What’s my age again? (And how should I dress to suit it?)

“You need to start dressing your age; you look like a skater,” a co-worker jocularly told me as I let out a whiny chortle to disguise my unease.

I felt momentarily disarmed by the comment because the only skater I knew of was pioneering board rider Tony Hawk – and he dressed like a Mormon.

Radical, dude: Brendan Foster was left puzzled after some unprompted fashion advice.Credit: WAtoday

I wasn’t deeply wounded by the parting barb, but it got me marinating on what toggery was befitting for someone tumbling into their late 50s.

Granted, there was something transparently pretentious about the outfit I was wearing that warranted a bit of ribbing: a $100 pair of Converse boots, designer shorts, and a check western shirt from the funky, clothing outlet Get Lucky in Fremantle.

There’s a good chance I would punch someone in the ear if they called me an ageing hapless hipster, but if the shoe fits.

But is there a cut-off point for men of my vintage when it comes to frocking up like a more sophisticated Dude (minus the bathrobe) from the brilliant Coen Brothers movie The Big Lebowski?

There was probably more symbolic value to my outfit than I was willing to admit, and most psychiatrists would have a field day with my wardrobe. But should I just ungracefully step into a pair of elasticated trousers as my body starts to betray itself?

Whatever threads I cobbled together, there was a premeditated plan and that was to feel good. At the risk of sounding reactionary, it’s a pretty harmless way to elevate your style and wellbeing, regardless of your age.

I doubt the people who created the labels I sport had my demography in mind when they were coming up with a new summer range. And I haven’t stumbled across any mannequins dressed in homeless chic.

(Before I go any further, I just want to sincerely acknowledge the brutal, constant ugliness women have endured from online trolls for donning certain attire. I am nothing more than a non-playing character in the game of fashion cruelties).

So, what the hell should I be wearing as I reluctantly wobble into my autumn years? Remarkably, given the endless disappointing dross you can find online, there is bugger-all advice when it comes to age-appropriate apparel for chaps like me.

Maybe the lack of meaningful information is because there is just an expectation, that we decrepit dudes will morph into Alf Stewart from Home and Away.

I mean, when you turn 65, does your WA Seniors Card rock up in the mail with a free pair of brown sandals, grey supermarket slacks, white singlets, and handkerchiefs? The pants come with clear instructions on how to hitch them above your navel and an ankle bracelet that sets off an alarm if you attempt to enter any designer stores.

There is a secret sect of khaki-dressed, police that re-educates Bohemian Boomers who dare rock a bucket hat, knee-length shorts, and old-school Puma runners.

Or maybe men don’t grasp what sociologist Julia Twigg calls “the changing room moment” when it comes to us blokes realising we are too old for certain items.

Professor Twigg interviewed men aged between 58 and 85 who were surprisingly comfortable in the kit they’d worn most of their lives.

“It is clear men have a different relationship to dress from women, and the research shows that this continues into later life,” she said.

“There is less in the way of age anxiety in their choices.”

It’s not uncommon for the male species to adopt a certain look in their early 20s and be buried in the first suit they bought 60 years ago.

If you disregard the nexus to money, which has allowed me to buy clothing that isn’t from charity shops, my style hasn’t changed since the early 90s.

I still have an unhealthy amount of corduroy pants and jackets in my wardrobe and retro shirts and sneakers.

There is something comforting and reassuring about finding your own style and a certain empowerment for not caring (and caring) about what you wear.

We can delude ourselves that the rags we pluck from the cupboard are not calculated pieces of composition because the pair of tracky-dacks and favourite band T-shirt you just reached for, still make you feel content.

The right duds give us confidence. No matter what our age. Hey, if you’re unconvinced, here are some scientific facts.

In a paper published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, Adam Galinsky and his co-author Hajo Adam coined the term “enclothed cognition”, which describes the systematic influence that clothes have on the wearer’s psychological processes.

The pair believed our garbs had the power to not only impact our mood but also influence the way we feel and interact with the world.

“With enclothed cognition, the key idea is not just the wearing of clothes, but the symbolic meaning of the clothes one is wearing,” Galinsky says.

I’m not sure the method worked on existentialist thinker John-Paul Sartre, who spent most of his life dressed as a Parisian bus driver.

Adam and Galinsky’s theory could also be applied to the workplace, where our cognitive functions or moods shift when we see a person in certain professional attire.

I, for one, would feel more assured about getting a rectal exam from a person wearing a stethoscope and lab coat than someone in high-vis.

Despite our persistent denial, our clothes send out signals. They play a critical role in shaping our perceptions of who we are.

Whether or not my clobber signified to my colleague that I may have missed the “changing room moment”, it didn’t matter. Whatever our generation, the get-up we choose to wear can make us feel attractive, stylish and jolly.

As the Shakespeare saying goes, “apparel oft proclaims the man”. Even if that person chooses not to dress their age.

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