Is there something about entering one’s forties that automatically makes a woman have horrible fashion sense? Is bad style simply a prerequisite for middle age? Selena had yet to enter this particular “life era” that all women dread, but she had many friends who were recently forced by “Father Time” (more like Father Asshole) into this scary new decade where Death suddenly felt like a stone’s throw away. Not to mention Death by No Longer Being “Hot.”

And the one thing Selena had noticed more than any other of the “instant changes” within this lot was their sudden attraction to horrendous clothes. You know, “loose fits” with atrocious patterns—floral, paisley, geometric—and shit like that. It was like any fashion savvy or awareness they still had in their thirties had flown out the window of good taste, so to speak. And now all that remained was an unquenchable thirst for “cozy shawls” and white wine. They probably thought they were “giving Nicole Kidman in Big Little Lies (or, at best, The Perfect Couple)” with that kind of “aesthetic.” Selena didn’t have the heart to tell them that they could never afford the amount of surgery it took to look like a “middle-aged” Nicole Kidman.

So she nodded and smiled when she went on shopping outings with them now, assuring them that the choice was “great,” “fab,” “stunning” and a number of other hyperbolic (albeit totally meaningless) word choices. There was no reason for honesty, to kick them when they were already down. It was better to bolster them during this strange new time in their lives, as she would expect them to do the same for when her own dreaded birthday arrived. The dreaded birthday. The one that signaled there was no going back, no chance for pretending to be “just a girl” anymore.

Even so, Selena told herself—was absolutely convinced—that she wouldn’t and couldn’t possibly ever let herself spiral into such a state of poor sartorial decision-making. A part of her wanted to shake each one of them and scream, “What happened to you?! Give me my friend back! The one who used to wear black mesh tops with a black push-up bra underneath. Where the fuck did your sense of personal style go?!”

Selena was also aware, of course, that some women, as they got older, automatically assumed that no one wanted to “see it anymore.” “It” being any part of an “elderly” woman’s body. They therefore sought to “cover up” because that’s what society had conditioned women “of a certain age” to believe they should do. So that when they did hit that particular birthday that was meant to render them instantaneously “old,” it was as though something inside “activated” so that they never showed so much as an exposed shoulder again.

While some of Selena’s friends on the younger side of forty still dared to wear a skirt that hit above the knee, most were practically in burka mode. It was a troubling sight for Selena to bear witness to—for she didn’t want to ever admit that the same exact fate might befall her. Sooner or later… Though likely sooner.

As for those who might wonder why Selena had so many female friends who were older than her by such a significant degree (Selena was thirty-two to most of her friends’ forty to forty-five), it was because one co-worker in particular, forty-one-year-old Claudia, had ingratiated her into her friend group that also worked at the same company. This done at a time when Selena had just moved to Los Angeles, a place where making friends, let alone acquaintances, was especially difficult. And being that most of her life centered around her job as an intern at a PR firm, it was inevitable that she would be swooped up by her co-workers in the hours outside of work as well. Eventually, Selena went on to secure a full-time job at the firm (much to her parents’ delight, as they were convinced that all internships were a scam [usually true]) and her friendships with these “elder” women were thusly cemented.

Or so she thought until she started being seen with them in public wearing what they were wearing in this “new era” of their lives. As “women of PR,” didn’t they know it reflected badly on the client (and on Selena) when they themselves looked bad? Selena was starting to fear that this could be part of the reason they seemed to be losing clients right and left, particularly male ones. And sadly, those were the clients who made the most money. It was getting to the point where Selena almost wanted to say something to Claudia about it, but what? “Every woman over forty suddenly has shitty, sexless style and now our business is fucked because of it”? That definitely wouldn’t go over well, nor would it be conducive to the issue at hand.

Selena felt the best approach would be a “subtle but firm” one, nudging Claudia and four other friends/co-workers, Blair, Mandy, Felice and Rita, to come with her on a bespoke shopping excursion where a stylist would be present while they tried on their outfits. Sort of like what Nordstrom used to offer before department stores went down the shitter (which might be part of why most of any sense of style in America did as well post-2000s). Selena had briefed the stylist, who worked out of a warehouse in Downtown LA, on the issue at hand. Ramona was twenty-something and up to the challenge if it meant Selena would pay her handsomely and allow the before and afters to be included in her still germinal portfolio.

Upon arrival, things seemed to be going according to plan, with Selena sure to liquor them all up with champagne before Ramona became more emboldened about which pieces she chose to outfit each of them with. The garments, naturally, became scantier and scantier, and under the drunken spell of the champagne, all of Selena’s friends were open to their fashion makeovers. Except the most important person who needed to be won over: Claudia. It was her influence that Selena needed in order to ensure that this mode of dressing would become regular again. Wouldn’t be relegated into the category of “one-off” or “a girls’ day out.”

But Claudia was adamantly against donning any of the so-called skimpier pieces that Ramona tried to provide her with. At a certain point, she slammed down her still full champagne glass and announced, “I’m going for a cigarette” just when all the others were about to have their photos taken for the “after” section of Ramona’s portfolio. Considering she hadn’t bothered to put on most of the outfits Ramona assigned to her, Claudia felt comfortable enough, in jeans and an untucked white blouse, to go outside and smoke. In other words, she wasn’t afraid to be seen in “young person’s clothes” because jeans and a blouse were unoffending enough.

Selena scurried after her, determined to speak “candidly” with her when she was slightly buzzed enough to be more amenable. Unfortunately, Selena’s assessment of the situation backfired spectacularly. For rather than being “amenable” to her outright admission of what this little outing was all about, Claudia turned out to be extremely belligerent. So belligerent, in fact, that one of her acrylics came off in the process of hitting/slapping Selena wherever she could land a wallop. Claudia shrieked unintelligibly as she did so, but the gist of what she said was: you think you’re better than us ‘cause you’re a few years younger? You stupid bitch!

After that day, Selena didn’t try anymore to help Claudia and her coterie of similarly-aged friends. Friends who were no longer Selena’s after they found out the intent of the trip to Ramona’s. Instead, she stood by idly, forced to watch the business gradually deteriorate as it continued to harbor female employees who, by playing society’s game in terms of what they were “expected” to do, ended up losing the game that Los Angeles plays so well: only favoring the hot and, if not young, at least young-looking.