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FASHION EDITORS like to play a game. It’s a twist on the old desert island trope. Instead of which albums or books you’d pack for several solitary, sandy decades, you choose which label you’d wear for the rest of your life, budgets be damned. I’ve always found the game difficult to play. Could I in theory shackle myself to the exquisite but extreme femininity of Valentino or the brainy and powerful but occasionally obtuse look of Céline? It’s hard to commit. Curiously, though, there is a single garment I know I could…