Purchasing in spirit only: the joys of ghost shopping

“Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,” said the American naturalist and writer Henry David Thoreau, and that makes me think he probably would have thrived in COVID-19 times, when there is no need for new clothes at all.

The seasons are changing, and that’s when my mind would normally turn to what to wear. September in the northern hemisphere means jeans, jumpers, boots, fancy dresses. But living in COVID purgatory – vaccinated, reasonably relaxed about my personal risk, but not yet ready to re-enter the Dionysian fray that in retrospect was how we lived in Before Times – means I don’t really need anything.

Winter will bring more of the same: tracksuits, sneakers and other athleisure-adjacent items, supplemented with the occasional Nice Top™ for important Zoom calls and heavy-duty slippers for the hibernation months. Having worn Birkenstocks all summer, the big purchase I’m weighing up is a pair with fuzzy insoles for when I really want to bring my A-game to a Sunday morning coffee run.

All of this marks a big change from a time when “shopping” was a legitimate answer to a question about hobbies. Though never a serious dresser, I was as susceptible to the thrill of a new purchase – and the promise of transformation which came with a Zara bag – as any woman living in a capitalist society. It’s been frankly disorienting to get the shopping itch, crank up my phone, and realise there’s no event to shop for, no excuse for which I can whip out the credit card for a brief but glorious dopamine hit.

Working with other people in confined spaces used to be a reason to get dressed. There was a stigma in wearing the same shirt three days in a row, so we bought new ones. (And showered. But that’s a subject for another day.) At this point, returning to the office feels further away than ever, and if we’re not sharing the same air, I see no reason why my colleagues require novel ensembles from me each day.

I pile ever more fanciful clothes into digital shopping carts, add and remove items – then … close my browser before hitting “purchase”.

I’ve tried a couple of fashion-forward outfits at the playground, but have wound up regretting it almost immediately on arrival. White jeans have joined the high heels and dangly earrings in the back of the cupboard, waiting for a day when we collectively dress less like a Big W catalogue and more like the idle rich on a yacht docked off the Amalfi coast.

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I’ve turned my sartorial sights on my children, who continue to maintain vibrant social calendars. Building out their wardrobes is a source of constant imaginative delight, as I pile ever more fanciful clothes into digital shopping carts, add and remove various items – then remember they will smear chocolate ice-cream and dirt on it all anyway, so close my browser before hitting “purchase”. I call it “ghost shopping”, and it’s as satisfying as it is pointless.