A Sundress Has Never Seemed So Important

Somewhere along the line, I stopped wearing sundresses. Not because of any article or advice about what women my age should wear. This was a self-imposed ban that occurred when I put on a sundress and thought, “what is happening with those arms?” And, “when did my chest start to look like a jigsaw puzzle of age spots?” Let’s not even talk about the legs.

I can’t remember the last time I felt the breeze tickle my inner thighs.

I mention it because sundress season is coming. I know this not because of the weather. It’s still grey and rainy. I’ve not yet removed the buckets from beneath my leaking skylight, and I still need an endless supply of hot drinks to get through the day. I know that sundress season is coming because my inbox tells me so.

Young women in breezy, carefree, shoulder-baring, flirty fashions. Striped, floral, calf-length, drapey, flouncy, square-necked, chunky-strapped, spaghetti-strapped, halter style—all designed for effortless days brunching, wandering through farmer’s markets, exploring vineyards, beach walking. Bliss.

The email from Anthropologie says, “we’re ready for the straw hats and summery stripes.” So am I.

Does the simple act of wearing the sundress make summer better? I’m beginning to think it might. I’m remembering days of bare-legged abandon. Running through unmown fields, bug bites be damned. The smell of sun-drenched grass. The feeling of freedom. The weightlessness of nowhere to be.

I want it all.

This year, I am wearing sundresses. This year, my thighs and the breeze will be reacquainted.  

Why the change of heart? Two things.

First, I don’t care anymore about doughy arms or age-spotted décolletage.

Does a tree worry about the wild, twisting, irregular nature of its limbs as they reach out to embrace the sky? That would be a hard no.   

Second, not to sound morbid, but it occurred to me recently that we only get to enjoy so many summers on the planet and I have already experienced at least half of mine. Okay, maybe more than half, but that’s debatable given longer life expectancy and technological advancements. The point is, what the fuck? Enjoy. Make hay while the sun shines. Feel the breeze. Run through the tall grass. Be free. Wear the damn sundress.

So I am going shopping. And I suggest you do too. Will I also work on toning my arms? Oh, hell yes. No shame in wanting to look your best. Am I forging ahead, regardless? That would be a hard yes. Anthro, here I come.

The last time I can remember wearing a sundress, 2009. Ridiculousness.