Fashion, in this poem, feels less like pleasure and more like a quiet form of coercion. The opening lines call a "cruel discontent" something we mistake for "a good servant," as if our constant dissatisfaction were useful, something that keeps us moving. The speaker admits to being "forced" to put on "other things" for the sake of wardrobe and style, which suggests a self that gets covered over by what is expected.
The images that follow shift the tone. "War paint" turns getting dressed into preparation for a fight, while the "arch book of dances" hints at social rituals that are rehearsed, knowing, and a little artificial. The last lines, about "bans" played "like news / made up well," seem to compare fashion's rules to headlines: dramatic, repeated, and cosmetically polished.
The mood is wry and uneasy. The speaker sounds half-resigned and half-mocking, aware of the performance but still taking part in it. The poem is fragmentary, so these readings are inferences rather than certainties.