I have a habit of idly trawling through online stores looking and favoriting clothing. Contrary to the obvious, I am not necessarily on these scouting missions to find the perfect outfit to buy. Increasingly I’m doing it to steer my mind away from thinking too much about my parents and Julia and Michael. 

Life is simple when I'm favoriting articles of clothing I’m not going to purchase. The simple act of clicking on a heart icon and then returning to view those pieces at some later date is infinitely soothing for me. Perhaps it’s the momentary zing of beauty that brings some seconds of necessary solace for me. I perform these moments of zen most mornings to get the day started. 

There are certain rules I’ve unconsciously adopted when deciding who gets past the metaphorical velvet rope: no items in black unless absolutely outstanding. Black is way too funereal for me right now. Preference is for natural fibers but can be overridden if the piece has a certain wow factor. No Diane von Furstenberg, no Kate Spade - these are two designers I’ve not been able to get excited about. Velvet is a preferred material as well as items with keyhole necklines. Something sculptural will always catch my eye and I’m currently obsessed with tracking down the Odas dress by Beaufille. This piece has been in my cross hairs for about a year now. I’ve clocked in on a number of sites but for some reason, even at 80% off in some cases, I’ve not bought it. I’m putting it down to being in black. 

Criteria for the sites I’ll browse include: one-off pieces that will not be turning up at TJ Maxx or Century 21 anytime soon. Mass produced clothes are of no interest whatsoever so yes, most of the clothes are prohibitively expensive as a result. I love a print so anything with color and movement will pique my curiosity. I have an enduring love for Roksanda although the puffy sleeves are getting a little long on the teeth for me and the designer is 5’11” so her clothes are not meant for midgets such as myself. 

Australian designers are not top of the list. Zimmerman may get included but their clothes are for wispy Bondi girls with moneyed up parents, private school educations and teeth that gleam a little too white for my sensibilities. Although I have a soft spot for Romance Was Born. There’s also a tendency to favorite clothing that shows a goodly amount of skin. Strategically speaking. See above re keyhole necklines. Occasionally I’ll tag a Moncler puffer jacket in a nod to the cold climate here but otherwise my favorites are not in anyway practical for the life I have at the moment. And for the purposes of this indulgence, are never meant to be. 

But just because it’s a luxury doesn’t preclude me from occasionally dropping my guard and buying something. Just today a Jean Paul Gaultier dress turned up. A pang shot through me, not only because of its exquisite mix of black velvet (I’m allowed to break my rules) and sheer chiffon but also thinking back to an exhibition of his clothes in Melbourne that Mum and I both were mad for. Anything to do with Mum is setting me off at the moment. (That’s an update for another time). 

Sometimes I’ll take the browsing to the logical conclusion and purchase an item but mostly I’ll find out they’ve been bought by a faceless customer by a Sold slapped across its image and, unless I am unhealthily fixated on it, I’ll have forgotten about it by the next day. 

Surely all this attention to something as facile as online shopping must say something about my state of mind? Well no. There's nothing to explain apart from the obvious: I love clothes. I love their ability to hide and reveal at the same time. To protect and to expose. Their feel on my skin, their drama (or not), their chameleon qualities or their straightforward practicality. It’s an endless opportunity to play with different personas that lurk inside all of us. It’s an eternal game of dress up and fantasy whether the thing ends up in my wardrobe and on my body or not. 

Life is throwing out too many barbs at the moment to give up this required respite.