2 hours ago
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Is your wardrobe cringe? Does it make you look out-of-touch and cause younger and cooler people to look upon you with pity? Do you really want me to answer that? Never mind, I’m going to anyway, so buckle up. Brutal honesty is very January, so I will give it to you straight. But before we get down to dissecting your wardrobe, two quick questions for you. Do you put full stops in text messages? Were you baffled by Labubus? If the answer to those two questions is yes, then I’m afraid the signs are that your wardrobe is almost certainly cringe.
Being cringe is essentially being old-fashioned, but worse. Being old-fashioned is what happens when you grow older with grace and dignity. Cringe is when you lose your touch while convincing yourself you are still down with the kids.
What does a cringe wardrobe look like? French-tucking your shirt, the height of sophistication a decade ago, is now cringe. A crossbody bag, which seemed such a novel and youthful thing not long ago, is now on the wrong side of the generational divide.
And then there is wearing your clothes too tight. Do I hear a sigh of relief at the back? Not me, you’re thinking, my clothes aren’t too tight at all, they fit like a glove! Well, I hate to break it to you, but the glove-analogy is exactly the problem here. If you are generation X, then you probably think that the size that fits you best is the smallest one you can get into easily. But if you are generation Z, then you think that the size that fits you best is one that hangs off you. There is no real reason why the younger generation should have the last say here, except that is how pop culture works and we didn’t complain about it when we were young and cool, did we, so we can’t start making a fuss about it now. The fact is that fitted clothes are ageing. Also: sorry to be disloyal to my peers, but trousers or jeans that grip the knee actually make me feel a bit ill.
The cringe factor of close-fitting clothes is not just about the size in the label, it is about what styles you wear. Leggings, for example, are no longer fashionable streetwear. If you want something you can wear to the gym that looks cool out in the wild, then switch to a tracksuit bottom or a flared workout pant. And while I’ve got you, a word about leather jackets. Leather jackets are a major trend this winter. But if I say the words “leather jacket”, what springs to mind? Because your leather jacket needs to be big and blowsy. If it looks like the jacket the controller of your local minicab office used to wear in the days before Ubers, then you are on the right track. But if it is a close-fitting biker style, it will do your cred more harm than good.
Next up, ankles are cringe. For some reason, gen Z are positively Victorian in their horror of ankles. Trainer socks have been deemed a fashion crime, and ankles should be concealed under a sturdy sock. Your ankles will also be covered by your trousers, since the correct length is no longer a hem at the ankle bone, which is the silhouette many of us are accustomed to. Long enough to pool on the top of your shoe is what looks right now, according to the whippersnappers. This is a challenge for us oldies to get our heads around. I don’t want the bottom inch of my trousers dragging on the pavement – so unhygienic, since you’ll be wearing them in your home, and also it bothers me that the fabric will fray and wear out, but apparently that just shows my age.
I am cringe. I have made my peace with this. Being cringe is the price that millennials and generation X pay for refusing to accept they are getting older. Like many of my contemporaries, I am enjoyably deluded about my age. I am convinced I’m still young – in the right lighting – and have no intention of being disabused of this belief. So I invite you to consider this a wake-up nudge. The kids will keep reinventing fashion, and we’ll keep embarrassing ourselves trying to keep up. But if being called cringe is the cost of feeling alive, I call that a bargain.
Model: Orla at Milk. Styling assistant: Charlotte Gornall. Hair and makeup: Delilah Blakeney using Moroccanoil and Charlotte Tilbury. Bag, £445, Sessùn. Shirt, £188, Rails. Trousers, £139, Cos. Belt, £95, Me+Em. Earrings, £145, and ear cuff, £130, all Otiumberg
