They say that after a certain age, a woman should become a whisper.

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We’re told to trade our sequins for beige, our hemlines for sensible lengths, and our voices for a polite, fading hum. We are expected to subscribe to the invisible years.

Well, this Saturday, the King’s Road is going to be anything but quiet.

I will be leading more than a hundred women in the world’s first Mutton March, and we won’t be wearing sensible coats as we strut our stuff.

Instead, London will be treated to a riot of leopard print, clashing neon, sequins, and gold boots. We even have one fabulous woman joining us on roller skates. We aren’t just walking; we are staging a blistering defiance against the most tired, sexist, and ageist trope in the British lexicon: "mutton dressed as lamb."

This movement didn’t start in a boardroom; it started with a sting. Standing at the entrance of Sloane Square tube station in June last year, I asked my partner to take a snap of me in my favourite leopard print hat.

A passing male stranger, with all the unearned confidence of the fashion police, sniggered as he walked past and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was "mutton dressed as lamb".

It’s a phrase designed to humiliate, intended to tell women like me that their expiration date has passed and that any attempt to remain vibrant is pathetic. But why should we let a derogatory term about livestock dictate our joy?

For too long, the British media has weaponised this trope to shame our icons. Look at Carol Vorderman, Amanda Holden, or Liz Hurley. These are women at the top of their game: fit, fierce, and formidable. Yet, every time they step out in a daring dress or a bikini, the comment sections erupt with vitriol. They are told to "grow up" or "dress their age." What they are actually being told is to stop taking up space.

The Mutton March is our answer to that "too much-ness." If being too much means refusing to disappear, then we are guilty as charged.

On Saturday, as we march from Sloane Square, we are reclaiming our visibility. Audacious fashion is not about vanity; it is a radical act of protest. When a woman over 40, 50, or 70 puts on a pair of gold boots and a faux-fur leopard coat, she is saying: "I am still here. I am not a relic. I am a riot."

I first posted my “mutton” experience online in a LinkedIn post, and it went viral. I was flooded with messages of support from women who have had enough of being told to fade into the background. Women are tired of the rules. We are tired of being told that our confidence is a cry for attention rather than a celebration of self.

So, to the man who called me mutton: thank you. You sparked a movement. This Saturday, the King’s Road belongs to the "too much" women. We aren't mutton, and we aren't lamb. We are simply ourselves: unapologetic, audacious, and impossible to ignore.

Amanda FitzGerald is a PR expert who works with women to build business through visibility.

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