Shopaholic’s remorse

My name is Alana House and I’m a shopping addict. I buy clothes and stash them – like an alcoholic and their four-litre flagons of sherry – in all my cupboards and drawers. I cleared out my wardrobe yesterday to make room for the half a GAP store I bought in Hawaii and counted my orange T-shirts. There were six. Who needs six orange T-shirts? As Husband often observes, I tend to confuse my wants with my needs. In the case of orange T-shirts, I need/want every one I see. And that’s just one of many fashion weaknesses. Which leads to space problems. Trapped at home (again) with a sick Sprog – the melodramatic cough has developed into a genuine mild illness – I enlisted her in the culling process. Sprog 2 has a very good eye. Since the age of two, she’s never failed to notice and admire my new shoes or express strident distaste when she thinks I’ve stuffed up. I bought a pair of mocassins once, which she dismissed as “Pop’s shoes” and sat on so I couldn’t wear them. I can always count on her for a compliment when I buy a snazzy new outfit too. But, after examining the enormous pile of clothes I’d thrown into the middle of my bedroom, Sprog 2 decided that sorting through my stuff was “boring” and wandered off to watch Alice In Wonderland. So I was left to my own devices: I made a pile of too-small clothes that I might wear again one day (attic), a pile of too-small clothes I will never wear again (charity bin), a pile of too-small-but-expensive-and-no-longer-fashionable designer clothes that the Sprogs might one day enjoy (attic), then folded everything else neatly into drawers. As I crammed and jammed, then added all the extra booty from Hawaii, I started feeling a bit sick about my excess. I’ve got enough stuff to keep me clothed for at least three months without putting on a single machine wash. Yet I still want more. While blogger Edenland is weeping at the poverty and starvation she saw on a recent World Vision-sponsored trip to Africa (http://www.edenriley.com/2012/05/we-must-all-be-haunted.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+edenriley%2FGzPS+%28edenland%29) I’m pondering what new fashion item to spend a $50 Myer gift voucher on. When I wrote about my recent Hawaiian retail frenzy, a friend commented that she has never understood the appeal of shopping. “I have clothes, I can’t fit any more in,” she Facebooked. “I’m quite happy in my 10-year-old Knights T-shirts and bike pants.” What you talkin’ about, Willis? But it reminded me that there are two types of women in the world: those who love shopping and those who hate it. My love of shopping has waned with age and my bank balance, but put me in a Country Road store and my pulse starts to race. I’m a sucker for nice fabrics (as long as they’re machine washable), gorgeous colours and cuts that make me look thinner than I actually am. I don’t like wearing clothes that are “dated”. I feel weird in stuff that’s no longer the right length or shape or cut. I’m not a slave to the latest trends, but I want to look like I know they exist. When it comes to my offspring, I’ve spawned one of each fashion type: Sprog 2, who eagerly accompanied me to the Ala Moana Shopping Centre and Waikele Outlet Mall in Hawaii and kept begging me to buy her stylish things; and Sprog 1, who couldn’t give a flying … It’s great that Sprog 1 doesn’t give a flying because it means I can work on a “look” for her without fear of items being rejected. After a few misfires in recent years, like buying pink T-shirts with puppies on them – Sprog 1 is more your skull and crossbones type – I think I’ve nailed it. I bought her skinny jeans and glittery black Converse sneakers in Hawaii and I’ve since matched them with a fur-collared black bomber jacket from Target. She looks so cool. My little pre-pre-teen emo! Whereas I’ve given up buying anything for Sprog 2 unless she’s with me because she’s so bloody particular. As you’ve probably guessed, the Sprogs also have trouble fitting all their clothes in their wardrobes. I still haven’t got my head around the fact that when kids wear a school uniform five days a week, they don’t actually need that many clothes. But my excess keeps my niece and half of Medowie in cast-offs, so I like to think of it as a community service. If it wasn’t for me and my shopping addiction, all those children might be cold this winter. Not really, but it helps me sleep at night.

MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TERRIBLE ADDICTION …