradictions in their uniform of baggy sweatpants and voluminous hoodies that unzip to reveal minuscule ribbed tops in all shades of sherbet. To some degree, we never completely outgrow these tensions. They’re always with us and always changing. And is that such a bad thing? Outfits (people) are much more compelling when they’re an odd jumble of contradictions. As a middle aged woman, I am still wearing dungarees. Only this time around, I pair them with my son’s old flannel shirts and ochre woolly socks. Has my need for comfort consumed every ounce of sex appeal I ever had? I swap my socks for a pair of lurex silver ones. And add a flush of pink to both cheeks. That’ll do, for now.