Mary was sitting in her usual chair off to a side of the day room. She had the look of someone who has spent many years sitting in rooms just like this one in other psychiatric facilities. Her hair was long, gray, and unkempt. Her sweatpants fit tightly over her big belly. Her sweatshirt did not quite match the pants, and it was stained where food had spilled down her chest. She did not talk much, but she saw everything and knew a lot. One day I was walking through the day room and felt her eyes follow me. She commented favorably on my appearance, and when I thanked her, she added that I "should use a little lipstick." A week or so went by and I was hurrying through that same day room when Mary reviewed my appearance and complimented me again. "Well, I remembered to wear lipstick." "Yes," she replied, "now you need to improve the shade." My grandmother, Minna, knew a lot about self-adornment. For her, matching clothes to shoes was no big deal—just a starting point. She could match a suit with gloves, a handbag, a scarf, and jewelry as well. She wore a fair amount of makeup, and I cannot remember now, but I’ll bet that her lipstick and nail polish were always the right shade for her unnaturally blond hair and fair skin. She did not have to "remember" to put on lipstick when leaving the house, as I do. It was just part...