Impulse buys that turn out wrong

We've all got one. Most of us have got several. Until Elton John had a clear-out, he had hundreds.

It is The Thing I Bought But Have Never Worn. It lurks at the back of cupboards and drawers. It's shoved on the top of wardrobes and stuffed under beds. Often, it's never even left the glossy confines of its original carrier bag; the receipt still nestled accusingly alongside. If it has been hung up, the pockets will remain stubbornly stitched shut and the swing ticket will still be attached.

As a nation we now spend £1.6 billion a year on garments whose only contact with a human body occurred long, long ago (before we got it home from the shop and realised what a huge mistake we'd made). And that's £1.6 billion on stuff we didn't even take back! Considering the length of the average queue at a Marks & Spencer refund and return counter, the true figure for shopping mistakes must be much, much higher.

So, are we just rubbish at shopping, or is something more psychologically revealing going on? How is it that an item that is the epitome of buy-me gorgeousness one minute - the minute just before the credit card is swiped - turn into something with all the appeal of a Hear'Say single the next?

It would be nice to be able to blame those wicked retailers. But the truth is they play only a supporting role. As we shoppers shuffle lemming-like to the edge of the shopping cliff, they give us that last teeny shove in the small of the back that tips us over the edge. Inviting stores and pleasant staff both encourage us to spend. But few of us could honestly say that we would prefer it if Harvey Nichols employed off-duty prison warders and relocate to a Portakabin.

The difference between acquiring a must-have garment and an I-must-have-been-mad garment is dictated by a cocktail of factors, but they break down into two main categories. The first is linked to self image. Basically, if you are buying for the person you would like to be rather than the person that you really are, then you are heading straight for trouble.

Anyone who has ever bought a skirt in a size 10 when they are actually a 14 in the belief they'll slim into it, is a victim of fantasy shopping syndrome. That skirt is the clothing equivalent of that picture of you looking fat in a bikini on the beach last summer which you stuck to the fridge door to keep you off the cheese. All the snap and the skirt do is become unflinching reminders of your own failure. At some point, you'll rip one off the fridge, and shuffle the other to the darker recesses of your wardrobe. You'll have spent your money and you still won't have a new skirt to wear.

But fantasy shopping isn't only about misguided hip-size optimism. If you find yourself inexplicably drawn to that embroidered satin corset top when, normally, the poshest place you ever go is past the sushi counter at Sainsbury's, stop. You are experiencing a serious lifestyle credibility gap.

The other major reason for buying stuff you don't wear is to do with mood - you were in the wrong one when you went shopping. Hitting the high street when you are depressed or have PMT is a real no-no. This is shopping as Prozac. Even if everything you try on makes you look like Shrek, you're going to be determined to take something - anything - home with you. It can't end well.

Peer pressure can have a similar effect. You go on shopping safari with a friend. She manages to bag that Miu Miu jacket she's seen from afar in a magazine. Now you want to scent blood, too. Add a couple of glasses of wine at lunch before you set out or, worse still, go late-night shopping on holiday abroad after a good dinner, and who knows what scabrous sartorial prey you'll drag home.

Crisis shopping is another cause of bad clothing decisions. The two Rs - Revenge and Rebound - when combined with a trip to the shops are massively unwise. Whether you've had a row with your other half or been dumped by them, the desire to max out your (or preferably their) plastic is huge. No purchase is too hideous or too expensive.

Only someone in the grip of sales fever could approach a similar level of insanity. The half-price stickers and 30-per- cent-off banners up the stress level, but it is the sheer horror of battling with the crowds that forces so many to part with their money along with their aesthetic judgment. Half an hour in Harrods on day one of the sale and you feel as if you've been climbing Everest in stilettos. It may be hell, but you're going to plant your flag at the top come what may.

But fortunately, there is a free and painless cure for all this behaviour. It's called the charity shop. At least it'll be pleased you paid good money for something that's just spent a year in a carrier bag in the cupboard under the stairs.

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