I Worked in a Funeral Home for 7 Years and I’m Still Trying to Figure Out My Style

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For seven years, I wore black to work every single day.

Not because I loved it. Not because it was my style. But because I worked in a funeral home, and black was the uniform. Conservative. Professional. Invisible.

At the time, it made sense. The work mattered. The families mattered. What I wore wasn’t supposed to be the focus.

But here’s what I didn’t realize until retirement: all those years of dressing for a job title quietly taught me to stop asking myself what I actually liked.

Retirement Handed Me a Blank Wardrobe — and I Panicked

The day I retired, nobody handed me a dress code. That sounds like freedom — and it was — but it also felt surprisingly disorienting.

For decades, I’d dressed for other people’s expectations. A management role. A funeral home. Professional and neutral and appropriate. I’d gotten really, really good at that.

I had no idea how to dress for me.

At 67, I started from scratch. Not in a sad way — in an honestly kind of exciting way, once I got over the initial shock of staring into a closet full of black blazers and wondering who I even was.

So I Asked Myself What I Actually Liked

Not what was appropriate. Not what was age-appropriate (a phrase I have a complicated relationship with). Just… what do I like?

Layered necklaces. Bracelets stacked up my wrist. Colorful handbags. Converse sneakers. Flowy things. Comfortable things. Things that feel lived in and real.

Coffee on the patio. Road trips. Being outside. The feeling that I’m still going somewhere, even in retirement.

The more I sat with that list, the more one word kept coming up: boho.

Not the full Woodstock version. But definitely the “give me a flowy kimono and comfortable sandals” version. Relaxed silhouettes. Earthy colors. Layered jewelry. Easy dresses. The feeling that personality matters more than perfection.

That last part might be what I love most about it. Boho style feels less concerned with fitting in and more concerned with feeling like yourself — and at this stage of life, that sounds exactly right.

Retirement Didn’t Change Me. It Revealed Me.

I don’t think I became a different person when I retired. I think I finally had room to be the person who was already there.

So I dyed my hair pink.

I started piling on the jewelry. I bought my first pair of wide-leg linen pants. I found a kimono I wore four days in a row because it made me feel like myself in a way a black blazer never did.

Maybe personal style isn’t something you find. Maybe it’s something you uncover — layer by layer, piece by piece — once you stop dressing for other people’s expectations and start dressing for the life you’re actually living.

I’m dressing for the woman with the pink hair. The garden that sometimes thrives and sometimes doesn’t. The dog named Luna. The husband I call BigDog. The patio. The coffee. The dreams I’m still chasing at 67.

Why wouldn’t I dress for her?

The Boho Pieces I’m Building My Retirement Wardrobe Around

I’ll be honest — once I gave myself permission to actually shop for things I loved instead of things that were just appropriate, the whole process got a lot more fun. Here are the categories I keep coming back to, with my Amazon favorites linked for each one.

Lightweight Kimonos — These are the single most versatile piece I own. Throw one over a tank top and you instantly look put together. I wear mine to the farmers market, on road trips, and yes, on the patio with my coffee.

Flowy Tunic Tops — Comfortable enough to garden in, cute enough to wear out to lunch. That combo matters a lot when you’re 67 and refuse to sacrifice comfort for style (or style for comfort).

Wide-Leg Linen Pants — I resisted these for longer than I should have. Now I wear them constantly. They’re breezy, relaxed, and somehow look intentional even when you threw them on in five minutes.

Layered Necklaces — This is where I have a problem. A fun problem. I just keep finding ones I love. Layering a delicate chain with something a little chunkier and something with a pendant? Chef’s kiss.

Stacking Bracelets — My wrists are never naked anymore and I’m not apologizing for it. Mix metals, mix textures, have fun with it.

Comfortable Sandals — Pretty and walkable. These two things can coexist. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Crossbody Bags — Hands free, colorful, and just the right size. A good crossbody is one of those things you don’t know you need until you have one and then you can’t imagine going back.

Soft Cardigans — Arizona mornings can be cool, and a lightweight cardigan in a warm earth tone is the perfect layer. Plus they photograph beautifully if you’re ever out with Luna on the patio.

If you’re somewhere in this journey too — retired, or just done dressing for other people’s expectations — I hope this gives you a little permission slip to start exploring. You don’t have to know exactly what your style is yet. I sure don’t. But that’s kind of the fun part.

What about you? Are you still figuring out your style after 60, or have you found your thing? Drop it in the comments — I genuinely want to know.