A letter from a client

FOR SIXTY-EIGHT YEARS I WAS THE SENSIBLE SISTER. THEN MY SISTER TURNED SEVENTY-TWO AND ASKED EVERYONE TO “COME DRESSED LIKE JUNE.”

Diane Miller

Jackson, Wyoming · November 2026

I have never written anything like this before, and I’m not sure I’m the type. But three women stopped me on the boardwalk last weekend to ask about my jumpsuit, and a fourth asked in line at the café in Wilson. My friend Carol said, for heaven’s sake, Diane, just write it down. So here it is.

It isn’t really about a jumpsuit. It’s about my sister June.

June is four years older than me, and she has been the wild one since the day I was born. Leopard coats, leopard shoes, a leopard scarf at our father’s retirement party. Red lipstick at the grocery store. She once drove to Cheyenne in a leopard jacket just because it was Tuesday.

I was the sensible one. Navy, gray, khaki. Someone in the family had to be.

I was the sensible one. Navy, gray, khaki. Someone in the family had to be.

Last month June turned seventy-two, and her daughter sent out invitations to dinner at a restaurant in Wilson. At the bottom, in big letters, it said:

Dress code: come dressed like June.

Everyone laughed. Then I opened my closet, and I wasn’t laughing anymore. There wasn’t one thing in it June would be caught dead in.

camel, gray, stripes, black. sixty-eight years of the sensible sister. and then this, right in the middle.

THE KHAKI YEARS

Here’s what I never told June.

I always wanted to wear what she wore. When we were girls, I’d try on her leopard scarf when she wasn’t home and stand in front of the mirror. Then I’d put it back exactly where I found it, because somebody had to be the dependable one, and it was never going to be June.

So I grew up into khaki. I married Ray, raised the kids, spent twenty-two years at the county clerk’s office, and bought clothes that said “you can count on me.” None of that is a complaint. It was a good life. But somewhere along the way, the girl in front of the mirror with her sister’s scarf went quiet, and I didn’t notice her going.

soft washed denim stitched right up against the leopard. you can see where the sensible part ends and june begins.

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HOW IT HAPPENS

Nobody decides to become the sensible one. It happens one dependable purchase at a time.

Khaki pants because they go with everything. A navy cardigan because it’s safe. A gray sweater because the navy one pilled. Every single thing is perfectly reasonable. But put enough of them together and they start telling you a story about yourself, and the story is that the fun clothes belong to somebody else.

And after you’ve said “oh, I could never pull that off” enough times, it stops sounding like modesty. It starts sounding like a fact.

WHAT I HAD WRONG

I genuinely thought leopard was a personality, and I didn’t have it. That women like June were born wearing it, and women like me were born wearing khaki.

But that wasn’t true. I’d just never once let myself try it outside my sister’s bedroom.

over the banister at the top of the stairs, where i can see it every morning. ray says it’s the most interesting thing on the second floor.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. The things we wear deserve at least as much thought as the things we admire on other people.

THE JUMPSUIT IS CALLED THE Leontine

I found it on the morning of the first snow, in Nancy’s little boutique on the Town Square, where I’d ducked in to get warm.

I showed Nancy the invitation and told her I was the sensible sister. She laughed and said, “In this valley, leopard is a neutral. Half the women at the rodeo are wearing it.” Then she took this down off the rail.

It’s a jumpsuit in soft, light washed denim, the color of jeans you’ve loved for years. The shoulders and sleeves are leopard, and a stripe of leopard runs down each side of the wide legs, all the way to the hem. A proper shirt collar, a row of brass buttons down the front, two pockets on the chest and two deep ones at the hips. Roll the cuffs and the denim shows inside the leopard. From the front it’s mostly denim. From the side, it’s pure June.

My first thought was, don’t be ridiculous, Diane, you’re sixty-eight and you spent twenty-two years at the county clerk’s office. Leopard? But then I thought about that invitation, and the girl in front of the mirror with her sister’s scarf. My size had already gone from the rail, so Nancy had me order it on her website right there by the stove, before I could talk myself out of it.

the day it came, four days later. brass buttons, a proper collar, and two chest pockets. folded like this, it almost looks sensible.

There’s no waistband, so nothing digs in at dinner. The legs are wide enough to move in and long enough to cover my boots. It buttons down the front, so there’s no zipper to wrestle with. On a Wyoming evening in November, I wear it over a white turtleneck with my brown boots, and I was warmer than half the people at the party.

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN JUNE SAW IT

I got to the restaurant late on purpose, so everyone would already be sitting down.

When I walked in, June was at the head of the table in a leopard blouse, a leopard headband and red lipstick, holding a glass of wine. She looked up, saw me, and put the glass down so fast it sloshed on the tablecloth.

“Diane,” she said. “I have been waiting sixty-eight years for this.”

Then she got up, came around the table in front of everyone, and hugged me so hard my sunglasses fell off my head.

Her daughter took about forty photos. Two women at the next table asked where it was from. The waitress, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, said, “You two are the best-dressed sisters I’ve ever seen.” June told her I’d only been wearing leopard for about an hour. I told June to hush.

The next morning, standing in line for coffee at the café in Wilson, the woman behind me tapped my shoulder and asked if she could take a picture of the back.

in line at the café in wilson. the leopard runs all the way down the sides, which is why the woman behind me asked for a picture.

Ray’s only comment, on the drive home from the party, was that he’d always wondered what I’d look like if I let June dress me. He said he was glad he finally found out.

THREE THINGS I’VE LEARNED SINCE

One. Start with a stripe, not a whole leopard. If you’ve worn khaki your whole life, a full leopard outfit is too much to ask. A stripe down the sides and the sleeves, with soft denim everywhere else, is just enough.

Two. A jumpsuit is the easiest thing you’ll ever put on. No deciding what goes with what. You step in, button up, roll the cuffs, and you’re dressed for dinner.

Three. Nobody thinks you’re too sensible for leopard except you. That was entirely my own idea. June didn’t think so, the waitress didn’t think so, and Ray certainly didn’t think so.

ABOUT THE PRICE

I’ll be honest, because this was the part that made me hesitate.

The Leontine is $69.95. It was $175.00.

I wrote the price on a sticky note and left it on the kitchen table, because I was sure I’d read it wrong. With that much denim and that much going on, I assumed there had to be a catch. I haven’t found one. It’s a small local shop selling directly, so there’s no department store taking a cut, and right now Nancy is celebrating five years in business with 60% off everything.

Before I ordered, Nancy made me read the reviews on her website. She said she didn’t want me buying it just because she used to ride my bus. There are 1.500 of them, at 4.5 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I’m honest made me trust it more.

June has since ordered one for herself. She says it’s so we can match at Christmas. I think it’s because, for the first time in her life, her sensible little sister had something she wanted.

the sticky note is still on the kitchen table. june wants it framed.

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IF WE WERE AT MY KITCHEN TABLE

If we were sitting at my kitchen table with a coffee and the snow coming down, this is what I’d say.

Think about the last time you said “oh, I could never pull that off.” Be honest about whether it was true, or whether you just never let yourself try.

A jumpsuit won’t change your life. Of course it won’t. But walking into a room and watching your sister spill her wine is worth more than I can tell you. And I went sixty-eight years without it.

Two practical things. The anniversary sale is on now and the holidays are coming, with all the parties and dinners where you’ll stand in front of your closet thinking, the khaki again. And the middle sizes are going first. Nancy told me this one has already sold out once.

I was never too sensible for leopard. I was just waiting for an invitation.

Diane

Leontine - Leopard Wide-Leg Denim Jumpsuit

4.5/5 Based on 1.500+ reviews

$175

$69.95 USD
  • Soft light washed denim with leopard shoulders, sleeves and side stripes
  • Shirt collar and a row of brass buttons down the front
  • Two chest pockets and two deep hip pockets
  • Wide legs, no waistband, nothing digging in
  • Roll the cuffs for a flash of denim
  • Over a turtleneck and boots in winter
  • Free delivery across the United States
  • Easy 30-day returns

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anniversary sale is ending tonight. get yours while the sale lasts.

Diane Miller is 68 and lives in Jackson with a labrador. She is not a home writer.

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