During my first month of work at a fashion magazine, my editor wore two items items day in, day out—a pair of skyscraper Manolo slingbacks in tangerine suede and lemony cashmere cardigan. They finished off informal French Connection sheaths, went cool and corporate with Chanel pencil skirts, added oomph to navy and gabardine trousers. And it was then that I learned an important lesson: The truly stylish rarely change their clothes. Sure, they occasionally dip them in filtered water tinged with Italian baby shampoo before leaving them to dry in cedar airing cupboards, but there's none of that wear-it-only-once-a-week nonsense that many of us have clung to since high school.

Since that time, my objective each season has been to purchase a capsule wardrobe—a set of five basic pieces that are sufficiently directional to place me near the cutting-edge, but neutral enough to have a closet life of more than six months*.

Frankly, it's no easy task, given my magpie tendencies. Yet, when I recall my sartorial exploits in the years before the conversion to capsuledom, I realize that I invariably wore a precious few items to death every season. My hunch is, that's the way most of us dress: Who didn't spend the late '80s topping leggings with a massive jacket? The trick to define your basic pieces proactively, not retroactively—and this requires a hard-nosed reckoning with your body, your career, your life. Call it fashion therapy. As is evidenced from the responses we received when we polled America's top style-setters, one woman's capsule wardrobe is another's Halloween costume. Streamlined, all-American Aerin Lauder would never trade closets with funkily foxy Candace Bushnell. There are, it would seem, no simple formulas.

Labels: fashion notes, philosophy