Except that she makes no sense. Where everything about her professional identity is clear and sharp, her personal preferences are a muddle. For the first part of her life she buys blandly: basic underwear, occasional flourishes of romance; basic dresses and skirts and trousers, occasional party outfits—but all of it conventional, off the peg and middle of the road. She buys furniture the same way, and food, and alcohol. Everything is monotonously median.