A letter from a reader

At 62, I had spent years dressing to disappear. Then I wore this.

I almost did not write this down, because it is only a dress and I am not the sort of woman who gets excited about clothes any more. But three different people stopped to ask me about it at a garden party on Saturday, and when that happens at 62 you start to think there might be something in it.

Somewhere in the last few years I had quietly started dressing to disappear. Navy, grey, black, nothing that might draw a second glance. I told myself it was sensible, and that bright things were for younger women, but the truth was I had stopped wanting to be looked at, and so I made sure I never was. And a little bit of me went quiet along with the colour.

I had decided that colour, and being noticed, were things that belonged to a younger version of me.

So I faded into the background, and told myself I preferred it there.

Then I saw it on a friend

A friend of mine wore one to a lunch and looked so alive and so herself that I could not stop looking. It is from Nottingham Boutique, a little boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years, and they had their summer sale on. Mine is the Kesha, covered in the brightest painted flowers, and it comes in seven prints. I ordered it that same evening before I could talk myself out of it.

What happened at the garden party

I nearly lost my nerve on the doorstep and went to change into something safe. I am so glad I did not. Instead of feeling foolish, I felt wonderful, and three separate women came over to ask me where it was from. Three. My friend Sue looked at me and said I looked happy, which I was, because I had remembered what it felt like to enjoy being seen.

That was the moment it clicked for me. I had spent years believing colour was not for me any more, and one dress quietly gave it back.

Three things I have learned since

One. Joyful is its own kind of flattering. When you wear something bright and happy, people look at your face and your smile, not at your middle. I had that backwards for years.

Two. It is comfortable, which I did not expect. It is light and airy and floats over everything without clinging, so it is as easy to wear as it is lovely to look at. Bold does not have to mean uncomfortable.

Three. It looks like a painting. The flowers are done like proper brushstrokes, so it looks far more expensive and considered than it was. Nobody has ever guessed the price.

About the price

I will be honest, when I saw it in the sale I was a bit suspicious. A dress that looks this much like a work of art usually has a price to match.

The Kesha is £33.95. It was £68.00.

There was no catch. It arrived quickly, it goes straight in the machine, and it looked even better in real life than in the picture, which we all know is not always the way.

I did go and read the reviews first. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some sites, which if I am honest made me trust it more. One woman had written, "I have had more compliments in this than anything I have worn in ten years." That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sat in the garden and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have spent the last few years quietly reaching for the navy and the grey, not because you love them but because bright feels like too much of a fuss now, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and have a look.

Not because a dress will change your life. It will not. But there is something in catching sight of yourself in a bit of colour and rather liking what you see, that I had quietly given up on, and I would rather you did not give up on it too.

Two practical things. The sale is on at the moment, and the middle sizes go first, which I found out because the one I wanted had sold out by the time I went back for a second print. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

I have not reached for the beige since.

Caroline