What does 'mutton dressed as lamb' mean in 2014, anyway?

Let's think about gingham for a minute, shall we? Gingham and its impertinent little checks have forced me into confronting the existence of "mutton", as in "mutton dressed as lamb". There are, I suppose, the obvious mutton-y things, but haven't we rather gone beyond slapping labels on women for too short a hemline, too pink a pink, frills or plaits? Once upon a time, and not all that long ago, there was a strict set of rules when it came to choosing one's wardrobe in middle age and transgression of those rules was not an option.

I put that down to a more rigid set of social mores and less tolerance of those who wouldn't play by them, but even in the past couple of years I've seen us become far more forgiving of style eccentricity and rule-breaking, which in turn allows older women freer and more democratic access to a liberated style. While ageism in fashion undoubtedly exists it has also become less easy to define – so, does "mutton" still exist in the 21st century and, if so, what is it?

It was an email that set me on this chain of thought. The press release for Tara Starlet, a brand that might be considered too girlish for me, a woman of 58, but one that I have a great deal of time for because I love its vintage styling. The photograph showed a simple, pretty, gingham midi skirt in a large check. Gingham is one of the trickier fabrics to pull off if you're, say, post-50. Gingham is associated with school uniforms (for which reason you may understandably loathe it), summer picnics and Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Indelibly so.

Anyway, I liked the gingham skirt so much that I tweeted the photograph. Of all the comments that came back, not one mentioned gingham, but instead pointed out that a dirndl skirt can be cruelly unforgiving on a middle-aged body. And that, I suppose, is true – depending on the shape of the body. Personally, I thought this was a skirt that could be de-girl-ified quite successfully with a woolly jumper, a tailored jacket or any number of tricks and wheezes. But the dirndl thing sticks, and not just to hefty middle-aged flanks, because it's not about age really, is it? It's about shape and size and proportion, as it always is. The next thing to enter my head was an acquaintance's remark a few years ago that the two things women "of a certain age" should never attempt are gingham and puffed sleeves. At the time, I wondered whether the comment was directed at me, although I felt entirely comfortable in my (moderately) puffed sleeves and checked Zara frock.

Now, you'd be cross if I didn't spend a good deal of time flicking through rails of clothes and the pages of glossy magazines because fashion and style (particularly style) interest me enough to write about them, but when I look at new styles I'm looking with a view to wearing them myself – how and whether I can make them work for me, and whether it's worth courting ridicule (and how much) in the attempt. There's not much now that makes me go "Oh, no …" and very little that can't be subverted as long as it's not festooned with SpongeBob SquarePants – and even then it can be done, although admittedly it's a challenge. All of which makes the "mutton" thing foggier and harder to define. It used to be bows – but bows can be worn by anyone; it used to be too much cleavage – no longer the case; hair/shoulders/knees/elbows/hands? Much the same really, so it seems to me that "mutton" constraints have more to do with good taste, wit and one's own boundaries than any preconceived ideas.

Supporting this is the "I'll wear what I like, thank you very much" comment, and its many variations, which must be the single most common comment at the end of my column. Of course you will, and I would defend to the death your right to do so. If you're reading The Vintage Years, then it's fair to assume you have an interest in style and from the point of view of an older woman – brilliant, and that's what we need more of. It does seem to me, though, that a lot of older women are a little afraid of style, of changing and adapting theirs and embracing new ideas, perhaps for fear of appearing as "mutton dressed as lamb" when the concept now seems to be largely redundant. The fact that it's no longer the main issue is as liberating as reaching 50 and discovering you no longer have to play by the rules anyway. And what are rules for if not to be broken?

Follow The Invisible Woman on Twitter @TheVintageYear