I have always loved getting dressed. Not merely putting clothes on. That is a biological necessity in most jurisdictions. I mean getting dressed. Choosing who I want to be for the evening. There is something almost theatrical about it. A black dress says one thing. A soft sweater says another. A pair of heels can change your posture, your pace, even your mood. Red lipstick is practically a behavioral intervention. And yes, I know there is a modern school of thought that says we should all dress only for ourselves. I understand the sentiment. But I’m going to confess something terribly unfashionable: Sometimes I dress for men. There. I said it. I also dress for myself. For women. For the restaurant. For photographs. For the weather. For the occasion. For the sheer entertainment value of seeing whether I can still pull off a particular dress.

Human beings have been decorating themselves since we figured out how to make beads. I don’t think we need to pretend attraction suddenly stopped mattering. There is pleasure in being looked at by someone you like. There is pleasure in knowing that a man walked into the room, saw you, and forgot whatever sentence he had been planning to say. I consider that a completely wholesome recreational activity. But dressing well is not only about seduction. It is about making life feel like an occasion. This is something I worry we’re losing. Convenience has won so many battles. Sneakers are comfortable. Stretch fabrics are forgiving. Delivery means we don’t have to leave the house. Video calls mean people occasionally conduct serious business while wearing something below the camera frame that should never be seen by a colleague. I am not against comfort. I own sweatpants. They know things about me. But I don’t want comfort to consume ceremony.

Sometimes it is good to make an effort. To put on earrings. To polish your shoes. To wear the beautiful jacket you keep “saving.” Saving for what? We spend a strange amount of our lives preserving nice things for hypothetical future occasions. The good china. The expensive perfume. The dress that is “too much” for Tuesday. Perhaps Tuesday needs help. I think one of the quiet luxuries of adulthood is realizing you can declare your own occasions. Champagne does not require an achievement. A beautiful dinner does not require an anniversary. The earrings can come out because it is Thursday and you are alive. That is sufficient. There is also something generous about dressing up for other people. When someone invites me somewhere lovely and I make an effort, I’m saying, I understood the assignment. You planned something. I appreciate it. I participated. A beautiful room becomes more beautiful when the people in it have made an effort too. Have you ever attended an event where everyone is dressed beautifully? The entire atmosphere changes. People stand differently. They move differently. The evening acquires a little electricity.

Of course, I have also made terrible fashion decisions. This seems important to admit. Anyone who has been dressing herself for several decades has photographic evidence that should probably be held under seal. There were trends. There were experiments. There were moments when someone should have physically prevented me from leaving the house. I regret nothing. Well. Almost nothing. Fashion is supposed to be fun. That is another reason I resist taking elegance too seriously. Nothing ruins style faster than becoming frightened of getting it wrong. Wear the ridiculous shoes. Try the strange neckline. Buy the hat. Fine, perhaps reconsider the hat. But play. I admire women who clearly enjoy clothes more than they obey clothes. And I admire men who understand that style is not synonymous with expense. A man can be incredibly attractive in something simple if it fits beautifully and he feels comfortable in it. The same is true for women. Confidence does most of the tailoring. And please understand: I am not arguing that everybody needs to dress formally. One of the sexiest things in the world can be a man in an old white T-shirt on vacation. Context matters. The point is not formality. The point is intention. There is a difference between effortless and not trying. Effortless often requires an absurd amount of effort. Ask any woman whose “natural look” involves six products.

I suppose what I love most about dressing up is transformation. Not into someone false. Into a slightly heightened version of yourself. The glamorous version. The romantic version. The dangerous version. The woman who orders a martini instead of sparkling water. The woman who stays out later than she planned. The woman who catches her reflection in a window and thinks, Well, hello. Clothes cannot create that woman. But sometimes they can introduce you to her. So yes, I will continue dressing up. Even as the world gets more casual. Even when sneakers would be easier. Even when the restaurant technically has no dress code. I will wear the perfume. I will probably wear the heels. I will complain about the heels approximately ninety minutes later. And if I am going somewhere with a man I particularly like, I will still spend too long deciding what to wear. Not because I think I need to impress him. Because anticipation is part of pleasure. And sometimes the evening begins long before you leave the house.