In Phil Cohen's words, it was "more than ironic" that he signed his divorce papers the day we called to tell him he'd been selected for the makeover — and that his divorce became final the day we took him shopping for new clothes.

And though it was obviously a difficult time for Phil, I couldn't imagine better timing for a makeover than when one is suddenly facing the world alone again after 21 years of marriage.

When we arrived at his well-appointed Casa Solana-area house, Phil wasted no time in reminding us that he tends to be more of an "inner-beauty kind of guy," who doesn't put much stock in outward appearances.

But I think I saw his face light up just a little bit when we showed him the "Look Book" stylist Lynne Kudus had put together for him, featuring photos of style icons such as actors Brad Pitt and Simon Baker (who really does bear more than a passing resemblance to Phil).

Upstairs, Phil's walk-in closet was completely empty on one side, a jarring physical reminder of the recent changes in his life. And we wasted no time in telling him what else he should get rid of, which was pretty much everything.

He admitted he'd been "avoiding shopping for a really long time," and judging from what was in his closet — Cosby sweaters, too-big blazers and a bunch of belts with ranger sets on them — the last time he really shopped was probably sometime in the early 1990s.

It was time. My usual pattern is to hit downtown first, because it's more expensive and closes earlier. Within the constraints of our budget, I try to find one really great high-end item to anchor our look, which can be bolstered by less expensive things that can be found at stores that stay open later than 6 p.m.

One of our first stops was Lancaster York on Palace Avenue. I walk by there every day and had noticed some really great Guayaberas (Cuban-inspired, lightweight, short-sleeved button-down shirts for summer), which I though could be a possibility.

From there we went to Corsini, where Phil discovered he could look great in a lemon-yellow V-neck sweater. By then, sufficiently spooked by the downtown prices, we beat a retreat to the mall-formerly-known-as-Villa-Linda, where we put our minds to the task of finding Phil a pair of jeans with an updated cut. Lynne and I had to agree to disagree where the pants were concerned, because I have an extreme aversion to overly distressed jeans with "whiskers" around the crotch, ready-made tears or faded derrieres. No matter how "in" they might be, I find them gimmicky and contrived — and unless they fit you perfectly (i.e., the faded part rests exactly on your butt and not on the back of your thigh), they just look silly.

At Dillard's, salesman Gavin was extremely patient as we asked him to free dozens of colors of shirts from their pins and cardboard backings, and even directed us to a rack of patterned vests in case we were looking for something with a little more "awumba-wumba."

As entertaining as this all was, by 4:30 p.m. we hadn't purchased a single stitch of clothing and I was beginning to feel a panic attack coming on. Phil said he normally "goes on Tilt" after more than an hour of shopping, but we all maintained our balance and did, 12 hours after we started, purchase an outfit that makes Phil look hot, hot, hot.

The following week was salon week, and Phil had unwittingly volunteered to subject himself to hours of excruciating pain by mentioning he'd like to do something about his back hair.

Sadist that I am, I was more than willing to have the salon wax Phil's back. OK, truth: I was rubbing my hands together in gleeful anticipation of the great quotes that could generate. But the women at Cactus Aveda Salon shuddered at the thought.

Stylist Julie Moss said the last time she'd performed a full back wax it was so traumatic that both she and the client needed a drink by the time it was over.

She suggested a close trim instead, and after having experienced an eyebrow waxing, Phil said he was glad she had.

Despite his initial skepticism, Phil was upbeat through the whole process and kept things light with his ironic sense of humor and bizarre bits of trivia. Who knew Joseph Pilates was a womanizer with a Napoleon complex? Phil did.

Tune in next week: Phil dons the trousers that made him say "I'd date me in these pants."