Everything I know about fashion, I learned from gay men

We won a Silver CMA and, seemingly against all odds, I didn't pull a pratfall on the stage.

In fact, with my freshly coiffed flip, Audrey Hepburn style dress, authentic vintage shoes that my Mom wore a couple of time in the fifties, and perfect jewellry, I was virtually unrecognizable. Pretty even.

I have a lifelong relationship with gay men to thank for how I looked.

If you haven't been on the receiving end of my BFF's speech about wearing white after labour day, you're missing out. Forget Stacey and Clinton. Gay men don't follow the rules -- they MAKE them.

That's why, when my BFF showed up to pick me up for the ballet last night, he felt completely comfortable giving me a full appraisal.

"Nice dress," he said.

"I thought it was very Diane von Furstenburg," I said, proudly.

"Norma Kamali," he corrected. What was I thinking. I was a young Luke Skywalker in the presence of Yoda.

As I reached down to strap on my flats, he tsked. Tsked!

"Heels," he said. "The flats do nothing for that dress."

"But we're going to have to walk down Queen Street!" I pleaded.

"Heels," he said firmly.

So heels it was. He was right.