It’s a play written by women about the gender-specific experiences of women, but it isn’t necessary to be a woman to enjoy Manoa Valley Theatre’s production of "Love, Loss, and What I Wore."

Women will relate to the characters’ experiences on a personal basis, but men will be entertained by the comic, ironic or poignant elements in their stories as well.

Victoria Gail-White stars in her lone role as Gingy, a Jewish Noo-Yawker whose love/hate relationship with clothes begins with her experiences as a Brownie in early childhood and arcs through several decades to a final uncomfortable accommodation with aging. Ensemble members Lisa Barnes, Bree Bumatai, Lauren Murata and Stacy Ray play a kaleidoscopic assortment of other characters.

The presentation is reminiscent of "The Vagina Monologues" in that the actors sit on chairs at the front of the stage with copies of the script at hand for reference if needed.

The important difference is that the tone is less strident and there is no socio-political agenda. This is entertainment for its own sake.

Men are rarely the villains. Of course there are some cads and a passive-aggressive commitment-phobe, but there is also a story in which a "sweet man" is cold-bloodedly dumped for a guy with a foul mouth and bad manners. Some of the stories are predictable, others delightfully surprising.

In short, playwrights and sisters Nora and Delia Ephron cover a wide range of feminine experiences: the choices made between being stylish and being comfortable; the impact of Madonna and her radical sense of fashion on women in the ’80s and ’90s; the cruel things mothers sometimes say and the horribly unstylish things they sometimes buy for their daughters and expect them to wear; the eternal stylishness of basic black; and the trauma of having a closet full of clothes and yet having "nothing to wear."

Having four actors play multiple characters with no costume adjustments could easily cause confusion. Director David C. Farmer and his cast sidestep that potential problem by defining different characters with distinct accents. Gradually several character types come into focus.

Murata plays tough or at-risk girls and women, Ray generally portrays vulnerable or fragile types, and Barnes stands out in a sketch involving a psychiatrist and in another about a same-sex wedding.

The show isn’t all comedy or lighthearted commentary on women’s relationships with their mothers, or with men, or about their obsession with their wardrobes. Bumatai got much of the audience misty-eyed with her mesmerizing portrayal of a breast-cancer survivor describing in detail the things that helped her get through chemotherapy, a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. It is a masterful performance that tugs at the emotions but also has flecks of humor.