The '90s unabashed courtship with Page Three has toppled, making way instead to polite 'no-press' parties that thrive on the idiosyncratic style of the hostess to make a success of it, not the number of flashbulbs. Snobbery is the new black (again) and it's okay to pooh-pooh the philistine.

Bandana Tewari deconstructs the 'ladies who launch' who have replaced society's 'ladies who lunch'

One part sex kitten, one part globetrotter and just about every other part super-efficient wife, mother or lover, today's locomotion ladies are all sparkle and sizzle. And they are everywhere. Whether it's straddling a social cause or giving their derrière their due, society women do what the cherry does to a pudding. They make the mundane, look delectably sublime.

"I have Social Disease. I have to go out every night. If I stay home one night I start spreading rumours to my dogs," said Andy Warhol, the man responsible for spawning a culture that thrived on whether you served caviar at a party or not. He exemplified the late '70s and '80s excesses of high-life that saw women and wealth being displayed in some strange ways. There were naked girls that popped out of birthday cakes, limpid beauties that floated in giant champagne bowls (from where you and your friends could partake in a communal drink) and everyone twinkled like chandeliers. There was even a photograph of Bianca Jagger shaving her armpit seconds before she walked out of her limo to a sea of paparazzi. She was the ultimate social queen. In the midst of his torrid romance with her, Mick Jagger would fly to Paris between concert dates just to see her for a few hours. She would tell him that she couldn't cancel her appointment with the hairdresser. Good on her. Society excess was the norm. After all, 'flash' was king, spandex and unbuttoned satin shirts that exposed gold medallions and diamonds the size of ostrich eggs, the necessary ingredients of a well-endowed life. Being blasé was a good thing.

But it's 2004 now and thank god 'flash' is dead. All hail the Power-Buffed Girl! Glitter has given way to gleam, brash to blush; in short, Social Disease has given way to Social Panache. Bling-bling is too Hiltonesque and may warrant a salacious tag; head to toe D&G is strictly for Milan and it's quite the thing to announce unabashedly that real men do listen to their wives and opera. Spare her your 'you-are-the lady-who-lunches' sneer. It is well known that this epithet is as passé as your yearning for a real Vuitton. Believe columnist, Kanika Gehlaut, when she says that the 'lunching ladies' have given way to 'launching ladies'. So, it is perfectly acceptable for a chi-chi product to ride on her social panache. Validation of any kind is required, nay, begged of her. After all, she sways the mood, swings the decision, strings the purse and adds a marvellous sheen to marketing budgets. Upwardly mobile is what she makes of you, eventually. Without her validation, nothing moves. Whether it's a benefit match or Barolo wine tasting, she is so all together and supremely opinionated even as she packs in a mean Martini between one ambassador and another.

This Power Buff Girl is invited everywhere. But discretion is her pet Chihuahua. The '90s unabashed courtship with Page Three has toppled, making way instead to polite 'no-press' parties that thrive on the idiosyncratic style of the hostess to make a success of it, not the number of flashbulbs. Snobbery is the new black (again) and it's okay to pooh-pooh the philistine. While your intellectual affiliations may remain unchallenged, she's most likely to tweak your political ones. So don't humour her with your ambiguous statements. She knows ten per cent of the world is at war and she worries about the fishing industry in Japan. If you mince your words and insinuate a blonde joke, she's likely to help you spit it out with Machiavellian scorn. She also knows that no amount of tulle, sequin or Prada corsage can belie a dull mind; just like she knows never to trust a man with a necktie. ("How intelligent is it to start the day by tying a little noose around your neck?") In short, she did read Edward de Bono when it was important and knows Tracey Emin sold out to Longchamp. Don't know who Tracey Emin is? Longchamp? Tch, tch…that's precisely her point.

And people, realise we live in a world where we are done cloning sheep. We are now cloning humans, eating genetically modified food and pretty much sold to the idea of stem-cell research. So reflect on your words when you tell her that fashion is unnatural. Besides, as someone wisely commented, when women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. So take your time the next time you run your fingers through her faux fur. Listen ardently when she tells you Burberry and mulberry are not related. Let her draw parallels between Cubism and fashion's deconstruction. No one brings the finer nuances of life as succinctly as she does. Or else our world would be fraught with a fashion sensibility based simply on clothes that itch and those that don't. And per chance you expound some odd, postmodern theory of fashion that says label-worthiness comes from luxury that you enjoy for yourself; not what one assumes is for the envy of others…well, wake up and smell Chanel No 5.

She knows the global fashion industry is bigger than the global armament industry and she's all the more empowering (and peace-loving) for buying a La Perla seamless bustier than one B2 Bomber that costs more than the UN's annual budget. Really, it's only a matter of perspective, she will tell you. Therefore, please, when you are told it's cool to wear home-grown linen or that it's perfectly fine to enjoy a local brand of cigarettes without feeling 'suburban', go ahead and indulge. She is your arbitrator of conscience and style. She'll probably spare you the ignominy of being typecast in a country that is becoming increasingly trashy. She understands your discomfort while toggling between TV 'Item-dance competitions' and hideous soap operas where women either nit-pick or conspire for money. Please join her in her disapproval of the 'Bollywoodisation' of India whether it's Gurinder Chadha's Ludhiana-meets-LA version or Karan Johar's tearjerkers. Apart from Indian kitsch and 'Item Girls', the world is bound to think we have nothing much to offer in terms of everyday style and social culture.

Until of course you meet her. So give the darling her due. She gives our lives a far better sensibility than the one fed to us daily by the other boob-tube. She makes life frivolous and frolicsome but never without charm. Her social flair is like her inimitable style, a cross between Parisian cool and flea-market hippie-headedness. So, trust her when she dares to define our country's social lustre.