And given my medical bills—which thankfully my insurance covered—how could I not show the world the results of these treatments? For the same cost, I could go to grad school for two years; I could purchase 155 pairs of Normatec compression boots, or enough Wolford hosiery for a small town. I could take 2,500 Tracy Anderson classes. Instead, I’ll just get dressed. So what am I going to wear? Chloe’s spring collection offered plenty of frothy, frilly leg-baring inspiration, including bloomers and bubble-hemmed miniskirts in blushy, romantic neutrals. Even longer dresses, cut asymmetrically, seemed to propose a “free the leg” agenda.

It’s been several seasons since Miuccia Prada’s Spring 2022 collection for Miu Miu summoned a veritable youthquake with its cropped, pleated miniskirts that seemed more like elaborate belts, but the Y2K references persist, from sweetly nostalgic schoolgirl styles à la Sandy Liang, to Ulla Johnson’s sporty, cargo-pocket utility shorts—perfect for holding just the essentials on my long summer walks.

But just as every curious ache or suspicious skin discoloration triggers a cacophony of internal alarms about aging these days, there’s also this irksome new question I’ve started to ask myself lately: “Am I too old for…?” I wish I could say that internal refrain didn’t echo as loudly as it does—that age isn’t even something I think about. But it is. We (and I especially mean women) have been served entire brand campaigns, sloganeering, and a litany of other cultural propaganda encouraging us not to feel insecure or hemmed in by our age. It’s just a number, right? But the need for such messaging wouldn’t exist if that mindset were the status quo from the very beginning.

The fact is, age does matter—in innumerable, and often celebratory, even humbling ways—and to declare one’s obliviousness to it is about as ridiculous as it is insincere. Embrace it or not, it’s there. It’s why Nicole Kidman’s 2022 Vanity Fair cover, in which she appeared wearing one of those infamous Miu Miu microminis and a matching bra top, drew such feverish attention. Kidman, who was 54 at the time, was both praised and scorned for the glaring youthfulness of her skin-baring look. Some found it refreshing and even fun, if only for the shock value. Others not so much. (Kidman, for her part, voiced having no regrets.) If anything, the cover set off a healthy churn of debates around ageism and beauty standards. (And for what it’s worth, I think Kidman’s legs looked great in that 4-inch skirt.)