It is not merely a question of vanity and inclination.  In New York, for instance, a woman must dress well, to pay her way.  In Europe, where the title of Duchess serves in lieu of a court train of gold brocade; or in Bohemian circles where talent alone may count; or in small communities where people are known for what they really are, appearance is of esthetic rather than essential importance.

In the world of smart society—­in America at any rate—­clothes not only represent our ticket of admission, but our contribution to the effect of a party.  What makes a brilliant party?  Clothes.  Good clothes.  A frumpy party is nothing more nor less than a collection of badly dressed persons.  People with all the brains, even all the beauty imaginable, make an assemblage of dowds, unless they are well dressed.

Not even the most beautiful ballroom in the world, decorated like the Garden of Eden, could in itself suggest a brilliant entertainment, if the majority of those who filled it were frumps—­or worse yet, vulgarians!  Rather be frumpy than vulgar!  Much.  Frumps are often celebrities in disguise—­but a person of vulgar appearance is vulgar all through.

=THE SHEEP=

Frumps are not very typical of America, vulgarians are somewhat more numerous, but the greatest number of all are the quietly dressed, unnoticeable men and women who make up the representative backbone in every city; who buy good clothes but not more than they need, and whose ambition is merely to be well enough dressed to fit in with their background, whatever their background may be.

Less numerous, but far more conspicuous, are the dressed-to-the-minute women who, like sheep exactly, follow every turn of latest fashion blindly and without the slightest sense of distance or direction.  As each new season’s fashion is defined, all the sheep run and dress themselves each in a replica of the other, their own types and personalities have nothing to do with the case.  Fashion says:  “Wear bolster cases tied at the neck and ankle,” or “A few wisps of gauze held in place with court plaster,” and daughter, mother, grandmother, and all the neighbors wear the same.  If emerald green is the fashionable color, all of the yellowest skins will be framed in it.  When hobble skirts are the thing, the fattest wabble along, looking for all the world like chandeliers tied up in mosquito netting.  If ball dresses are cut to the last limit of daring, the ample billows of the fat will vie blandly with the marvels of anatomy exhibited by the thin.  Comfort, convenience, becomingness, adaptability, beauty are of no importance.  Fashion is followed to the letter—­therefore they fancy, poor sheep, they are the last word in smartness.  Those whom the fashion suits are “smart,” but they are seldom, if ever, distinguished, because—­they are all precisely alike.

=THE WOMAN WHO IS REALLY CHIC=