Why I Dress Like An 80-Year-Old Woman - Elle

Sometimes, I wonder if from behind I look like an 80-year-old woman.

Picture this: Ankle-length brown fur coat, hair in a tight, low bun, short (like, 5"2), little black kitten heels, black pants, and a bag bigger than the owner. Just add a walker, right?

Last week I received a lovely gift from a friend/designer addressed to "her favorite granny." Yep, that's me. I'm playfully teased for dressing more like an elderly woman than a 26-year-old trendy gal.

While others are scouring the Internet, looking for their next item du jour, I'm sitting at my desk wondering if Eileen Fisher will continue making those amazing short silk tanks I swear by. And I know I'm not alone.

While I exist in a culture that urges women to find ways to look younger, I find myself dressing older.

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Like everyone, I had various style evolutions. Photographs of me in elementary school show me exclusively in tees down to my knees and basketball shorts wearing round, wire frame glasses. Middle school was all about falling into the Gap.

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In high school, my style icon was the Abercombie & Fitch campaign girls. I dyed my hair platinum, got a belly button ring, and wore a lot of reindeer-logoed apparel. In college, my style developed. I frequented Topshop for the latest trends, and tried to mix the high and the low by pairing Hermès scarves that I'd tie around my wrists with vintage tees from St. Marks Place.

But now I find myself in a different place entirely. A more mature place. Some may say, too mature.

I come by it naturally. I worked for a year at The Row where I frequently sat across from two women who basically invented the concept of dressing older than your age. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't pick up a thing or two from the Olsens, who always say a perfectly fitted blazer was one of the most important wardrobe staples any woman could have.

And a perfectly fitted blazer is just the start. I own a long silk smoking jacket by The Row, a Japanese hand-painted vintage kimono that my mother has tried to steal on multiple occasions, and an assortment of furs that rival any of your great great grandmother's.

My shoe collection, which was once filled with stacked platforms and red soles, now is composed of Carolyne Manolo pumps, sensible loafers, classic ballet flats, and of course, a seasonal Oscar de la Renta Spanish mule.

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While my fashion friends go gaga for the latest it-bags, I tend to save up for something lasting and less obvious. A huge leather tote, like the Everlane Petra bag which has become my every day carry all, is much more appealing to me than something crowded with hardware and logos.

Statement pieces aren't lost on me. Old lady fashion allows for flash as long as it's well thought out. I've had my eyes on Prada's spring face-printed bags since they walked the runway, and those Rochas sparkle flat mules are absolutely mesmerizing. While in Paris last month, I picked up a leopard print belt that I've worn with just about everything that I swear makes every outfit I have appear just that much chicer.

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But even with that belt I've been dubbed the granny of the group. And I'm totally okay with that.

But don't get me wrong, my granny wardrobe is sleek, buttoned-up, and black, not mothball scented, lint-bally, or dated. I prefer to call my sartorial taste timeless versus elderly, classic rather than over the hill.

Last week, the ELLE.com team offered up our spring picks, a collage of what we want most if it ever decides to get warm out. While my co-workers picked out youthful, edgy styles, I got flack for my must-have list.

"If I didn't see a picture of you next to your picks, I'd think you were 80," one editor joked.

When I posted my picks proudly on my Instagram, I was met with many granny emoji comments.

Truth be told, I had a lot more I would have added: A Judith Leiber animal shaped Minaudiere, Sydney Garber bracelets, sensible ankle length black pants and short-sleeved turtlenecks. Done and done.

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One of my earliest fashion memories is my sister taking me to Bergdorf Goodman for the first time. "It's like a museum," she told me. I saw a woman going up the escalator in a black floor-length fur and a hat that trumps any hat I've ever seen. It had feathers. That amazing, anonymous woman has always been my style icon. She, Linda Rodin (65), Carolina Herrera (75), and Annette de la Renta (74). Google them. They may become yours as well.

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So, feel free to emoji granny spam me all you want. Call me the old lady, I'll take it as a compliment. I'm willing to bet my newest nude double-faced silk dress will remain in my closet for years after your short shorts have been thrown out.