A letter from a reader

At 62, an invitation used to fill me with dread. Not because of the day, but because of what on earth I would wear.

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

It was always the same when an invitation came. A wedding, a christening, a big birthday lunch. I would be pleased to be asked and then my heart would sink, because I knew what was coming. Days of trailing round the shops, dresses that clung where I did not want them to, or hung like a sack, or needed all manner of shapewear underneath, and heels I could not stand up in for more than an hour. More than once I very nearly did not go, over nothing but the not knowing what to wear.

I had decided that looking properly dressed up and being comfortable were two entirely different occasions.

So I made do, in the same tired thing I had worn to the last three dos, and never quite felt right in it.

Then I saw it on a friend

A friend of mine wore one to a lunch, an emerald green set, and she looked so elegant that I assumed it had cost her a small fortune, and then she told me how comfortable it was and what she had paid and I could hardly believe either. It is from Nottingham Boutique, a little boutique that has been quietly looking after women our age for a few years, and they had their summer sale on. It is called the Meredith, a flowing tunic and a pair of wide-leg trousers that already go together. I ordered mine that same evening before I could talk myself out of it.

What happened at the wedding

I wore it to a summer wedding, half braced to spend the day tugging at something or longing to sit down. Instead I ate my lunch, I danced a little, I sat comfortably through the speeches, and three separate women came over to ask me where my outfit was from. Three. My friend Sue told me I looked like a million pounds, and I did not quite have the heart to tell her what I had actually paid.

That was the moment it clicked for me. I had spent years believing I had to choose between looking special and being comfortable, and here was one outfit that quietly did both.

Three things I have learned since

One. The deciding is done for you. The tunic and the trousers already match, so there is no standing in front of the wardrobe in despair. You put on the two pieces and you are dressed, and you look as though you planned it for weeks.

Two. It covers what I wanted covered. The tunic drapes soft and long over the middle rather than clinging, and the wide-leg trousers cover the legs, so there was no bother with tights and no fretting about them all day. Just comfortable, and elegant with it.

Three. It looks far dearer than it is. The rich green and the flowing shape make it look as though it cost a small fortune. Nobody has once guessed it came from a sale, and I have not felt the need to tell them.

About the price

I will be honest, when I saw the price in the sale I was a bit suspicious. An outfit that looks this special and feels this comfortable usually costs a great deal more, and it turns out it usually does.

The Meredith is £37.95. It was £76.00.

There was no catch. It arrived quickly, it was every bit as light and elegant as my friend promised, and it looked exactly like the picture, which we all know is not always the way.

I did go and read the reviews before I ordered, because I could hardly believe it. 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 finally got something to wear to every wedding and do this year, and I feel wonderful in it." 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 an occasion coming up and you already know the dread of trailing round the shops for something that flatters and fits and does not leave you longing to sit down, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and have a look.

Not because an outfit will change your life. It will not. But there is something in walking into a room feeling both special and comfortable, instead of tugging at yourself all afternoon, 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, half of what it was, and the middle sizes go first, which I found out because the size I wanted had nearly sold out by the time I went back to tell a friend. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it until next year.

An invitation is a lovely thing again, now I know what I am wearing.

Caroline