As is our habit, a gaggle of gals gathered in my office this morning to riff on the parade of Oscar fashions on view last night. For once, we were all in agreement as to the best dress: the ethereal pink Atelier Versace gown that Penelope Cruz wore. Reese Witherspoon's deep purple Nina Ricci gown with its gorgeous scalloped layers came a close second. Naturally, it was a split vote on the "worst" dress: Cameron Diaz' white Valentino that looked like cocktail napkin origami, Jessica Biel's raspberry Oscar de la Renta bed sheet or Nicole Kidman looking like the consort of Dracula in red Balenciaga. We couldn't agree.

It is pretty arrogant that we mere mortals think we can dictate what looks were "worst." Any of us would be lucky in our lifetimes to be able to wear a dress of this caliber or attend an event that would require a fresh off the catwalk designer concoction. But we're also not movie stars and we're not paid millions to perform in a film and we don't have stylists, so it's our right to act as armchair critics if we want to. So take that, Kirsten Dunst, in that dreadful blue schmata with that ridiculous collar.

That got me thinking how much fun it would be to get dressed up to the nines and go out to a fancy do. There are fewer and fewer occasions to do so anymore. My arsenal of formal evening attire, from a variety of cocktail dresses to floor length evening gowns, are hidden away in garment bags, hanging in the back of the coat closet. A few have never even been worn (yes, I'm talking to you, Max Azaria black silk charmeuse). But where's the occasion? Unless you're going to a black tie event, people don't dress up to go out to dinner or the theater anymore. It's not fair that we don't get to get dressed up more often.

Musing on this, I thought about the early days of dressing up and attempting to get it right. Through the many years of school dances, starting in the 7th grade and stretching into high school, my best friend MaryCatherineFullofGrace and I would convene at one of respective homes and spend hours getting ready together. Spouting affirmations back and forth ("Yes, wear your hair up like that" and "No, that lip gloss looks nasty" and so on), we were effective in boosting each other's confidence. By the time we left for the dance, we thought we were pretty hot stuff. In truth, it took quite a few years for us to get it right--I'd venture our sophomore year in high school--but the ritual was more enjoyable than the outcome.

The first school dance MaryCatherineFullofGrace and I attended in the 7th grade was an agony. We planned weeks in advance and spent hours putting ourselves together in her room. When we finally emerged, feeling pretty and pink and the very portrait of feminine beauty, we stood in the doorway of her bedroom while her mother snapped a photograph of us. We were hunched together in our stylish granny dresses (that being the fashion among preteens then) with our hair curled and beribboned. We gathered crocheted shawls around our shoulders like ermine stoles and wore saucy white party sandals. We grimaced at the cameras, likely in an attempt to look fetching, and our stance was pigeon toed and awkward. What I would give to see that photograph again, although in truth, it's not necessary: like an old tintype, the image is burned clearly in my memory. While we didn't blow the 7th grade boys class away, it did mark the first of countless dress up rituals we shared.

We continued to dress for big events together, even our high school reunions. And now another occasion looms -- and this will be the mother of all dress ups. MaryCatherineFullofGrace is going to be a bride (technically, this will be the wedding she and her husband didn't have when they eloped five years ago). I've been enlisted as her lieutenant and planning is already underway. Many things will happen between now and the day of the outdoor wedding on the grounds of her beautiful home in Georgia, but I couldn't imagine a better way for us to dress up together again.