Anna came in the room, and we both looked at me in the mirror. It was, without a doubt, the nicest dress I’d ever worn. Even so, something about it was too loud, too garish.

“Do you like it?” Anna asked.

“Uhm. It depends, I guess, on what it would be for.” I was hoping for some sort of clue as to Anna’s intentions.

She sighed sadly. Maybe I had said something wrong. She left the bedroom. From her dressing room, I could hear the sliding of hangers as she frantically searched her wardrobe.

I thought I did the bold thing by following her.

Anna’s dressing room was modest in size, considering. And yet the contents were anything but modest. She didn’t own the typical Chanel lace dress, nor did she have an Yves St. Laurent royal purple over-the-top sex dress, nor did she, like Debbie Beebe, have her grandma’s Edwardian wedding gown, now tea-dyed. No, her clothes were more elegant, unique, and eclectic, as if she knew herself as I was coming to know her—as a person with many moods.

A different Anna chose the second dress. She seemed chipper, all smiles, saying, “Maybe you’ll like this one better.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like—”

“Shhh,” she said, “I know.” She unzipped the garment bag and lifted out the gown. It was dark copper, of a pleated shiny silk. It was a one-shouldered full-length Grecian-goddess dress.

I was still wearing her Valentino, hoping, I suppose, that she’d excuse herself while I changed. But she stayed in the room with me, watching. Just as I was about to make a joke about my underwear, I thought of what Tim would say—This is me. This is how I dress. And even though I said nothing, at least I didn’t make fun of myself or make some sorry excuse.

Once I had the second dress on, Anna said something about my looking regal, statuesque. I wasn’t thinking about how I looked but how I felt, which was great. This is why some people spend millions on clothes. In my mind, I started to accessorize, imagining a gold Cleopatra coil to wear around my wrist, for starters.

Anna tilted her head, thought a bit. “We can do better.”

“Why? What for? How can we do better?”

She disappeared into her closet and called out: “The dress. Something about it makes you seem untouchable.”

Untouchable? What an odd word choice.

I joked, “All I know is this gown does encourage one to stand tall.”

“Let’s keep looking.”

Each dress that followed seemed to raise the bar. I tried to act as if this were an everyday occurrence. But soon any subtlety on my part was gone. I was intoxicated. And her litany of compliments didn’t help! “You have great bones,” she said. “You have a great neck.” “Clothes look great on you.”