These last few weeks have been a whirlwind of quick trips. I've been in Detroit twice, New York, Chicago and I'll be back in New York next week to attend the Vogue Fashion Fund dinner and to preview the upcoming Balenciaga exhibition. My friend Sandy Schreier will have several pieces in the show and I'm looking forward to seeing them. She has an exquisite collection of ready-to-wear and couture; she began collecting back when even museums were a little iffy on whether fashion was worth preserving. Sandy lives in Southfield, Michigan -- a fact that I love. It's just further proof that interest in fashion -- and expertise in it -- stretches far beyond New York. And, indeed, often it's the folks outside of NYC who have the best sense of what really matter. A little distance from the center can often prove useful.

In Detroit and Ann Arbor, I talked a lot about the link between fashion and public perception, particularly in Washington. What was striking to me at both events was how interested folks were to consider the way in which fashion shapes their identity. I bring this up because the Washington Post received incredible kudos for being willing to dedicate space to the topic. And in the back of my mind, I kept thinking, "Yes, but for how long?" I don't mean to suggest that the Post isn't committed to its fashion coverage. But the industry is not like sports. It doesn't have an outsize place in our culture. It doesn't conjure up all sorts of metaphors about battles and wars. And it's not an obsession of men.

Fashion isn't essential. But clothes are. And clothes are worth talking about and thinking about.

Sometimes it seems that the farther I get away from New York, the more clothes matter -- not in a "who's got the trendiest handbag way" but in a look at me, understand me, respect me sort of way. In New York, people have fun with their attire and they use it to express themselves. But I'm not sure it actually means as much as it does out in the hinterland. I think for a young girl in the Midwest, dressing differently is more of a risk, more of an act of bravery, than it is for a girl who calls the West Village home.