My friends are all beautiful, and I’m not saying that like a soccer coach who spits out, “you’re all winners” after the team has been pulverized. I’m not talking inner beauty–though duh–but mouth agape, head turning beauties. It actually almost makes me nauseous.

I’m tempted to turn off the comment function because I worry I’ll hear “you’re just as beautiful” crap. That’s not what this is here for. I’m pretty amazed with myself that I actually go anywhere at all public with these women; this has to attest to my security with myself. I’m certainly not friends with these women because of their looks… or am I?

It occurs to me just now, quite seriously, that I don’t have an ugly friend. Okay, I do have one, but she lives in Boston, so really she doesn’t count. I can’t believe I just typed that. Do we see our friends, also, as a reflection of ourselves–as accessories, like our children, choice of shoes, and breed of dog?

If I were to velvet rope it with a crew of three other chicklets, each more recherché than the next, would men find me more exquisite than if I were in the same situation, flanked with homely fems, each more course and boorish than the next? Before you answer, consider Lohmann’s.

Bargain shopping certainly breeds a rush of excitement when you reveal a gem. You almost have to check yourself, looking behind you, to see if anyone else is on to you. But bargain shopping takes work, digging through piles of mismatched clothes, whipping through wheels of hangers by sizes. Even when you reveal something you think you might like, you figure, how good can it be, it’s at frickin’ Daffy’s. Maybe you take it home but never really love it the way you love an expensive Bergdorf’s purchase. You don’t bother to fold it with scented tissue paper in your armoire. Instead, it gets put on a shelf atop the closet full of nothing to wear. You shrug at it; it’s something to throw on.

Now consider a boutique store, with a trained staff and a clean scent. Natural light, nothing overwhelming; you’re surrounded by neat order. You want to buy it all, hoping your life will become the store, fresh, clean and airy, as if you’re life is all white. It’s hard to decide, but once you do, you walk home swinging the bag. You rearrange your shelves to accommodate it. You’re in love.

Of course it’s the same item… er, same woman/man, but the scene certainly reinforces the sale. Of course, you know by now, I’m all diversion. It’s just the way my mind works. What I was going to say, even though I’ve said it before, was it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day how absolutely stunning all my friends are. If a man wants one of them over me (which they always do), then it wasn’t meant to be… and I’m not saying that like a soccer coach who just lost the game.

View photos from the Lilah Fall/Winter 2004 Collection>>