Mia Freedman - The New Black

To Jason. The One.

Most Saturdays, I play sport. Its a specialist sport called Shop-Hide-&-Lie and it requires skill, cunning and endurance. It goes something like this: you go shopping (although you never announce your intentions, merely that you have running around to do), you buy one thing or many, and then you use every deceitful technique possible to get your purchases past the gatekeeper (i.e. any man who lives in your house, be he father, boyfriend or husband) and into your closet without detection.

Playing Shop-Hide-&-Lie involves big risks and little dignity. I rip tags off with my teeth. I park my car blocks from home in order to hide the bags in the back seat. I stuff delicate new tops into pockets. I bury expensive new sandals in bags of fruit and vegetables. I scrunch new jackets into little balls and shove them under my bed. Thats the hide part.

One of my favourite things about being single was the extraordinary joy that came with brazenly bringing shopping bags and shoe boxes into my house. It never failed to delight me. Because, depending on the size of the splurge, disposing of the evidence can be an involved process. And since I also insist on hiding the bags and tags from my cleaner, I cant even hide them in my garbage; it has to be off-premises.

I try to cut down on the disposal process by taking affirmative action at the point of sale. Last weekend I was in a crowded little shop in Paddington in Sydneys eastern suburbs, where I bought a skirt, a dress and a bag (on sale, I swear. Okay, not really). But before the salesgirl could wrap them, I stopped her. Just pop the skirt and dress in the bag, I instructed. Easier to smuggle into the house that way. Laughs of camaraderie bounced around the shop and the salesgirl replied, Ah, yes. This way you just bought a bag. This ol bag? I countered. Its not new, Ive had it forever!

That would be the lie part. Most women are practised enough not to get caught actually smuggling the contraband into the house. But, invariably, if you wish to wear said contraband, you need to have a selection of lies ready to roll right off your tongue. And you must practise saying them with nonchalance.

If my husband ever asks about a purchase, I pretend I got it from Glebe markets, because thats a euphemism for practically free, confides one friend. Another friends predilection for shabby chic allows her to fool her partner into believing she found her new bits of furniture by the side of the road. And there are many high-end shops that keep a stash of dry-cleaning bags under the counter for customers who wish to smuggle new loot past unsuspecting menfolk. Arent we chicks resourceful?

Working in fashion or magazines is particularly helpful, because you can pretend you got sent stuff for free. I told my boyfriend that Christian Dior gave everyone free sunglasses at a fragrance launch, remembers a colleague. But when I lost them a few months later, I forgot the lie and raved on about how Id wasted $400 on a pair of lost sunnies. I was so busted!

My friend Amy recently told her husband she was going down the road for some milk the corner store being conveniently next to her fave boutique. Two pairs of slouch pants and $300 later, she dumped the bag in the trash, hid the pants in her garden and then found herself having to explain how shed returned home without the sole object of her mission: milk. Did she fess up? Fuggedaboudit. Instead, she sensibly shouted at her husband about feeling tired, stressed and hormonal, until he abandoned all questions and offered to make her tea black.

This is known as the best-form-of-defence-is-attack response and it can be quite effective. I also recommend the following: No, of course this isnt new! Ive had it for ages! I cant believe you havent noticed it before! Or the more solicitous: New? I wish! But thanks for noticing, honey. Glad you like it.

Memo to men: ask a woman how many guys shes slept with or how much a new purchase cost and she will slash 30 to 50 per cent off the truth. And if you raise the subject of her shopping too much, she will invariably fly into a rage and accuse you of stifling her individuality.

But do you know the weirdest part? In most cases, were spending our own money! We very rarely use the joint card for shopping (all women know its vital to have your own card and hide the statements accordingly).

Even when women are out-earning or financially supporting their partners, they still lie. And while men may be bemused and exasperated by chick-shopping (often because we steal their closet space and coathangers), few of them truly begrudge us our new clothes, especially when were paying for them ourselves. So why the deceit?

My theory is that men are our retail conscience. By hiding a purchase from them, were hiding it from ourselves. If there are no bags or tags, it didnt happen. Women shop so differently to men, concurs my best friend. They do it for necessity, while we do it for pleasure. So, to them, the idea of weekly purchases is excessive and unnecessary. And honestly? Theyre right.

Maybe its also guilt about indulging ourselves. Because we never hide the stuff we buy for others, do we? Nor do we lie to other women, no doubt because women understand the sickness that is shopping addiction, like one alcoholic talking to another.

Is that the time? Better go. Got loads of running around to do today.