My biggest fear during the 29th year of my life was that it would be my last summer of wearing cutoff jean shorts. In retrospect, I assume (or at least hope) that my frivolous concern had more to do with symbolism rather than vanity. After having spent my early 20s on an ever-swinging pendulum between who I should be and who I want to be, I had only recently grown entirely okay with my real self: my offbeat personality, my often unstable career as a freelance writer, and a style so basics-driven that I could easily get dressed in the dark. Denim shorts, worn not as weekend gear, but almost as a warm-weather uniform, paired with linen button-downs and Converse sneakers, felt like an emblem of this self-acceptance, which made the thought of retiring them at the age of 30 feel hasty, unnecessary, just flat-out wrong.
I realize that there is no longer a rule that dictates a cutoff age for cutoff denim—or any other youthful clothing item, for that matter. I’m aware, technically, that 30 is about coming into your true self, about having amazing sex, about blossoming into a real woman in the best sense of the word. And yet, sometimes all it takes is yet another profile of an over-accomplished young mother-slash-entrepreneur-slash-style-icon showing off her impossibly chic existence (as satirized in this brilliant Julie Houts illustration) to experience an urgent call-to-action to grow up in every realm of life. Or is this mindset a result of living in America, in a culture driven (and often, misled) by quantitative results? Are Europeans, particularly the French, who are known to celebrate the process of getting older, less fixated on age as the barometer of one’s life (and wardrobe)?
“I would be lying if I said that we don’t have such a thing as a ‘thirties crisis.’ In fact, I am currently experiencing one of my own!” says 29-year-old Parisienne Stéphanie Delpon, instantly rebuffing this theory. “However, I think that this is also the time to ask ourselves some important questions, to have the maturity to answer them, and finally do exactly what we want,” she adds living up to her words by focusing all of her current attention on the growth of her creative agency, Pictoresq—and relying on a ’70s-inspired uniform that reflects her personality. Parisian journalist Ophélie Meunier, who recently quit a lucrative magazine position to pursue freelance opportunities, also stresses the importance of using this time to evaluate one’s goals and then actively go for them—dressed, of course, however you wish. While she undoubtedly feels the occasional push to expedite the perfect baby-career-home combination (“all Instagrammable, with the right captions and hashtags!”), she also points out that “fear is never a good engine—especially when it’s the projection of other people’s fears.”
Most French women take a similar view of style as they get older. Marie de Menthon, account executive at the communications agency Betc Luxe, points out that while a girl in her 20s is still trying to find herself through sartorial experimentation, a woman in her 30s is far more settled into herself, allowing her to adopt a cohesive and even uniform look. She also points out that professional growth leads to higher purchasing power, allowing one to invest in timeless, high-quality pieces that one can then mélange with Zara. (The usual suspects being a crisp white shirt, high-waisted black pants, a well-cut coat, and a classic loafer.) Delpon observes that career direction can actually serve as the catalyst for sartorial evolution, pointing out the difference between the styles of, say, a budding financial analyst, a fashion type, and a young mother. Granted, none of these choices are right or wrong. “As long as you are blossoming, faithful to your life philosophy, and feel like you are exactly where you should be in your life, then you are on the right path,” Meunier says. If denim shorts are a life philosophy (and I’m pretty sure that they are), I seem to be right on track.
When asked whether there are any post-30 fashion no-nos, most of the women draw a blank, although they do hint that anything of micro length comes with the warning label of potentially being perceived as vulgaire, the sole French faux pas. And yet, this risk applies to any age group. “A put-together 40-year-old woman can wear tiny shorts better than a 20-year-old girl, as long as she does so elegantly,” Meunier says, adding: “It’s a matter of attitude, not age.” Lola Rykiel, 31-year-old founder of PR and consulting agency Le Chocolat Noir, believes that the key to wearing tricky items past a certain age is in the styling, swearing by the emblematic French “look décalé”—a juxtaposition of opposing elements, such as a miniskirt worn with flats, to bring balance. Ironically, she herself anticipates stepping up her stiletto game toward her 40s: “I hope to be in great shape, with two kids, and wearing a lot more heels than now.” While I can hardly picture myself evolving into a spindly-shoed French enigma à la Carine Roitfeld, I have to admit that getting older suddenly sounds that much more exciting.
It may be, in fact, that the celebration of more mature role models is the very thing that sets French style apart. “We’re getting older anyway, so why fight it? It’s beautiful to grow old,” Delpon says. While most Parisiennes are meticulous about staying in shape and taking care of their skin (in fact, their complex skincare routines read somewhat like cooking recipes), extreme measures such as early Botox are ridiculed and even seen as a sign of weakness. “We have no desire to smooth the skin and look like everyone else’s. Imperfection doesn’t scare us, it is what makes us beautiful,” says Meunier. At the end of the day, she is convinced that real beauty lies in confidence. “Youth is in your head. If you are afraid of wilting, you then you will fade out like a flower!”
And, just like that, I resolve to spend the 30th summer of my life in my jean shorts—blossoming, not wilting.