One of the many things that I loved about my brief yet torrid time trying to become an Olympic event rider, was the eventing dress code. I am quite a traditionalist at heart, and I do enjoy a nice tweed coat.

I suppose that much like wearing a school uniform, there is far less potential for looking like a wally when everyone knows and understands the rules of the haberdashery. Or at least they did, back in my day.

This modern era of equestrianism has given rise to all sorts of nonsense. You can now fully colour coordinate your own outfit to match that of your horse. If this isn’t satisfactory, you can also add some diamantés.

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If you want to be properly cool and possibly even taken seriously, you can save up your pocket money (or re-mortgage your home) and buy the same outfits that the top professional riders wear.

Identity crisis

When I stepped away from eventing, I suffered from some sort of identity crisis. I had wanted to be an event rider since I was five years old, but multi-discipline sport had to be sacrificed when adult life got too complicated.

I decided to give show jumping a try. I had been only moderately terrible at it when eventing, and I had worked for several show jumpers over the years. I felt that I had a reasonable grasp of how to make myself fit in, and appear somewhere on the scale between ‘cool’ and ‘inconspicuous’.

I bought myself a designer show jacket (second hand), and a show shirt with a diamanté collar. I ditched my stock and skull cap, and I got the horse a nice black matchy-matchy outfit (conservative, but coordinated). I was ready to become a whole new version of myself.

Irish Midlands

The first problem became apparent quite early on in the reinvention process. I wasn’t actually very good at proper show jumping.

The second problem was that I looked like I had just teleported in from the Global Champions Tour in Miami, to a small show in the rain sodden Irish Midlands.

Further difficulties arose when the horse didn’t seem to want to join in with my plan, and she spent her time at the show doing gymnastics and Hip Hop dancing. Inconspicuous we were not. I’m pretty sure someone else’s horse spooked at my sparkling diamanté shirt, too.

Feeling like an absolute prat, I cantered down to the first fence. Frozen into self-consciousness, I forgot to apply any leg. The horse stopped, and I almost fell off.

I went home feeling very embarrassed. I sold the fancy jacket and shirt, and I realised that there is such a thing as trying too hard in all of the wrong directions.