In the Oval Office, Pumps and Circumstance

The abrupt end to this season of ABC's "Commander in Chief" means that there will no longer be a designated prime-time slot in which to muse about life with a female president. Geena Davis played President Mackenzie Allen, and it was entertaining to watch her navigate a complicated web of Washington politics and intrigue. The point of "Commander in Chief," of course, was the sex of the title character, but one lesson to take away from the show is that no matter the president's gender, there's always going to be a posse of people on the attack.

Much of what was so interesting about "Commander in Chief" had little to do with the show's story lines in which Davis -- lips pursed, eyes steely and strides long and confident -- would spit out some important fact, incisive question or tough decision. Intellectually, most viewers have little doubt that women can be smart, manipulative, tough and staggeringly ambitious.

It was more intriguing to see what this fictional female president would look like dressed for a day's work in the Oval Office. What would she wear to a state dinner? What sort of attire would she don to address the American people? This wasn't just a parade of fashion; it was the slow crafting of an image to go along with an idea. What does a female president look like? And how does her image square with those of past presidents and the many contenders for the office?

During campaign season, there is always chatter about which candidates "look" and "sound" presidential. Tall men with deep voices become president; short ones who squeak when they talk do not. A president must project gravitas -- he cannot have voters thinking he should be in an advertisement for Breck shampoo. He should make sure his photo ops present him as tough and confident, not wearing a sterile onesie and touring a spaceship. He does not have to be movie-star handsome -- being too good-looking, in fact, evokes suspicions of vapidity -- but his appearance should not make small children cry.

Davis constructed a convincing archetype. The actress is six feet tall and able to look men directly in the eye, in some cases even tower over them. She has a low, well-modulated voice. She is attractive but not a pinup. Her character, President Allen, wore her hair in a simple "That Girl" flip. It looked timeless and easy and did not suggest excessive maintenance.

Her clothes did not mimic the American flag; she avoided bright red suits and royal blue dresses. She did not wear colors to make her stand out in a room or to draw attention to herself. Part of being "presidential" is knowing that one will not go unnoticed in a crowd. Allen did not favor any of the traditional jewelry of Washington's federal women -- no crystal-encrusted flag brooches, no eagles perched atop a pearl.

President Allen's color palette was filled with the muted shades of a gentleman's club or a haberdashery: brown, tan and caramel. The fabric often looked as though it had been pulled from Oxxford or a Savile Row tailor, but the silhouette referenced the shapely suits of Donna Karan, Michael Kors and other designers who have dabbled with the notion of blending femininity with sex appeal and power.

Davis's character wore trim trouser suits with long-sleeved shirts that had crisp collars and elegant cuffs. Her jackets were nipped at the waist, not to be sexy, but to be flattering. When she wore a skirt, it was a pencil skirt that fit close to the body but extended well below the knees. She wasn't trying to negate her gender or put up a sexless facade.

Mackenzie Allen had a smidge of sex appeal in her style. She treated it like another asset in a long list that might include sense of humor, charm, diplomacy and, the ultimate in political capital, charisma.

Sex appeal and charisma seem intertwined. Charisma can produce sex appeal. Sex appeal is part of what makes someone charismatic. Either way, the end result is someone who is exciting, watchable, magnetic and electable. In this case, that someone was a fictional character who made a convincing argument that a skirt belongs in the Oval Office.