We bought them in nasty, bare-bones stores, and even though you looked really great—because you are so beautiful that anything looks good on you!—when people asked you where you got that amazing thing, you were inclined to shrug and say vaguely that you couldn’t remember or that it was a gift or some other bad lie.

Now, of course, if you stop the chicest girl in the corridor and inquire as to where she found her perky pleats, her fringed fandangos, she fairly shouts out the 29th-floor windows that she got them in the most plebian shop on the high street, or fished them out of a bottom of a thrift shop bin. Even those among us blessed with a fat purse extol the virtues of mastering the mix, popping a Zara blouse over a Chanel dirndl or marrying a Topshop topper to Céline trousers.