Sacrificing comfort to vanity is something women know only too well. And, if it was clear that the men on the red carpet had sacrificed for the show by avoiding the cheese platter and hitting the gym in order to attain a standard sample size 38 regular, it was also sadly obvious that guys remained corseted by the constraints of good taste.

This is where Cher comes in. Everyone knows awards show ratings have been tilting steadily downward for years. One reason might be the tyranny of stylists hanging onto their paychecks by safeguarding clients from their own exuberant and possibly worst impulses. There is nothing wrong with being a paragon of male elegance, of course, a Cary Grant figure framed by boxy graphic shapes. Yet the sense a viewer got watching the Emmys preshow was that there must be an actor out there with a freak flag he’s ready to fly, someone hankering to dress in Jim Morrison leather and feathers, a vintage Hedi Slimane Saint Laurent tuxedo so tight it cuts off circulation, a Pharrell Williams Canadian Mounties hat.

True, the talk show host Trevor Noah did make a point of tipping up his Louboutin pumps so everyone could clock their signature red soles. But that hardly qualified as a statement of personality, let alone of style. The doctrine of Cher will always have applications in a profession that somehow fell a little too hard for fashion along the way. Deep down what attracts us to these spectacles is not a chance to ogle more expensively polished versions of ourselves. No one tunes in for the tedious expressions of gratitude, the losers’ brave game faces or the designer label name checks. They call it show business for a reason. You come for a show.