Why men love wacky wardrobes

To hell with humility: my fiancée is a style virtuoso. Often surrounded by clones in halter tops and pencil skirts, Abby will dance through the night in a silver onesie, three-quarter-length on the legs but full-sleeved, worn over a silver swimsuit. In her outlandish Louis Vuitton shoes, floral straps flapping in and out of the schooner-glass-size holes in their preposterously raised wooden heels, she moves to the beat with as much seductive elegance as she would in a pair of lovingly battered Converse sneakers. On our wedding day, she's intending - conservative onlookers might say "threatening" - to wear a see-through, double-layer silk dress, a hand-painted black design at its billowing base, in place of the traditional chintzy alternative.

Women's fashion is quirky, bold and, at times, crazy - and Abby refuses to miss out on the fun. I find her sartorial bravado devastatingly attractive. And I'm not alone in such praise. Steffan Sacco, beau of the flamboyantly dressed stylist Sarah Bonett, is equally enamoured with his partner's outlandish dress sense. "I love the fact that what Sarah wears isn't your typical suburban fashion outfit that you can buy from chain stores located all over Australia," he says, singling out her Herve Leger bandage dress for special praise.

Part of the attraction, says Sacco, is Sarah's imperviousness to a bland status quo. "I love that she looks different without buying into trends you see everyone else wearing." There's also the implied confidence and the eye-turn factor (yes, we secretly love you being the centre of attention). Besides which, a daring guise - tastefully appointed and carried off with confidence - is aesthetic dynamite.

Kelvin Ho, whose partner is Jacqueline Perrett - communications manager, Australia at Sass & Bide - agrees. "I appreciate Jac's thrown-together look," he says. "It's laid-back and understated but still luxurious and considered. A tan-and-black Balinese '70s batik sarong and her draped suede coat deserve a special mention, as do her Jil Sander pumps."

But surely, I hear female readers cry, men would prefer us to live, work and sleep in hotpants and the kind of bikini tops that look more suited to slicing hunks of cheddar on a deli counter?

Okay, guilty as charged - to an extent. Traditionally, men have valued women's fashion according to how much the fabric - be it by a complete absence or a clinging presence - reveals what lies beneath: the female contours we're biologically predisposed to gawp at. When English model Jean Shrimpton caused an outcry by wearing a miniskirt to the 1965 Melbourne Cup, the protests were much more muted from the male camp. We can't help it. We have evolved with a nerve that runs from our loins to our tongue, and a woman in tight jeans getting off a bar stool triggers an involuntarily response in the former that causes the latter to unfurl like a famished cartoon mutt's. "I'd never say the Pirelli calendar isn't exciting," admits Ho.

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