I bought a copy of Vogue for the first time in my life this week. It was a 700-plus-pager, cataloging the "ground-breaking" fall fashion lines that graced the runways during New York City's outrageous fashion week earlier this month.

I opened the mag cautiously in an alcove of B&N. I was making sure no one could see me groping for it while looking like a schlub in my Cape Cod sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, hair hastily piled atop my head and Anuschka Hobo-sized bags sagging under my tired eyeballs. Heaven forbid a passer-by would think I was trying to learn a thing or two about how to look presentable. I could feel myself sucked into what I perceived as a conformist behavior, aligning myself with the skewed social standards of being thin, pretty and hip.

That wasn't my purpose in picking up the publication. Rather it was a curiosity that drew me to the beauty mags that night. A curiosity about fashion as art and clothing design as a shaper of eras in human history. Something that holds the fascination of so many on this planet, across cultures and other worldly divides--there's gotta be something more to it, something deeper than the two-dimensional photo panels and ass-less size zeros.

I'll start at that surface level. And be honest. I don't know anything about what is considered "fashionable" in dress and in beauty.

Looking back on my elementary school days, my happy, youthful oblivion clouded any sense of fashion I thought I might have portrayed. As far as I was concerned, rolled up pant legs and side ponytails were the keys to sublime social acceptance. Then in middle and high school I was forced to don the dreaded school uniform. Fashion suicide! I spent seven years of my life in what barely passed for a regulation-length kilt and navy blue blazer.

And on one particular out-of-uniform day, I wore what I thought was cute at the time: a red cropped tee, a mini jean skort and my ass-kicking black and white tread sneakers. But as I strolled through the hallways, the beauty queens of the ninth grade thought it appropriate to point out how ridiculous I looked. Another time I wore a school sweatshirt to a dance (I didn't have much of a figure to show off anyway) and I left that night with an admonition and the label, "tacky."

It's a cruel cruel world out there for fashionably challenged people (with low self-esteem)! Those types run to the corner drug stores and spend their allowance on the latest issue of a beauty mag. And then they open it and fall prey to the perceived norm of being well-dressed and thin. That opens up a whole host of doors leading to dark and unhealthy life patterns.

But wait! Ugly Betty has it right.

What immediately comes to mind when you think of Victorian England, or Nazi Germany or the American Civil Rights Movement?

In my mind at least, I think of pictures or paintings I've seen of those eras. What's the first thing to notice? The clothing! If you were asked to identify the era by a picture of people at the time, you'd do it by the style of clothing you see on them. There are few other indicators to the average person who has studied high school-level history.

And in her letter from the editor, Vogue prima donna Anna Wintour described this year's line of blacks and darker, wild styles reflects the war, a growing sense of strife and intolerance in the world. I found that an interesting observation--realizing for the first time that fashion is distinct from style. Fashion is an art. Style is a more personal thing, a unique application of fashion to each individual; it's the concept to which the juvenile obsession with being a la mode more easily clings.

Maybe I'm slow to come by this realization. Or maybe I'm trying to justify my impluse purchase. Either way, it makes me feel better to know that just because I don't have the label-whore gene, or that I value comfort over style, doesn't mean I can't be fashionable.

**editor's note: an avid reader close to this writer pointed out that indeed she did serve as a stylish trendsetter at one time--while in preschool, she initiated the "socks over tights" fad among fashion-conscious three-year olds.