I bought a second-hand coat a couple of weeks ago. It came from Topshop, via Vinted. It’s the perfect shade of yellow, something south of ochre and west of mustard. It’s the platonic ideal of an autumn coat, evoking fallen leaves, taxis in Manhattan, Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. It temporarily sated my adult “back-to-school” mood, and the urge for a brand-new uniform. And it was only £15! I was delighted with myself, my thrift, my sense of style and my eagle eye.
Then I modelled it for my husband. “It’s lovely, but that’s not new, is it?” he asked. “No!” I beamed. “Second hand! Because you know I only ever buy preloved, for environmental rea…”
He shook his head. ‘No, I mean haven’t you owned this coat for a little while? It’s the one that just came back from the dry cleaners?’
Ah. He had a point. I panicked and went to my wardrobe to compare the coats.
Technically, I’d say that the other coat is north of ochre, the shade is more of a golden brown. The buttons are slightly different. The cuffs are slightly different. But the other coat is in incredible condition, given I’ve had it for three years.
This might be because I always wear my other winter coat, a hot pink tweed mac-style thing with a belt. Or my giant pale pink fake fur marshmallow coat, or my biker jacket, or the green coat with the grosgrain bow and the bracelet sleeves, or one of umpteen blazers I’ve acquired after seeing a really good photo of Liz Hurley or Moira Rose from Schitt’s Creek.
I love clothes. They fascinate me, they distract me. I used to write columns recapping the reality show Made In Chelsea – and when I was late filing copy, it was because I kept pausing the preview in order to track down jacket Liv Bentley was wearing.
A few weeks ago, I went to the cinema to see the Anita Pallenberg documentary Catching Fire and “urgently had to go to the toilet” in the middle, to try to find a version of the nightgown she wears in Performance. I realise I sound a bit like an addict – I am.
Two years ago, I quit drinking. Before that, I worked very hard on changing my relationship with food and addressed my problem with binge eating.
Now my problem is shopping. Mostly dresses, often coats, sometimes tiny white broderie anglaise tops which I hoard in the hope that they will make me feel like a nouvelle vague movie star. (I joke to myself that the French label Sèzane ought to be called “We saw you coming, or Alors! Nous regardons vous arrive”.)
When I was addressing my problematic relationship with food and alcohol, I started reading widely about addiction, and I began to work out the difference between seeking and experiencing pleasure and trying to numb pain.
When my eating and drinking was out of control, I also had a shopping problem. My drug of choice was ill- fitting discount occasionwear from The Outnet – anything sequinned, at 80 per cent off. The space under my bed was crammed with dresses that were slightly too small for me. Possibly, subconsciously I believed that as soon as I lost some weight, I might run away and become a singer on a cruise ship.
In 2019, I instigated a “Not New Year”, and decided to follow a strict rule. I could buy second-hand clothes, and I could rent clothes, but I wasn’t allowed to buy anything brand new. This was for the sake of sustainability, but it also placed speed bumps between me and my shopping habit. Then I discovered Vinted.
The Lithuanian resale app was launched in 2008, but it became incredibly popular in the UK in 2021, as we all embarked upon giant wardrobe clear-outs during lockdown. By the start of 2024, Vinted had 16m users in the UK.
Now, I won’t let myself shop in Zara – for sustainability’s sake – but I can go to Vinted and trawl through the 68.1 million Zara items on the app.
Scrolling through my list of purchased items, I feel slightly sick. I remember those green sequinned trousers; they went straight to the charity shop. Why did I spend £30 on them? I really must wear that blue sundress. And the pink sundress. And the pink and blue sundress.
Sometimes I resell the items I’ve bought, but typically the sheer volume of clothes in my wardrobe makes me feel overwhelmed, anxious and agitated – feelings that can be briefly soothed by scrolling through Vinted.
I was able to quit binge drinking and binge eating, but I can’t stop binge shopping. What’s wrong with me?
Psychotherapist Dr Jennifer Cox, the host of the Women Are Mad podcast and author of Women Are Angry says: “Many psychoanalysts tend to think of oral addictions (like alcohol and drugs) as harking back to the oral phase of infancy, where sensations of deprivation can so easily kick off around the (at that point) blended experience of food and intimacy. Survival terror is effortlessly triggered in babies, especially ones at the mercy of strict feeding and holding routines.
As adults battling to overcome an oral addiction, it’s easy to see why the brain would continue to crave a replacement fix. Shopping provides an apparently cosy and healthier alternative. It appears to answer states of loss or emptiness –you’re literally filling your shopping basket or wardrobe. What you’re trying to replenish is deep and emotional.
Dr Jennifer’s words remind me of a coping mechanism I stumbled upon when I was changing my eating and drinking habits. I realised that couldn’t hate myself into stopping, and I had to engage in some tender, gentle self-parenting instead. Telling myself my desires were “wrong” didn’t help. When I was in the grip of a craving, what worked was asking myself what I really wanted, breathing through it, getting some fresh air, drinking a glass of water.
And although I don’t remember babyhood, I remember being locked in a clothing battle with my mother until I left home, sneaking carrier bags up the stairs, wearing enormous jumpers over mini dresses, and being constantly criticised for my choices, my shopping habits and the way my body looked in the clothes I wanted to wear. Am I still rebelling against my mother, aged 39? Or maybe just hoping to find the one outfit I love, and she approves of…
So I’m trying something different. This autumn, I’m going to acknowledge my craving for the Reformation version of my old school skirt, but I’m not going to spend £178 on it – or even spend £20 on a second hand version of it. Instead, I’m going to acknowledge the girl who wants to go back to school. I’ll give her as long as she needs to play with the dressing-up box that she’s spent several years amassing.
I’m going to remind myself that I’m an adult woman who is allowed to get her legs out and wear the shorts I bought and feared all summer. (It turns out they look great with all those blazers!). I’m going to wear the sundresses all the way into October.
Luckily, I also have quite the collection of cardigans. I’m going to do something radical and wear my clothes – and be honest about the way they make me feel. Some of them might be better off in someone else’s wardrobe. I’m not vowing to quit shopping for ever. But I think I might to step back and quit for a while. One day at a time.