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In the journalist Cintra Wilson's new book Fear & Clothing, the sometime Salon regular and former Critical Shopper columnist at The New York Times sets off on what she calls a psychological invasion of America's closets, packing her secret decoder pen for colour commentary – and in the prologue, placing herself under the scrutiny she famously gives others.

Intrigued by the tribal signals of style, the fashion outsider set out on a several years-long investigation into the prevailing closet culture in cities and at regional cultural events around the U.S. Think Utah, Kansas and Wyoming, the Kentucky Derby and Iowa State Fair. The book, filled with delectably vivid, candid critiques that are generally about as comforting as needle-lined cashmere, is a wardrobe walkabout by a gonzo, gimlet-eyed Gulliver.

Her field notes impart more about conformity and personal style – what she considers "the collision point between our fantasies of who we are, the larger realities we live with, and the way we are perceived by others" – than any fashion how-to guidebook could. And Wilson's excursions – and incursions – into retail and style are varied: from upscale shopping at Bal Harbour and the South Beach strip of Miami where geography influences even business dressing because beach and city are a block apart to Birmingham, Ala. ("The Belle Jar"), San Francisco ("The Macramé Belt") and Utah ("The Chastity Belt"). She is never more caustic than when analyzing the power wardrobes of The Beltway in Washington, D.C. and the "clean, monarchic glamor" of designers who cater to First Ladies.

With no easy tear-out lists or personality quizzes, Fear & Clothing may not be the how-to for everyone, but it is the one most people need. There is no flattering wardrobe makeover or Cinderella moment, nor any of that building blocks nonsense. "The whole consumer myth that there's only one way to look good is toxic, violent, manipulative, boring, and fundamentally untrue," she writes. "Authentic self-expression comes in no 'correct' size shape or price tag."

It's a given for Wilson that even those who don't think about clothes are wearing outfits. This is what she extrapolates from a visit to Sundance, surveying the gaggle of screenwriters: "They are noticeably less virile and robust than the actors. To compensate for their lower sexual stock-market value, they employ intrigue by being visibly more eccentric: straggly beards, Elvis Costello glasses, a carefully selected Pantone spectrum of layered, wash-faded shirts visible under professorial blazers in balding corduroy."

After being grounded in Salt Lake City by snowstorms, Wilson further explores the local customs and dominant dress codes. She revels, for example, in the intricate handmade holiday vests that perfectly express how young Mormon women of the community go from virgin to matron without passing Go. The pieces are "wrought in obsessive-compulsive hand-stitched appliqué, suggesting the kind of cloistered sexual frustration that produced masterpieces like the Book of Kells."

Fear & Clothing is ferociously good, particularly because, glinting among the non-advice, there are tidbits such as this: Throughout her travels, Wilson buys uncharacteristic clothing objects (a gold leather jacket, a shirt in coral silk so bright it practically vibrates) explicitly to test them as personality stretchers. In passing she applies them to the situation and to "fashion determinism" – her theory of the way fashion choices help achieve "minor ego death" and can assuage social misfitism. It's the counter-intuitive tack to the usual "buy what suits you" piffle.

"To change your presentation is to force the evolution of your character," Wilson writes. "To reshape your insides and give your future self a jump-start, buy new boots you think are too exciting for you, and make your personality grow into them."

That, in the end, is a how-to – by example, teach, not preach, that fashion is permission. Surprisingly, like an after-the-credits film reveal, it comes complete with a brief but practical coda (the advice involves measuring tape). For anyone familiar with Wilson's brand of bracing truth, the prose hug of sincere encouragement may seem out of character. But that's the thing – being unpredictable and algorithm-defying is a lot like personal style itself.

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