She likes dressing, or skirting as the case may be, for work and she likes bike commuting. Deal breaker is, she doesn't have far to go, so no danger of pitting out the happy red coat. And the vintage boots she got at Salvation Army on Nicollet for $10 don't really become a hazard until after ten miles or so.
I applaud her uncompromising good taste: The tights are a civil consideration. I pop on some tallboy underpants and carpe diem. Caveat emptor. Opus Dei. In flagrante delicto? Or as they say in Rome, oh god.