At the same time, it’s hard to distinguish between the very handsome suits worn by Milo Ventimiglia and Aziz Ansari and Liev Schreiber last night. (When Casey Affleck deviated from the script and wore a vest to the Golden Globes this year, it was a Thing.) Society is about the beauty of the disappearing man, and his wee vanities, the sharp severe haircut or the extra inch of hair. (Think always of the luxury of Jake Gyllenhaal’s fingered tresses, his own quiet display.)

The other reason we wear the clothing of rich people is to show exactly how clean we are, too, how little dirt is under our nails, how we can pay to have people scrub us and buff us. The crisp lines of evening clothing show off all this luxury best.

But most of all, we are afraid of being called out. Only children and non-straight people are allowed to cut the line beyond the gender police interrogation that apparently all men fear the most — and yes, Billy Eichner in blue Valentino, cut so near to his shape that it becomes unnerving, counts. Clothes can happily unmake the man. Put a man in a splendid royal purple suit and there’s nowhere to hide. The confidence is impeccable.