Question: How do you do it?

When you see a piece of clothing on a rack, do you imagine not just yourself in it (looking fabulous, natch), but your whole life improving as a result of this particular purchase?

Shopping is a magical activity for most women that I don’t think most men understand. When we look at a cute blouse, it’s not just a cute blouse. We see the potential to change our lives; when we imagine ourselves in said cute blouse, we are undergoing a transformative process, whereby the properties of the blouse combined with our bodies will meld together to create: CuteBlouseGal (CBG).

When I wear this blouse, I won’t be plain old me; I’ll be the kind of woman who wears that exact kind of cute blouse, who is breezy and articulate and handles stress well. CBG looks people in the eye, has a sassy spirit, but is friend to all who seek her out, and she loves a good mocha latte (or a good pinot noir) once in awhile.

CBG doesn’t complain, sometimes hums hip songs to herself, and always has cute purses. Men think she’s fabulous and flirty, never skanky. Women love her chic style and positive attitude. She’s peppy, but not nauseatingly so. She’s edgy, but can conform to the mainstream when absolutely necessary.

That’s a pretty tall order for a blouse.

I look at that blouse and my future as CBG and yes, I want that blouse right now!

Do you see why it takes so long for us to decide what to wear in the morning? Or what to buy?

We’re trying on an identity when we try on clothes. And we’re looking for a better version of ourselves. We’re trying on who we’d like to be, as opposed to who we are.

Sometimes a blouse isn’t just a blouse.

Clothing as self-expression is nothing new. I’m sure Australopithecus Woman figured out a way to distinguish herself from the other cave gals pretty quickly by placing her palm leaves just so, or wrapping her mastodon fur rug insouciantly over her shoulder. Fashion has been around as long as we have.

But transformative shopping, the alchemy of merging self with better-self-through-object, while highly encouraged by advertisers, still strikes something deep in the core of the shopper. We all want to be better people; will this skirt help? Am I the person who can pull off this skirt? Will I learn to assert myself better if I wear this scarf?

When we shop, we want to change, to be better, cuter, hipper, funnier, fill-in-the-blankier.

And lately, as in the last six years, I’ve gotten into the habit of not trying on clothes. Since I had kids, that pretty much obliterated out any possibility trying clothes on at my leisure and assessing them assiduously in the tri-mirrored dressing room.

I literally cannot remember the last time I tried on anything in a store. And yet I remain consistently clothed. I just end of spying a shirt I like, seeing some idealized version of myself in said shirt, and poof, into my eager arms it goes, and off to the check out we fly.

It’s not until I get home that I try my new article of magical clothing on and realize that it just about never lives up to the hype. (One should really try clothes on in the store. But who has the time?)

I’ve lately been on a ruffly blouse kick (probably ill-advised). If you know me, you’re now busting a gut, because I’m not really the ruffly blouse type, per se. Combat boots and vintage overcoats, more like.

But maybe I could be—aye, there’s the rub. Maybe I could be the kind of person who wears ruffly blouses.

So I now own three ruffly blouses that sounded great in the store, but in reality? Not so much.

Because I imagined myself rocking those blouses. I’d subvert the ruffly blouse paradigm. I’d turn convention on its head and wear a ruffly blouse with cargo pants, and Doc Martens, I’d be a grunge/post-punk/girly-girl…something! Push the envelope! Rock the vote! I was going to have it all!

Instead, my ruffly blouses sit in my closet, a testament to my dreams, imploring me to take a chance on a new identity, take a risk and be a CBG, if only for a day.

Maybe I’ll wear one tomorrow.