Before I start, a warning: Bimbo column, check brains at door.

That's exactly what I did, anyhow, when I got caught up in a moment recently.

Thanks to the good people at Mastercard who spared me an invite, I finally attended my first fashion show last month.

The spring/summer collection for American label Calvin Klein was the closing show for the Singapore Fashion Festival, and it was every bit as glamorous and glitzy as one could expect it to be.

In the front row, famous models and actresses mingled with corporate bigwigs. And the clothes looked simply fabulous on dour-faced models with cheekbones that could cut glass.

Maybe it was all that champagne I guzzled, or far too much trendy music at one go, but when the show ended I emerged feeling an urgent need for more couture.

So into Ngee Ann City I went, where operations at the Calvin Klein store were still dangerously in full swing.

Minutes later, I was trying on this season's hottest trend for men - shorts.

Not bermudas, mind you, but short shorts that end above the knee and are cut close to the thigh.

The pair I tried was made from the sort of grey pin-striped material you normally see on business suits.

It was ridiculously expensive ($339) and I looked - with my expanding waistline and receding hairline - like a daddy trying on his son's school uniform.

Still, I insisted to myself (and the salesgirl quickly agreed), the shorts had a certain something to them.

I had just about made up my mind to buy them when out of nowhere, a thunderbolt of reality mercifully struck.

I sheepishly returned the shorts and ran out of the store.

There comes a time in everyone's life when a particular type of wardrobe crisis surfaces.

It creeps up on you unawares, like long-sightedness.

One minute you are confidently buying anything and everything at Zara, the next you are almost 36 years old and earning pitying looks from your friends as you describe the latest thing you bought from the Spanish fashion house.

'It's kind of a tight, white T-shirt with the giant words 'Monaco Beach' written in purple and blue cursive script, very Baz Luhrman's Romeo And Juliet,' you say excitedly.

'Then imagine it's all done in watercolour and someone spilled water all over, smudging it totally!'

You expect affirming noises from your friends but instead there is silence, then the unmistakable sucking in of breath through gritted teeth.

'It's all right, it's all right,' your best friend coos, as his consoling hand reaches out to clasp yours.

The gesture is half-serious, of course, but it points to a very real problem that afflicts people every day.

For even in this fairly modern world we live in, there is such a thing as being too old for the clothes that you wear.

If you're lucky, you recognise this in the nick of time.

But some of us don't, and many more just simply won't.

My own gut feel is that some notion of dressing for your age ought to start sinking in somewhere between the age of 35 and 40.

It can be a terribly depressing time.

You've amassed a whole closet of cool clothes, but you can't wear half of them

anymore (yes, the French Connection UK shirt that says 'Hot As Fcuk' was witty at 30 but just seems sad and desperate at 37).

And just when you've made enough money to finally afford the trendy togs at fashion-forward labels such as Diesel and Energie, you can't carry off those embroidered shirts and drainpipe jeans anymore.

So you get stuck in a sort of limbo.

On the one hand, you'd love to say, as some have done, that people should just wear whatever they want. That people are as young as they feel inside, so who cares what society thinks?

On the other hand, you know that that sort of advice is plainly irresponsible. It's impractical too, as I found out for myself recently.

I had to go on a leisure trip to Shanghai with business associates that included their CEO, and found, to my horror, that 95 per cent of my after-work wardrobe looked

either too 'clubby' or too casual, and just wouldn't cut it in genteel company.

At times like these, a life filled with sensible polo shirts in 'earth colours' sadly beckons.

But must one really go down that road? Isn't there a balance that we all can strike?

Looking through a deluge of advice on the issue that's available on the Internet, I've come to two conclusions.

The first is that the younger you look, the more options you have. So if you love looking fashionable, you just have to eat well, stay out of the sun, step up your beauty regimen and hit the gym.

The second is to recognise who you are and where you are in life's journey. In the words of a recent feature in the British newspaper The Times, the ideal is to look 'broadly content with where we are'.

This means that when you are a teenager or in your early 20s, you shouldn't be hankering after a look that someone older would go for. You should be experimenting with all sorts of styles and with cheaper clothes that you can afford.

By your 50s, the article continues, you should be wise enough to analyse the season's latest trends and pick out only what's relevant and realistic for you. And since you have more financial power, you should be buying pricier, more sophisticated labels, even if you are buying less than ever before.

For someone like me in his 30s, the trick is to make the transition from trendy to stylish.

That is much easier said than done, for the spirit is willing but the cupboard is still chock-full of slogan tees and knee-length shorts.

I'm open to suggestions, people, but in the meantime, Monaco Beach T-shirt anyone?

This article was first published in The Sunday Times on Apr 27, 2008.