Can You Love to Shop and Still Be a Conscious Consumer?
My clothing budget might make you squirm
The world is really chaotic and stressful right now, and today I’m writing about shopping.1 Feel free to skip this newsletter if you’re not in the mood. You won’t (really) hurt my feelings.
But if you love this conversation and want to dive even deeper, join us on Thursday for our second Money Talks event.
and are joining us to talk more about some of the topics I explore in this newsletter: personal style, sustainable fashion, impulse shopping. Today, we’re giving away five free tickets—use the code PURSESUBS. Can’t wait to see you there!
It feels sort of controversial to be a personal finance writer who loves to shop and buy nice clothes, but as I always joke, I contain multitudes. Where I can’t fathom spending $750 a night on a hotel room or $1,000 on Botox, I wouldn’t be shocked if you told me you spent $500 on a new pair of boots or $1,200 on a wool coat. I’d probably ask you where you bought them. If they’re really good quality items, there’s no reason you couldn’t wear them for years.
I know there are regular readers of The Purse who just spit out their coffee at this sentiment, and before you fuss at me, I am very well aware that most people cannot afford to spend that much on clothes. I’m not suggesting this is the norm. I’ll also note that some people might be able to afford that much, but they simply wouldn’t dream of spending it.
How much we spend on clothes is a touchy topic—especially for women who are often criticized for being “shopaholics.” We don’t make fun of men the same way for spending stupid amounts on golf clubs or sneakers or watches. But people really seem to lose their shit when women admit to spending a lot of money on their wardrobe, and so it’s with a bit of trepidation that I wade into this topic.
Because I love clothes and shopping, I inevitably follow a lot of fashion influencers and read a lot of fashion Substacks (at least 25 at last count). And for the most part, I can consume all this shopping and fashion content without feeling jealous or annoyed. I will admit that sometimes my eyes water at prices of the items they recommend—$250 for a cotton button-down blouse or $1,000 black flats—but I also realize that everyone’s shopping budget is subjective. I’m way too shy to actually share my shopping receipts, but I’d guess among my friends, I spend the most on clothes (at least I did when I had a full-time job).2 I make this assumption based purely on casual conversations we’ve had about different brands, not because we regularly head to the mall together.3
The cost criticism that pops up from time to time on fashion Substack is interesting to me—take last year’s High Sport pant controversy, when there was an outcry over the number of influencers recommending a $900 pair of pants.4 The flat nature of the internet makes it hard sometimes to remember what’s real and what’s fantasy, and I’d argue that for the most part, the influencers sharing outfit inspiration on Substack and Instagram are presenting a fantasy. Because of their jobs as influencers, they don’t have to buy many of the clothes they feature in their posts. And often, I’m left wondering if they actually wear those carefully styled outfits all day long and not just to snap a photo for their Insta. (There’s one particularly beautiful mom I follow on Instagram who has three small children and posts photos of herself wearing the most gorgeous and impractical dresses on Instagram. She cannot parent in those, right?)
For the most part, I’m able to keep a healthy perspective and enjoy scrolling fashion Substacks, but lately the endless product links have been sort of giving me the ick. I generally don’t feel bad about my love of shopping, but we live in a society where we’re encouraged to constantly consume, and sometimes it’s hard to know when enough is enough. Even if you have the money to afford all the clothes, should you really be buying them?
I felt my anxiety growing during the aftermath of the L.A. wildfires, when my social media feed was filled with women reposting advice on how to donate clothes to the people in Southern California who had lost everything. There was a video of a clothing drive in NYC where hundreds of young women lined up around the block to drop off huge bags of their old stuff.
Perhaps seeing these women dutifully lining up with their bags of excess clothes stung because I also have too many clothes. I have Fresh Direct bags in my basement storage locker filled with old shoes, moth-hole riddled sweaters, too-tight dresses, and ragged skinny jeans. I am paralyzed by climate anxiety and unable to just toss these clothes into a garbage bag and drag them to Goodwill because I know it’s likely they will end up in a landfill. So I can understand why so many people felt inspired to send their excess stuff to California—here was a chance to unburden themselves of these extra clothes while doing something good!
Unfortunately, most of us know that the path to hell is paved with good intentions, and all those donations have led to a different crisis for Californians. The Guardian recently reported on the Suay Sew Shop, a vertical sewing and production company in L.A., which has rescued 50,000 pounds of surplus textiles from community groups that were overwhelmed by donations.
FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS.
Friends, I’m probably stating the obvious when I say: We have too many clothes. And while I love the feeling I get after a long afternoon shopping with my mom, a bunch of shopping bags piled at our feet on the subway ride home, I’ve really started to second-guess the way I shop. It’s not the amount I spend that’s the problem; it’s what I buy and how often I wear it.
of had a provocative newsletter subject line late last month: “You Bought 68 Items Of Clothing Last Year.”“We've never owned more clothes and had less style,” she wrote, and ouch, it felt like a direct attack.
I made a mental tally in my head of all the new clothes and shoes I got last year, and it’s nowhere near 68. (Maybe closer to half that?) But when I think back over a year of purchases, I definitely have a few regrets. For every new piece of clothing I bring home and love (most recently a pair of Freda Salvador boots and a quilted jacket from Buck Mason), there is something in my closet that taunts me (a pair of ill-fitting Me + Em pants and an Old Navy swimsuit that I’m frankly never going to wear, to name two).
I pretty much never shop for clothes online, and while that frequently prevents me from impulse shopping, there are times when it can backfire, especially when I think I need something and I need it right now.
Last spring, ahead of my girls’ trip to the Caribbean, I popped over to Old Navy in search of a few affordable items to supplement my summer wardrobe. Our group chat had been abuzz with a conversation on what to wear to the resort’s White Party and Neon Night, and I knew I had nothing that fit the bill for either event. I honestly had the most fun trying on clothes that afternoon, and I left with a huge bag of new things—two pairs of pants, two tees, a crazy jumpsuit, some shorts, a black bodysuit, and that aforementioned swimsuit, which in the dressing room looked adorable paired with the flowy hot-pink pants. On my way home, I stopped by this tiny Park Slope boutique I love, and I was hit with an instant wave of regret. Should I have skipped my Old Navy haul in favor of a single special item from this store?
I ended up returning the tees and jumpsuit, but while on the trip, I stupidly cut the tags off of the swimsuit, which now languishes, unworn, in a bin beneath my bed. I’ve worn both pairs of pants a handful of times, but they don’t really add much to my closet, and realistically, I’ll probably throw them in a Goodwill bag by the end of this summer. The whole experience—wanting something new for a vacation, enjoying the shopping high, but then quickly regretting the fast fashion purchases—is a cycle I don’t really want to repeat again. And I felt so silly for falling into it this time.
But I also know I’m not alone in this struggle. For one thing, there is inspiration everywhere. My inbox is filled with newsletters stuffed with recommendations for the perfect jeans or cardigans or ballet flats or party dresses—it’s easy to lose an hour just browsing all the links. And for another, the trends change so fast—I won’t fault anyone for getting caught up in the wanting (and confusing wanting for needing). It’s also easier than ever to buy clothes from all kinds of brands, from Athleta to Alaïa, and get the new item delivered to your home in no time, but it’s harder to shop in-person in stores. I feel so overwhelmed and overstimulated by it all.
If I’m overwhelmed as a casual consumer, I wondered, how do fashion writers really feel? I chatted with
of and Erika Veurink because their newsletters usually aren’t just collections of links,5 but rather they share their own experiences developing their personal style, and they both put a lot of emphasis on secondhand shopping.Both women say they take their time before making a purchase, doing their research and waiting until they find just the right item.
“Quality is harder to come across these days,” Shelcy says. “And I’m trying to educate myself on what actually makes something high quality.” She looks at the material composition and considers how it feels and wears, and she likes to see how it looks after it’s washed or dry cleaned. Shelcy tells me it can take her months to make a purchase—right now she’s on the hunt for vintage Armani.
I love hearing Shelcy and Erika talk about their process—there’s so much passion there—but I also can’t really relate. I want to be the person scouring the RealReal or eBay for the perfect [fill-in-the-blank item], but that’s just not my reality.
The other thing that sets me apart from Shelcy and Erika—and most fashion Substack writers—is that they are regularly gifted clothing and accessories from the brands they work with, which allows them to be slower and more mindful when they do decide to shop. I really appreciate that they were so transparent about this, and I don’t begrudge them these perks. But it does mean we are inevitably going to approach our wardrobes differently, and I think that’s a critical thing to keep in mind if you find yourself falling down a comparison rabbit hole with some of your favorite fashion influencers.
writes the newsletter I Think It’s Brave, and since last fall, she has fairly regularly shared a weekly corporate office outfit diary, documenting the outfits she wears each week to her job in Manhattan. I love this series because Meighan meticulously explains how she puts together each look. She recently fully uploaded her wardrobe on the Indyx app, so newer posts even include the date she acquired each item, which gives you a sense of how long certain clothes stay in rotation.Meighan, unlike Shelcy and Erika, doesn’t receive gifts from brands. The clothes in her closet are items she bought herself, which is why I wanted to chat with her for this story. When we got on the phone, she laughed and told me her mom thought it was funny that I was interviewing her, because Meighan admits that she sometimes feels paralyzed trying to decide whether to buy something new because clothes are so expensive and she doesn’t want to buy the wrong thing.
Recently, the item of clothing that she’s been coveting is a pair of Tibi jeans, which she says would be a huge investment for her. Meighan tried them on in the Tibi store last November and loved them, but she decided to wait to make the big purchase until closer to her birthday in January. She reasoned with herself that if she was still wanting them in late December, she would buy them.
Meighan ended up ordering a pair with plans to wear them to her 30th birthday party, but ultimately, she couldn’t commit and ended up returning them. She just couldn’t get over the $500 price tag, and she worried about how much she would wear them.
They were a vibe, she tells me, but she’s not sure it was the vibe she’s going for. “I still feel some pangs of regret for returning them, but I’m also not sure they’re truly me.”
And boy, do I ever get that sentiment. There are so many trends that I admire but know I could never, ever pull off. I love reading
by , but I know I could never, ever rock a blazer and sweatpants the way she does. Erika is always waxing poetic about Rothy Mary Janes, which look so cute on her (she’s still in her 20s!) but would look dowdy on me (I’m 44!). And I’m mostly okay with that. But I also understand Meighan’s desire to push herself to try something new.These days, I struggle to find that motivation to get dressed at all, and the truth is, an inbox full of fashion Substacks hasn’t helped that problem.
Since leaving R29 nearly six years ago, I’ve been through a series of big transitions that have required all kinds of outfit changes: from a role at a traditional financial business pub to a fancy job at a legacy media company to working for myself. There were also those two-ish years of work from home through the pandemic. During this time, I also entered my 40s and have been navigating the inevitable changes to my body that come with middle age. My hips are wider and my knees ache when I wear pretty much anything other than sneakers. Wah wah.
In 2025, you could say my signature look is a pair of jeans, a sweater (or button-down/tee in warmer months), and sneakers. And frankly, I don’t really like it. Yet when you work from home 95% of the time, what’s the point in wearing anything else? Even when I spend the day at my coworking space, it’s hard to feel motivated to deviate from my typical look.
But this outfit rut has left me feeling like I’m just a person who gets dressed every day, not someone with personal style. It makes me feel so blah, and at times, basically invisible, just one of dozens of similar-looking nice white ladies with cute kids who populate my corner of Brooklyn. It’s easy to fall victim to the idea that some new clothes will fix that problem by restoring my sense of self and giving myself a little confidence boost.
Honestly, sometimes it does. Sometimes you find just the right blazer or shoes that make you feel like a total badass, and you power pose in the closet mirror and think, “Fuck yeah, I can take on the world!” And in those instances, it doesn’t really matter what you spent, as long as you can afford it. (Because there’s nothing like credit card debt you’ve racked up while shopping for new clothes to truly hurt your self esteem—and potentially your credit score.)
But I keep reminding myself that clothes can’t always be the Band-Aid. The shopper’s high is fleeting, and frankly, our overconsumption problem is gross. Erika’s right: Defining your personal style isn’t just about adding more clothes to your closet. We have to dig a little deeper, get a little uncomfortable, close Instagram and open our eyes to our own realities, our bodies, and our preferences.
And maybe it seems frivolous right now, when it feels like our democracy is on the brink of collapse. Or perhaps you’d say I’m overthinking all of this. Maybe. But we shouldn’t underestimate the importance of taking control of our personal style and rethinking how and where we shop. As Mark Twain once wrote, “There is no power without clothes.” And he should know—dude had style. Makes me wonder if all I need is a linen suit? Got any recommendations?
Share how you feel about shopping, style, and money in the comments!
Random Extras:
I also spoke to writer
and stylist Aliya Thomas for this story, and while they are not directly quoted here, they served as a big source of inspiration. I highly recommend following Sarah over at Puck, where she writes for Line Sheet. And Aliya works one on one with clients, if you’re looking for some professional help overhauling your closet. (Truly that sounds so fun!)Friend of The Purse
has launched an exciting and timely year-long project on her Substack called The How to Find Your People Club. If investing in IRL community is on your to-do list, I highly recommend you check it out.You can now pre-order
’s new book, Money Together, which is packed full of advice and anecdotes about couples and money. To say I’m excited for this book is an understatement!Paid subscribers are automatically entered into our monthly sweepstakes! In February, I’m giving away a copy of Neha Ruch’s new book, The Power Pause, and Fran Hauser’s Reflect and Reset journal.6 Maybe it’s time to upgrade? I promise I won’t spend it all on new clothes! 😉
...and personal style and the environment and sense of self.
I’ll add, I think that I spend the least on eating out. I’d take a new pair of shoes over a fancy dinner most days of the week.
That’s a joke. We live in Brooklyn; we don’t really have malls here.
Erika V. does regular roundups of vintage and secondhand treasures she tracks down.
The sweepstakes is limited to readers within the U.S. It closes at 11:59 p.m. ET on February 28, 2025. To enter without upgrading to a paid subscription, please reply to this email by 11:59 p.m. ET on February 28, 2025, that you would like to be entered in the sweepstakes. If there are any further questions, simply respond to this email, and I will do my best to answer them.
I read this while wearing a pair of leggings I found in a clearance cart at Kroger last year for $2. I wear them all the time! I just bought one pair bcz I was suspicious of them, but wish I’d bought them all. I’d be set for life.
But nobody is ever going to consider me fashionable. I now own ONE pair of jeans in my current size and I bought them at Old Navy for around $20 about two weeks ago. (I have jeans in multiple sizes because my weight shifts a lot; I needed a size 12 and the pair I bought the last time I was at this weight has a defective zipper.) You can only wear about 7 outfits a week. Add in some fancy options, some things for yard work or exercise, and account for seasonal changes. Consider that most pieces will last at least 10 years if you take care of them. Turns out you really only NEED to make a couple of purchases per year unless your weight changes or you switch jobs and need more (or less) professional attire.
I also have a black pure wool dress coat that I bought in the 1990s. It’s still perfect. It cost about $100 (purchased on clearance!) and I knew I’d never have to replace it. I don’t anticipate ever buying another.
If you love fashion but want to curb your consumption, I highly recommend Indyx! Changed my life, that’s not an understatement.
Also, I too feel a bit of ick at how many of the newsletters I follow are just link central. I’ve decided for now that if the primary focus of someone’s content is to keep selling me, then they probably aren’t for me. There are some incredible folks in the space though who are focused more on styling, secondhand shopping, and tools to be a better shopper.