One of the speakers exhorted the crowd to forgo certain luxuries in order to make a greater charitable impact. “An inexpensive car will get you from point A to point B just as well as a BMW will,” she said, “and with the savings you can make a real difference in another person’s life.” Most attendees were nodding politely, when a mouthy acquaintance of mine stood up.

“Look,” he began, “most of us had a really hard time growing up gay. We were taunted by our peers, and many of us felt alone and miserable. So now we’re enjoying some creature comforts. I worked hard to get where I am, and I’m not about to start driving a Chevy.”

I was sitting next to said mouthy acquaintance, and I sank in my chair. True, few people expected the attendees to follow the speaker’s suggestion. But it seemed obnoxious to point that out at the time.

But why? Is it selfish to want luxuries while others are in need, or merely unseemly to say so?

Luxury is a relative term, of course. If you have a car with crank windows, then power windows—which are standard equipment on most cars sold in the U.S.—may seem like a luxury. If you have to take the bus to work, having a car at all may seem like a luxury. If you live in a developing nation, buses may seem like a luxury. And so on.

Conversely, as we grow more accustomed to certain “luxuries,” they start to feel like necessities. My first car had vinyl seats—but hey, I had a car! The next one had plush fabric seats, which I thought were cool. Then I graduated to leather seats, which I thought were even cooler. Today I have HEATED leather seats, and I doubt I’m ever going back.

“But you NEED heated seats in Detroit,” my mother told me when I fretted over whether they were an extravagance. Funny, but I spent nine years here without them and managed to get around all the same.

I don’t think gays are any more prone to these tendencies than anyone else. To the extent that we fit this stereotype, it is largely because most of us don’t have children, which means that, on average, (a) we have more “disposable” income than those who do and (b) we can worry more about whether the sofa looks good, for example, than whether it will resist jam stains.

Of course, the fact that we can spend our money on things like fancy cars and fabulous sofas doesn’t mean that we should. Given the current desperate situation of many charitable organizations, the moral implications of luxury are worth pondering.

I’ll use myself as an example, just to show that I’m not trying to wag my finger at anyone else.

My partner and I recently put a new kitchen in our house. We do a lot of entertaining—including fundraising events—and most of our friends thought it was an excellent investment. I do too. I love it every day.

But meals from the old kitchen were just as nutritious and tasty.

And the old kitchen was, despite being ugly, cheap, and poorly installed, only eight years old. (It was put in by the prior owner, who “flipped” the house. It is now installed in the basement, where we use it as a backup kitchen for parties.)

And the thousands of dollars we spent on the new one could have helped people who lack not merely kitchens, but food itself.

So if I’m going to bristle at my mouthy acquaintance’s “I’m not going to drive a Chevy” comment, I had better be able to explain why I’m no longer cooking in a cheap—but perfectly serviceable—kitchen.

Ultimately, it’s because I don’t believe that moral values always trump aesthetic ones. A moral calculus would be undesirable and unsustainable if it condemned any action that could be replaced by one more virtuous.

Consider the alternative: any money you spend on an ice cream cone could go to Oxfam—so no more ice cream cones. Ditto for art, music, and dance, the absence of which is tragic but not life-threatening. That money you plan to spend on movie tickets could save a life someday.

It’s not just money at stake, but time. Every minute you spend watching TV, playing games, reading novels—or for that matter, reading this column—could be spent volunteering at the local soup kitchen.

And what about sex? Gays are hardly the only ones to engage in non-procreative sex, an activity for which we—though generally not others—get labeled as “indulgent.” But sexual intimacy, like many of these other things, is surely an ingredient of a well-lived life.

I don’t pretend to know how to strike the perfect balance—if there is one. (If you want someone that has all the answers, don’t read my column. Try Dr. Laura.)

I do know that most of us—me included—could and should give more to charity, and the arts, and other important causes. I admire those who live simply for the sake of helping others. But—I freely admit—I also admire nice cars, clothes, and kitchens.

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John Corvino, Ph.D. is an author, speaker, and philosophy professor at Wayne State University in Detroit. His column “The Gay Moralist” appears weekly on 365gay.com. Read more about him at www.johncorvino.com.

John will be a volunteer faculty member this summer for Campus Pride’s Leadership Camp for GLBT students. For more about Campus Pride’s work, or to make a donation on John’s behalf to support this year’s program, visit http://www.campuspride.org/.

Patricia Araujo received a standing ovation after parading along the runway for the Complexo B brand to end the event in a city that delights in shocking the prudish with each year’s Carnival celebration.

Complexo B designer Beto Neves said he invited Araujo to amaze the public.

“In fashion, the cool thing is to surprise,” he told the O Dia newspaper.

Globo Television’s web site called the 25-year-old Araujo “the star” of the show’s final day and model Isabeli Fontana told O Dia that Araujo “is the greatest”.

Tall and slim, the dark-haired Araujo entered the catwalk wearing a long fur coat and quickly unveiled a short black-and-white dress to the applause of the hundreds of guests at the event.

“I love to be mobbed by the press,” she told O Dia afterward. “I’ve always dreamed of being famous.”

Araujo’s legal name is Patricia Oliveira, but she is known by the stage name of araujo.

The most remarkable thing about the wardrobes of Obama and McCain is their consistency, says Ned Martel, who has traveled with both campaigns as Men’s Vogue deputy editor.

McCain’s style, according to Martel, is “traditional Republican senatorial garb”: a dark suit, a striped tie, solid shirt and, sometimes, the slightly grandfatherly sweater. Obama often goes without a tie and is either in a dark solid suit or khaki pants. He favors blue or silver ties and white shirts.

“Neither strays from the uniform because it works,” says Martel, who has covered five presidential election cycles.

Both candidates wear bracelets given to them by mothers of fallen soldiers.

Considering that’s about as wild as it gets, it’s clear McCain and Obama have learned from the fashion mistakes of other presidential candidates.

“Every four years you usually get to look at these guys try to go `native.’ Think of President Bush in his brush-clearing outfit,” says Tyler Thoreson, executive editor of Men.Style.com. “But if you’re president, the day job does involve a suit and it can be awkward when you’re not in work clothes.”

The American voter can be put off by a candidate who appears to pander by wearing the uniform of a local team or gear so rugged he looks ridiculous, he says.

“Everyone knows how fast a picture can go from local novelty to worldwide laughingstock.”

Consider Sen. John Kerry’s windsurfing outing in 2004, an event later used by Republicans to criticize him as a candidate who shifts with the wind. Or the infamous 1988 image of a helmeted Michael Dukakis poking his head out of a tank. Or Al Gore’s much mocked attempt to soften his image with earth tones.

Obama’s unwavering look may indicate that he’s working hard to be taken seriously as a young candidate and the first black presidential nominee of a major party. The more buttoned-down look could boost a candidate attacked for being wet behind the ears, says Brian Kirwin, a Virginia Beach, Va. political consultant.

But in his clothing, as in his campaign, Obama could face the charge of elitism for choosing stylish, slim-cut suits with a European look, Thoreson says. Thoreson admires the style, which he says shows off Obama’s tall, athletic build.

“It shows he’s not trying to be like everyone else. It’s part of the visual message that he’s crafting. In an odd little way, it adds to the authenticity – he’s not pandering in a conservative, middle-America suit like a 50-year-old tax lawyer wears,” he says.

McCain, meanwhile, avoids anything too trendy, which style watchers say is sensible given his age and party.

“It would be inappropriate if McCain looked as stylish as Obama – he has a different physique, he’s a different age and he’s much more conservative,” he says. “He does have occasional fun with a wider, flashy tie.”

Evangelia Souris, founder of Boston-area Optimum International Center for Image Management, has just one complaint about McCain’s clothes: they’re too big. “I think what he’s trying to do is create a bigger body image – maybe he uses bigger shoulder pads – but I think it makes him look smaller,” she says.

Still, the former fighter pilot has a quick step and looks dapper in uniform – he can carry off a leather bomber jacket even at 71, says Vogue’s Martel.

“Not all senators can wear that, but it looks right on him,” he says.

The picture-perfect style gets tiresome for Robert Verdi, a stylist and TV fashion commentator. He compares past presidents and current presidential candidates to groomsmen at a wedding: “You could put Barack’s head on John’s body and say he’s gained a little weight, but you wouldn’t notice he was in different clothes.”

Kirwin thinks McCain may shift to a softer look as he tries to persuade blue-collar workers and Reagan Democrats alike that he’s in tune with current issues. But Martel thinks consistency will win out.

“Neither guy seems to think too much about what he’s wearing on a daily basis,” he says. “It’s consistent and comfortable.”