If we’re fifty years old, we probably don’t want to look like Jared Leto on the red carpet.

The mascara is laid on a little too thick, the silk shirt is plunging a little too deep, the stance is a little too oddly cocksure. (Not to mention the slightly creepy over-moisturized look he seems to have down pat.)

If we’re fifty-seven, we might want to avoid Lenny Kravitz’s mesh top and skin-tight leather pants and thigh-high boots unless we’re actually a rock star. Even Mick Jagger at seventy-fucking-eight has taken to collared shirts and well-cut jackets.

That doesn’t mean we have to resign ourselves to ill-fitting trousers and inoffensive check shirts. Being bland is no way to get through life. Being invisible isn’t going to help our cause.

We can always turn to failsafe tonal direction from Ralph Lauren, eighty-two. Or from Giorgio Armani, eighty-seven. Or even Brunello Cucinelli, sixty-eight.

Make sure you add your own personal flair. Might be a watch, a belt, something off the cuff. A signature piece of clothing that has meaning beyond functionality.

We can get paranoid as we get older. Unhappy with our thinning hair and changing body.

Or we can embrace our individuality with sartorial confidence.