Buy the funeral dress on a Tuesday when nobody has died

Buy the funeral outfit on a Tuesday when nobody has died.

That's the whole trick, and almost nobody does it. Funerals give you two days' notice and half of that goes to driving. Interviews give you four days, two of which you'll spend reading the company's website. Weddings give you six months and you'll still be in a parking lot at 9 p.m. the night before, texting a photo of a dress to your sister, asking if it reads as champagne.

So stop shopping against a clock. Three occasions, one closet, and if you're honest about your life, maybe four garments total. Expect to spend a few hundred dollars once and then not think about it again for six or seven years. A hem at a local tailor typically runs $20 to $40. That's the cheapest upgrade in clothing and the one most women skip.

Start with the one that calls at 6 a.m.

The funeral outfit is first because it's the one with no lead time, and because grief makes decisions terrible. You want to open a closet, see it, and put it on.

What works: a plain dark dress that hits at or just below the knee, in a fabric that doesn't hold a wrinkle after three hours in a car. Ponte knit, a mid-weight crepe, a fine wool. Sleeves to the elbow or a dark blazer that lives on the same hanger. Navy, charcoal and deep brown all read correctly. Black is the safest and always has been.

If dresses aren't your thing, a dark wide-leg trouser with a matching or near-matching jacket does the same job and travels better.

The trap is the fabric that looks expensive under store lighting and arrives at the church looking like it was slept in. Grab a fistful of the skirt at the rack, squeeze for five seconds, let go. If the creases stay, so will they.

What actually goes wrong at a graveside

Grass. Almost every funeral ends with twenty to forty minutes standing on it, often wet, sometimes on a slope, and a stiletto heel sinks three inches into soft ground while you're trying to hold a hymn sheet and someone's arm.

Own a low block heel or a clean flat with a closed toe. Keep them in a shoe bag, not loose in the trunk where they'll gray up. And check them twice a year, because heel caps rot off shoes that never get worn.

The other failure is temperature. Graveside services happen in February. A wool coat in a dark color, long enough to cover the hem of the dress, finishes the outfit and is the piece most women don't have. A puffy ski jacket over a funeral dress is the single most common look at a winter burial and it's the one thing that makes people look like they came from somewhere else.

Keep a pack of tissues, a spare pair of hose and a small dark cardigan in a zip bag with the shoes. Assemble it once. Never unpack it.

Wedding guest, decoded

The invitation tells you more than people think, and the words have actual meanings.

• Black tie means a floor-length gown, or a dressy separate that reads formal. Not a cocktail dress.
• Black tie optional or formal means long is welcome, and a knee-length or midi dress in a rich fabric is fine.
• Cocktail means at or below the knee, or a midi. Heels or a dressy flat.
• Dressy casual and garden party mean a real dress in a real fabric. It doesn't mean a sundress you'd wear to a farmers market.
• Festive means the reception is in December and they'd like some color.

Don't wear white, ivory, cream, blush that photographs as ivory, or anything with heavy white lace. This isn't a superstition, it's a courtesy, and it takes three seconds to check in daylight. Photograph the dress with your phone flash on. Flash is what the wedding photographer will be using.

Black at a wedding is fine in most of the country now, with two exceptions: a daytime ceremony in a small town where the older guests will notice, and any event where the couple asked for color. Ask the mother of the bride if you're unsure. She'll enjoy being asked.

Outdoor venue means grass again. Block heel, wedge, or a heel cap protector. Barns have gaps in the floorboards that eat thin heels.

Do the sitting test before you buy

Stand in the fitting room, then sit down on the bench and look in the mirror. A skirt that's correct standing can ride four inches up when you sit, and at a wedding you'll be sitting for most of three hours. Same test for a neckline: lean forward as if you're picking up a dropped napkin.

Then raise both arms over your head. If the whole dress lifts with you, the armholes are cut too tight, and you'll spend the reception pulling it down instead of dancing with your husband.

The shapewear question answers itself with the same test. If you can't sit through it for an hour at home, you can't sit through it at a reception with a plate of chicken in front of you.

The interview outfit is for the job above the one you're applying for

Dress one notch more formal than the people doing the job now. Not two. Two reads as though you're interviewing somewhere else and stopped by.

For most office roles that means a matched jacket and trouser or skirt in navy, charcoal or a quiet check, with a plain top underneath. For a school, a clinic, a bank branch or a front desk, a structured dress with a blazer is easier and gets fewer wrinkles on the drive. For a trade, a shop or a warehouse office, clean dark jeans or work pants and a collared shirt beat a suit every time, and the interviewer will notice you understood that.

Jewelry that doesn't make noise. Nothing that clicks against a table while you're talking.

Skip scent entirely. Somebody on that panel has a headache and you'll never know which one.

Carry a slim paddedfolio with printed copies of your resume even when nobody asks. Pockets should be empty. A phone bulge in a blazer breaks the line of the jacket and you'll feel it buzz through your ribs mid-answer.

New shoes are the classic mistake. Wear the pair you've already walked a mile in. Interviews involve more hallway than anyone warns you about.

Tailoring is the whole game

A $90 dress hemmed correctly beats a $400 dress that's an inch and a half too long. Take the funeral dress, the wedding dress and the interview jacket to a tailor on the same trip. Ask for the hem, the sleeve length and the waist, in that order of importance.

Sleeve length on a blazer is the tell nobody can name but everybody sees. The cuff should stop where your wrist meets your hand, so about half an inch of shirt shows.

Bring the shoes you'll actually wear to the fitting. Hems are set from the floor up.

Then put them away properly

Steam, don't iron, and do it the night before, not the morning of. Garment bags for the two dark pieces. Cedar block in the closet, not mothballs, because mothballs stay in the fabric for months and you'll walk into a funeral smelling like a basement.

Check the whole kit twice a year when the clocks change. Zipper, hem, heel caps, one backup pair of hose.

Then forget it exists. When the phone rings at six in the morning with news you didn't want, you'll be dressed and in the car in twenty minutes, and every ounce of your attention will be where it belongs, which is on the person who just lost someone.