TURNING 50: What I'm Wearing, What I've Learned, What I'm Still Figuring Out

A love letter to the decade I never expected to celebrate this loudly.

I turned 50 this week.

It still feels surreal to type that — partly because I don't feel anywhere close to what "50" used to mean to me, and partly because I've never felt more myself.

If you'd told 20-year-old me that I'd be sitting here at 50 — running my own engineering firm, building a brand around fashion and confidence, married to my best friend, living in the most adorable beach town that I grew up in with three cats — she would have laughed. Not because she didn't dream big, but because she couldn't picture what this version of life would actually look like.

50 isn't what I thought it would be. It's better.

So in true Nicole Colee fashion, I'm sharing the things that matter as I step into this decade — what I'm wearing, what I've learned, and what I'm still figuring out (spoiler: a lot).

What I'm Wearing at 50

Let me get this out of the way first: the rules I followed at 30 are gone.

There's this myth that women hit a certain age and suddenly need to "dress age-appropriate" — code for hiding, covering, dimming. I'm here to tell you that's the biggest lie sold to women of any decade, and I have zero interest in playing along.

Here's what I'm actually wearing right now:

Mini skirts and short shorts.

If my legs are working, I'm using them. The day I stop wearing a mini is the day I'm dead.

Cropped tops.

Worn high-waisted, sure. But cropped. Always.

Bikinis.

All summer. Every cut. Even the string ones. I worked too hard on my body to cover it up because someone arbitrarily decided 50-year-olds should wear "tankinis." (What is a tankini even? Don't answer that.)

Silk slip dresses.

The one item I'd wear every single day if society would let me.

Sandals & heels.

When I want to. Not when I don't.

Statement sunglasses.

Because the older I get, the more I lean into a strong accessory.

And gold jewelry.

Layered, stacked, never taken off. It's the closest thing I have to a uniform.

What I'm not wearing? Anything that doesn't make me feel like the most confident version of myself. Anything that's "supposed to" look age-appropriate. Anything I bought because someone told me I should.

The biggest style shift I've made in my 50s isn't what I wear — it's why I wear it. Every piece in my closet now passes one test: does this make me feel powerful? If yes, it stays. If no, it goes. That's the whole formula.

What I've Learned (the hard way, mostly)

I could write a book here, so I'll narrow it to the lessons that actually changed how I live.

1. Your 30s build the foundation. Your 40s burn the wrong parts down. Your 50s build it back better.

My 30s were about saying yes to everything — every project, every client, every social obligation, every expectation. I was busy but not necessarily building.

My 40s were brutal in the best way. I left corporate engineering at 43. I closed Bikini Slayer's retail chapter at 48. I rebuilt my entire business twice. I lost friendships that had outgrown me. I lost a parent. I learned the hard way that busy and meaningful are not the same word.

Now, at 50, I have a smaller life by every external measure — fewer clients, fewer projects, fewer relationships. But it's the right people, the right work, the right pace. I'd take this over my 30s a thousand times.

2. Your body is not the enemy. It never was.

I spent so many years of my life at war with my body — what it looked like, what it weighed, what it could and couldn't do. The biggest gift of getting older has been making peace with it.

At 50, I move because it feels good, not because I'm punishing myself. I eat because I'm hungry, not because I'm earning food. I look in the mirror and see someone who has lived — not someone who's failing to look 25.

If you're still at war with your body in your 40s or 50s, please stop. You only get one. Treat it like the gift it is.

3. The right person makes everything easier.

I married Nick a long time ago and he's been my softest landing through every hard year. I don't share much about my marriage publicly because it's ours — but I'll say this:

Find someone who makes the worst days feel survivable and the best days feel shared. That's it. That's the whole equation. Everything else — the houses, the dinners, the trips, the milestones — is just decoration.

4. Confidence isn't something you find. It's something you practice.

The most confident-looking women I know aren't actually more confident than the rest of us. They've just gotten really, really good at doing things scared.

Want to learn to be more confident? Speak up in the meeting before you feel ready. Wear the dress before you've "earned" it. Start the business before you have a perfect plan. Confidence comes from receipts, not affirmations.

5. Style is permission.

The most powerful thing about getting dressed in the morning is that it's the first decision you make about how you want to show up. When I put on a great outfit, I move differently through my day. I make different decisions. I take up different amounts of space.

If you've been hiding in oversized everything because it feels "safer," I want you to try one thing: put on something that makes you feel seen this week. Watch what happens. I promise it'll change something.

What I'm Still Figuring Out

I'd love to tell you 50 came with all the answers. It did not.

Here's what I'm still working on:

Slowing down. I've been a high-performer my whole life, and I'm still terrible at rest. I'm trying to relearn what "enough" feels like — both in business and in everyday life. (I'm not great at it yet.)

Saying no without explaining why. I've spent so many years over-apologizing and over-justifying. The boundary muscle is real, and I'm still building it.

Letting things be good. There's a part of me that's always scanning for the next problem to solve. I'm working on letting moments be exactly what they are without immediately optimizing them.

Aging publicly. This part is interesting. Most of my content used to be about aspiration — looking polished, looking pulled together. Now there's a tension between that and being honest about what 50 actually looks like (the fine lines, the slower recovery, the harder workouts). I'm still figuring out how to be both — aspirational and real. The truth is, women in their 40s and 50s deserve to see both.

The Bottom Line

I wasn't supposed to celebrate 50 this loudly. We're told, somewhere along the way, to quiet down about birthdays after 35. To not draw attention to the number. To slip into a new decade like nothing's happening.

I'm not doing that.

I worked too hard to get here. I survived too much. I built too much. I love this version of myself too much to pretend she's not worth celebrating.

So this is me, at 50, declaring it loudly: I'm here, I'm happy, and I have so much I'm still going to do.

If you're in your 40s, your 50s, or somewhere staring down a milestone birthday — celebrate yourself loudly. Take up space. Wear the dress. Buy yourself the thing. You earned it.

xx, Nicole

P.S. — I'm sharing my full birthday wishlist in this week's newsletter (linked at the top of this page) — the pieces I've been eyeing, the small splurges, and yes, a few real-deal dream items. Maybe a couple of them are on your list too.

P.P.S. — To everyone who's followed along through this entire chapter — Bikini Slayer, the engineering firm, the rebrand, and now this — thank you. You're a real part of what made 50 feel like a celebration. I see you. I appreciate you. And I'm so glad you're here.