Why do we wear what we wear? We may say our clothing choices establish our own sense of character, that they express our point of view and that they bolster our personal self esteem. We may dress to impress and entice prospective mates. We may treat our clothing choices as the first impression of our own colorful expression. Yeah, yeah. Come on. We dress the way we do, for many reasons, sure, but ultimately women dress for other women.

Let's face it. Unless they are Italian or French or Bulgarian, men on the average don't care that you have the latest Chloe bag and a wrap dress from Searle. Their interest in fashion lay in the quality of the fit (tight), the coverage (limited) or the style (skanky). I'd wager a good portion of the male demographic do not care if the lingerie you're wearing is La Perla or Hanes. OK, well maybe not the Hanes with the ragged waistband and the hole in the ass. But to my point--men ultimately are not your target audience. (Caveat: If they know the leopard shrug you're wearing is from Betsey Johnson, then they are clearly fashion forward and probably gay or French/Italian/Bulgarian and an excellent ally to cultivate. They will always tell you truthfully when you look like shit and when you really stuck the proverbial landing).

Every morning before I go to work, I examine my clothing choice for the day and silently yearn for 5 minutes of Tim Gunn's time. Imagining what he might say about a lime green leather jacket or eggplant tights, more often than not I can hear him heave with exasperation, "Oh, Jesus!" But sadly, I don't have Tim Gunn. Instead, I have my female co-workers.

Their razor sharp eyes can zero in on a new pair of shoes, article of clothing, purse, accessory or new color of lip gloss in seconds flat. I am amazed that they have committed my entire wardrobe to memory (but then again, I can say I have done the same with theirs). I know I will always get the truth, painful as it may be, from this coterie. If they are indifferent to an item, they won't say anything. If they hate it, ultimately that truth will come trailing out. But if they love it, they will ask for a closer look, feel the fabric, coo and mew over its fabulousness. Those are the good days, but they are rare. This is a tough crowd.

The challenge with this is that my co-workers have very different tastes in style than I do. I respect their opinions, but take their concerns in balanced doses. Today, I wore some layered necklaces that were somewhat Goth in nature and which featured two medieval crosses and a skull and crossbones. It elicited comment, mostly of the fearful variety, and even prompted Mamela to ask, "It's too early for Halloween, no?" Well, Mamela does wear themed jewelry around the holidays--she even wore a selection of New Orleans theme finery for the Hurricane Katrina anniversary--so I can see why she didn't get it.

In truth, the person whose fashion feedback always meant the most to me was Double D. She's incredibly stylish and always so fashion forward. Whenever she praised something I wore, I felt like a million bucks. Some days I'm tempted to e-mail her a photograph of an outfit and say, "For the love of Christ, does this make sense?"

And in the back of my head is Tim's voice pleading, "Jesus--just make it work!"