There is one lady who rides the bus in the morning. She has a most dazzling array of clothing. None of it matches in pattern but she has a decided preference for brilliant colors that are layered on top of each other with Kaleidoscopic results. I rather admire her ambition to try to fit as much of her closet on her small body as she possibly can in one outing (she's not a street person...it's not out of necessity). I don't how to advise you on where to get crone clothes...because we have lived a long time and often don't have much money, we keep recycling our clothes through the years and, because our eyesight is bad, we don't notice that the colors don't quite match (or we don't care) or that the patterns clash (or we don't care) or that the edges are threadbare (or we don't care). Because we feel safely no one is looking, we dress for comfort and to our own whim. I don't mind the fact I know men my own age consider me too old to waste time on. I find it fascinating that it is often easier to talk to a young man in his twenties than a male who should be my contemporary....it gives me great hope for the future that behind the odd baggy clothes and scruffy chins, there are some delightful young men to be found who have decent manners and an unexpected kindness. The young women are too busy with their lives to waste time on me...but, I understand the truth of it: they don't want to look in my face and see their future.