Before the trip, the Divine Stylist and I sent pictures back and forth to make sure everything coordinates. Given my worship of beautiful clothing, she has more impact on my life than anyone, with the exception of my therapist and my family. She has been my sartorial shrink, honing my style, putting all the components together. She knows what I like, even when I initially say I don’t like it. Before I started shopping with her at Gucci, I could count on one finger the number of compliments I got from strangers on what I was wearing. Now I get dozens, 99 percent of them from women and gays and African-Americans who appreciate go-for-it style. No wonder male heterosexual whites are aimed toward obsolescence, boring the rest of us to death.