Wrearing Purple....Oh to be a non-conformist - its not too late, why wait?

When I am Old

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired,
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens,
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats
and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
And pay our rent and not swear in the street,
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am old
and start to wear purple!
-- Jenny Joseph

I, along with thousands of people, love this poem by Jenny Joseph.

When I’ve asked them what they think it’s about I’m usually told that it’s about a celebration of dotty old women who, in their old age are free to commit these dreadful sartorial sins and free to do “daft” things on a whim.

It’s as though the image and spirit of what the author is aiming to be, takes hold; an image that the listener finds attractive. What’s so attractive? Not the clashing colour scheme but the spirit in which it’s worn.

Not just the wearing of clashing and inappropriate clothes, gloves and shoes but ideas about which people may make less than wholesome opinions about the purchaser. Old lady + brandy…mmm, what’s that about? And you have yet to leave the shop.

After all, there are people who sit on the edge of pavements and there are the sort that don’t.

I was walking along behind a mum and her little girl a while ago and the little girl was talking non-stop and skipping along, it was delightful to see. I was in a hurry, so overtook them and asked the mum, in passing, at what age little girls stop skipping? She replied that she’d only just herself stopped.

I think the lady in purple would be skipping if the mood took her.

I notice people who try the samples on the counter at our upmarket store and have opinions about those who go back for more.

A friend of mine casually ordered a “starter” for her main course a while ago – I was so impressed. It had never occurred to me that this was permissible. I’ve done it since then but I’ve yet to order three different puddings, as my colleagues dine in the conventional manner.

However, (doncha just love a however?) although the image of the sprightly old lady who doesn’t give a damn, is what’s left in your mind, the poem is also about the narrator who says towards the end that maybe she ought to practise a little now. Yet you kinda know she won’t.

Why won’t she, except perhaps on holiday?

Why will the little girl give up skipping along next to her mum?

Just how soon do we learn the power of conformity?

Which shoulds, must’s, can’ts and have to’s do we embed in our minds in such a way that they work on a reflex arc below consciousness.

What price would you pay if you transgressed and chose to break some of these rules?

Who would present you with the bill?

What are the should’s, must’s, can’ts and have to’s embedded at the back of your mind?

Who put them there?

For whose benefit – yours or theirs?

In what ways were they reinforced?

The ways in which you adapted to the circumstances you were in at age 7 were probably appropriate. They may be so embedded by now that you assume, “That’s the way I am,” rather than that’s the way you became under a particular set of circumstances.

Maybe your should’s, must’s, can’ts and have to’s are due a review.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a young person in purple and a red hat.