Only men who are not interested in women are interested in

The words of Anatole France, “Only men who are not interested in women are interested in women’s clothes. Men who like women never notice what they wear,” cut through the illusions of society with sharp irony. In them lies a profound observation: that true affection does not linger on the garments of the beloved, but on her being. The clothes are but a veil, while the soul, the spirit, the essence—these are what draw the heart of a man who truly loves.

The origin of this truth lies in the long history of vanity and spectacle. In courts and salons, kings and nobles often paraded their ladies as ornaments, adorned in silks and jewels to reflect their wealth. Yet those who loved women not as companions but as possessions were often the ones most attentive to attire. By contrast, the man who cherished the living woman—the fire in her eyes, the music of her voice—was blind to the raiment she wore. For in true affection, the garment vanishes, and only the person remains.

Consider the story of Abelard and Héloïse, whose love in medieval France defied custom and scandalized the world. Their bond was not fashioned upon clothing or outward display, but upon intellect, passion, and the deep communion of spirit. Héloïse, in her convent garb, inspired Abelard more profoundly than any courtly lady in jeweled gowns. Their letters, still preserved, reveal that what endures in love is not the fabric that fades, but the mind and soul that shine everlasting.

France’s words also strike against the tyranny of appearances. In a world where women’s clothes have been used to judge, control, and define, he reminds us that such measures belong not to those who love women, but to those who misunderstand them. The true admirer sees beyond the veil, and the true lover cherishes what no seamstress or jeweler can create—the uniqueness of the human heart.

This insight carries with it a lesson for generations. Beware of those whose eyes linger only on fabric and fashion, for they may not yet have learned what it means to love. To see women only in terms of clothes is to mistake shadow for substance, surface for depth. But to love rightly is to see the eternal flame within, unadorned, unmasked, radiant in its own truth.

Let it be known: love is not measured in silks or jewels, but in devotion. The cloak may dazzle, the gown may glitter, but the man who truly loves a woman forgets her garments and remembers only her soul. For it is not the dress that enchants the ages—it is the spirit that dwells within.