Nostalgia and the Hippy Skirt 

I recently experienced my first moment of pure envy.

For my 38 years in our world I have appreciated and admired other women. I admire their never ending capabilities as they morph between gentle mother to shrewd business woman; their physical beauty and their hearts which often have no end of love and compassion.

Women have such strength, such resilience to adversity, we all deserve to be admired and appreciated, especially by each other.

Thus my surprise when I felt this strange spiteful feeling as I looked and spoke to this friendly girl. She would have been no more than 20; tiny, toned, blonde and completely at ease with herself. The unknowing object of my envy was also wearing a skirt that I had purposely hunted down and realised, after a horrid 5 minutes in the change room, that not 1 of 3 sizes properly fit nor suited me.

The skirt was nothing special really, it was pretty, but most importantly, was almost identical to a skirt I had owned 20 years before. Seeing the skirt advertised on Instagram had invoked memories of when I used to wear hippy skirts and brightly coloured converse sneakers, with long, ripply, wild hair flowing down my back.

As is the case with nostalgia, although this time of my life was plagued with troubles, I choose to reminisce with rose coloured glasses, where the bond of friendship held me together, where we were oh so young, pretty and.. well young.

Youth, that was why I was envious. I felt, for the very first time, physically older. I saw a reflection of what I used to look like and I experienced true clarity that that time of my life is over. I had looked at that lovely girl and saw youth, a flat stomach, hips untouched by children, skin bronzed and yet to show the sun damage lurking underneath. I felt old.

Ironically, I don’t want to be in my 20s again, I like myself better now, I am better, in every way that matters. I understand my body, I love that I can run long distances, that I can competently practice yoga, contorting my body to bend and stretch, that I can practice handstands and cartwheels with my daughter and kick the footy with my son. I love that I can easily haul my chubby baby around and play crawling chasy. However, in that moment, I forgot all that I love about my able body and saw its age.


This small and insignificant moment in time sparked something deeper for me. It brought to the forefront a profound grateful feeling. I am growing older, what a privilege that is. I have wisdom that lovely girl is yet to obtain and even better, I know that I have so much more to learn.

As I walked out of the store, swinging a bag containing a hippy skirt I could wear, on the way home to my husband and three healthy children, I threw a thank you up above, I’ll take growing older.. the hippy skirt is optional.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this post. There’s a nifty little comment field below. Much love xK

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2 thoughts on “Nostalgia and the Hippy Skirt 

  1. Amen sister!
    What an insightful, well written piece Kirsty :0)

    Every now and then, pretty young things, my body and my brain rudely remind me that I’m not in my twenties anymore! Sob !! But then I remind myself of an insight bestowed upon me in the most unlikely of places – tha club! It went like this:

    One night in my late twenties I was out partying with my fab girlfriends. It was early and relatively low key when we sensed the undisguised scorn of several older women nearby. They were in their late 30’s/early 40’s and glaring over at me and my group of fabulous, gorgeous friends.

    At first we were concerned- had we offended them? How so? After an hour or so of this strange behaviour it dawned on me what was going on. ‘Girls’, I said ‘the only thing we are guilty of is being young and fabulous and they are a bunch of jealous, OLD women!’

    We made a pact then and there that we would never do that to younger women when we get old (‘cos 38 is like, sooo old right??!), we would accept getting old gracefully and rock it! And if we did ever feel a tinge of jealousy we would punish ourselves by striking up a conversation with them and being especially nice. Smoothing the path for the next generation perhaps?!

    Since then (I hope) I kept my pact and have realised youth is a fleeting possession that passes on eventually. Hopefully those young pretty things remember the ‘old’ women that were nice to them when they are aging gracefully and returns the favour !!

    Oh, we found out several months later my call was bang on the money…. but that’s another story….



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