After recovering from “I hate that hat,” I was told I was wearing “clown shoes.” I guess no one is listening: I dress to express my “get over yourself.”

Some of the most confident and smart! really smart! people I know never go out for a meal by themselves.

They “take out.”  They go home.  They set the table and eat the food.

I am a solo diner. You might meet interesting people and possibly find a new friend when you’re by yourself.

Some tricks to consider:

1.  If this is your first attempt at solo dining find a restaurant that serves food at the bar.

2.  Look at the person sitting on your left and at your right. Initiate the hellos.

3.  If they’ve begun their meal, inquire as to whether it’s delicious.  This is either a ruse to get the conversation going or a sincere interest in the grilled vegetable tartine that is not on the menu.  The tartine is only for regulars? Unbelievable.

4.  You’re desirous for a juicy hamburger and you’re ready to solo dine. Make a “reservation for one” and don’t get weirded out when you utter the words “reservation for one.” That’s confidence.

5.  No matter where you sit, face the door so you can make eye contact.  Keep smiling.

6.  Bring a prop.  Vanity Fair, People and Ok! magazines are fun (plus you can look at the Duchess of Cambridge’s baby bump).

7.  If you spot another solo diner and their vibe is approachable, introduce yourself. If the diner is surly and obviously not interested in conversation, beat it.

8.  Unless you’re riveted by the Duchess of Cambridge’s baby bump, consider asking the lovely solo diner if she would like to join you for dessert.

9.  Definitely a slam dunk.

1.  Looking fabulous.

I welcome constructive comments on my look but when it’s negative (e.g. “I hate that hat”) I ignore it. Listen to yourself.

I don’t like “black tie” as I would rather buy a raincoat. Still..one must honor the occasion. Trick: Buy something you can pull apart and wear as separates. I turned the heat down on the skirt by pairing it with a casual jacket.

Wouldn’t you go nuts for a collection of chic waterproof skirts, pants, jackets, and shoes? It would be a slam-dunk. (I could only find this skirt.)

My darling friends Annie (5) and Grace (3) happily agreed to demonstrate why a brightly-colored raincoat is the perfect antidote to a dreary day.

Look closely at my socks, s’il vous plait. Are they not de trop?

Dario the tailor asked me if I made the denim coat since it’s lined with mattress ticking. Oy, I wish I could be so creative.

Know anybody who can tell you everything you probably don’t need to know about wine? That’s me and paperclips.  Paperclips shaped like shirts, question marks, alligators, thought bubbles, and the two-finger peace sign. I am also crazy for paper, pens,  kitschy erasers, oxford shoes, colorful socks, and the seven grain bread from Blue Ribbon Bakery that’s sliced extra thin.

A few weeks ago, I decided my paperclip collection was getting rather sparse so I hopped a plane and jetted to Tokyo. The department store LOFT was a five story pagoda of stationery.  (Oh yes, I did see Japan’s pagodas and they are breathtaking.) But nobody does a paperclip like the Japanese and if you can’t get to Japan, you can get a sampling of them on www.jetpens.com.

As I was admiring my bounty, a woman I shall refer to as Holly for that is her name shot me a skeptical look.  She was one of my “bunk mates” on my whirlwind tour.  (Holly was not a candidate for “Best Camper of the Tour” award.”)

“Are you really that passionate…about paperclips?,” dis’d Holly.

“Of course I’m passionate.”

“Well, I’m not passionate about anything.  I find it a total waste of energy.” Sniff.  (Verbatim.)

Holly didn’t understand that people with passion have pizzazz, energy, and a youthful enthusiasm.  Passion is your life force, the lustiness that can drive you batty with dreams, plans, and a paperclip in the shape of a camera.

When I was writing The Essentials of Fabulous, I asked people for the characteristic of what it takes to be fabulous. It was unanimous:  Passion.  Passion for travel, passion for tennis, passion for the homemade granola at the farmer’s market — it doesn’t matter as long as it makes you swoon with excitement.

Poor Holly who doesn’t get it.  And poor Holly’s husband.  (That guy deserves an award.)

You do not need to rob a bank to have style. But you might consider robbing a shoe store if they sell red and white oxfords.