May Time. My time.

Actually, I wanted to stay out of it and just add my two cents every now and then. If anything, I should probably write something about fashion.....maybe about trendy feminine silhouettes, figure-hugging cuts, elegant looks. All the things that are supposed to make women like me suddenly think we're ballerinas just because we squeeze into a dress that looks exactly like it was designed by someone who would rather shape women than understand them.

But I can't! Not because I don't have an opinion (I almost always do - even on things that don't concern me), but because I realize that I'm no longer easily impressed: I am no longer easily impressed by so-called trends!

That sounds more dramatic than it is. It wasn't an epiphany moment, a bolt from the blue, a sudden burst of wisdom. It was during a stroll through town - when I was once again curious about what is currently being called a trend in mainstream stores - a mirror. A normal, slightly dirty mirror in a changing room that showed me what I had already feared: In the latest must-have, I look like I tried to get dressed with a vacuum cleaner pipe. This dress in the changing room - this expression of springtime elegance with a deliberate emphasis on my feminine curves - choked me like looking down an empty elevator shaft. I stood there, between the racks with all the "it-pieces" and thought: Who actually decided THAT was me?

Current fashion trends are a bit like guests who drop by unannounced and then make themselves at home on your sofa. At some point, you stop offering them coffee and start ignoring them instead. That's the moment when freedom begins! Haaahh! The freedom to admit to yourself that you no longer look like a teenager when you're over 60, even if you squeeze yourself into their clothes. That for most of us, "trend" is just another word for "uncomfortable" - and that self-love has nothing to do with perfection, but with no longer apologizing for things that others want.

So I hung the dress back on the hanger - not out of protest, not out of principle, but simply because I no longer wanted to feel like a bad performance artist. Don't worry, I still won't be wearing jogging bottoms to dinner - there are certainly other options. But I won't be walking around in clothes that leave me breathless either. Quite literally! Maybe "May Time" isn't a season at all. Maybe it's just the moment when you stop asking yourself if you can wear something and instead ask: "Do I want to wear this? Does it suit me?"

I've definitely made a resolution this year: I'm only going to wear things that I can laugh, walk, sit and - if necessary - even run away in. No trousers that cut off my circulation. No blouses that force me to cross my arms in front of my stomach all evening. No shoes that make me look like I have water balloons instead of feet after ten meters.

Instead: fabrics that breathe. Cuts that leave room. Colors that don't make me look like an overripe strawberry. Fashion that doesn't scream: "Look, I'm trendy!" - but instead states: "I am me and that's wonderful!"

So yes, I'm going to show some leg this May! But in a skirt that allows me to climb stairs without fear of traumatizing the neighbor's kids. Yes, I will show my arms! But in a shirt that doesn't look like it was designed by a sadist. And hell yes, I will go out in public! But not in outfits that remind me throughout dinner that I should "actually" look different. But in looks that dress me well, that emphasize my personality and don't hide it.

Maybe that's the true luxury: no longer asking whether something "fits" - but knowing that it fits you. If that's not avant-garde, then I don't know what is!