I met two older women yesterday who really made me stop and think. I have become boring. I have no funk. I love a woman with a classic look but with an edge. A little funk. I’ve lost mine. Francesca is a 50 something year old who arranged a fabulous birthday lunch for a friend of mine. She wore a black edgy coat with high boots, black jeans, a classic black fedora style hat, an artfully tied loose scarf, funky blue ray ban readers. But it was less about what she wore but how she wore it. With flair, with confidence. She was stylish, quite classic, but funky. The other is also 50 something and from one of my favourite decor shops. She was wearing her hair parted and twisted into knots not unlike Bjork, a black jacket with a flair, over a black knee length skirt with a flair and heavy docs. She also had ray ban style prescription frames. She also looked stylish, classic, yet quirky.  And age appropriate. And was confident about who she was and her style. She liked my Number Six Karen Walker sunglasses (yay me), and we got chatting about teenagers, docs, converse and style. I realised I’ve allowed myself to disappear. And allowed my kids to censor me. I say I’ve lost my funk, but I’m actually not sure I’ve ever been funky. I think I would love to be. I love all things creative, I appreciate talent and anyone with an effortless style. But I’m not visually creative in the obvious sense of the word, I’m too restrained, too self aware, too risk averse. And I’m cool with that because thats me. But I used to like my style too. Classic with a little twist. I’ve lost my twist. I think I got scared of standing out. I lost me while trying to assimilate. Into all my new worlds. So maybe when I hit 50 I’ll be inspiring too in a funky classic way, because I’m determined to get my funk back. My twist. And not give a damn what my kids say. Or anyone else.