Louis XIV, writes Joan DeJean, wondered how “so many husbands” could be “crazy enough to let themselves be ruined so that their wives could own fancy dresses.” Ms. DeJean offers an explanation in the early chapters of her new book, “The Essence of Style”: The dresses were fabulous. And another: The boutiques where they could be purchased were exquisite. And a third: French couturiers during the Sun King’s rule invented trends in cut and color that changed seasonally. Horrifying social ramifications faced noblewomen unable to keep up.

Designers and dressmakers, along with the likes of the first style commentators at the publication Le Mercure Galant, imagined fashion as a highly dynamic decorative art, worth excessive effort and expense – much as we do more than 300 years later. In her quasi-academic text, Ms. DeJean, a French professor at the University of Pennsylvania, catalogs the indulgences of the era, the mere mention of which still suggest luxury and glamour today.

A series of essays strive to convince readers that Louis XIV and his contemporaries were just about exclusively responsible for setting standards of modern taste. There are, for example, segments devoted to champagne, gastronomy, entertaining, diamonds, and “The World’s First High-Priced Lattes.” The author also relates the introduction of novelties such as floor-length mirrors, folding umbrellas, and street lanterns, the extravagance of which were more particular to the age.

But the book is at its best when presenting well-researched anecdotes that bring centuries-old rivalries to life. For instance, the “frenzy” in 1696 over the court’s obsession with baby peas is a riot. Ms. DeJean writes, “no one could talk about peas ‘already eaten, being eaten, and about to be eaten,'” quoting the king’s wife, the Marquise de Maintenon. Similarly, Jean Donneau de Vise is quoted in Le Mercure Galant as bemoaning the overly casual styles of his day – in 1678: “Since everyone in France today wants to be comfortable, people hardly ever get dressed up anymore. Just about the only thing anyone wants to wear is the garment known as a manteau. Dresses are now used only for ceremonial occasions.”

It’s almost too easy to draw parallels between the pea-feeding frenzy and an early morning scene at the Union Square Greenmarket, or Donneau de Vise’s fashion critiques and Anna Wintour’s editor’s letter in Vogue. Ms. DeJean frequently succumbs to such temptation. Following an extensive period description of a pair of shoes custom-made for Louis XIV, Ms. DeJean unnecessarily types: “Eat your heart out, Carrie Bradshaw.” Such flip references not only underestimate the audience, but they make a book released just this month seem already dated.

Other comparisons are more enlightening. Ms. DeJean likens a 1651 cookbook, “Le Cuisinier francais,” or “The French Cook,” by Francois Pierre (known as La Varenne) to Julia Child’s step-by-step manuals for food preparation. Both authors’ works were widely distributed and wildly popular – more than 90,000 copies of “The French Cook” circulated in France at the end of the 17th century, Ms. DeJean writes, a time when a print run of 1,000 was considered quite large.

La Varenne’s work was also translated and relished by aspiring cooks in Britain, Germany, and elsewhere. Like Child, he cemented a core of basic techniques that could be applied to concoct a wide variety of dishes. Most importantly, “The French Cook” made something exclusive and precious – a body of knowledge on an element of the high life – accessible to many without cheapening it.

Which gets to the heart of a question Ms. DeJean never quite answers – exactly how the French made their brand of luxury stick. After all, Italy had wonderful long-standing traditions in cooking and decorative arts. Yet Ms. DeJean is right: The world over, people see French perfume, French cafes, and French antiques as something special. The secret may lie in a popularization of fineness, the cultivation of an illusion of rarity.

Armies of merchants and craftsmen who were subjects of the Sun King infiltrated far-off lands, sending fashion plates and dolls to American women who yearned for a hint of French sophistication or giving a Viennese proprietor the idea to hang his Kaffeehaus with crystal chandeliers. French luxury products became desirable as they came within reach; that their acquisition required a stretch only added to their appeal.

“The Essence of Style” hints at the broader social movements that disseminated French tastes across national or class boundaries but fails to explain how far down the rungs of the social ladder trends in footwear or entertaining extended or why the turn of the 18th century was the moment for such a (relative) democratization to occur. It would have been interesting to frame the frivolity in a somewhat larger context.

That said, Francophiles looking for light historical reading from an academic with seven books on French literature under her belt will certainly relish the stories of Dom Perignon, “the first celebrity hairdresser,” champagne, or the hostess with the mostest, the Duchesse de Bourgogne. Ms. DeJean’s easy-to-read book has a wealth of tales you’ll find yourself repeating.