Noelle McCarthy: Selfish santa

It's not a bad gift to give oneself: the gift of not overspending, of not getting crazy on it. Picture / Confessions of a Shopaholic

Being insane, I am trying to buy my boyfriend clothes for Christmas. I'm looking for a jumper, specifically, as he only has three of them. Two now that I've stolen one, in this too-warm-for-coats but still-too-cold-for-short-sleeves-only weather.

I went to Wunderkammer. "Very few jumpers," said Zora. "Wrong season." Outside the sun beat down. I spotted a pile of cashmere. Gorgeous whisper-soft cashmere, but cardigans only. I can't buy him a cardigan, he'll look like Denis Thatcher.

Further down the street there were felt and leather tote bags, and rubberised plastic sunglasses. Dead ends, both of them. Time wasters. He has no need of rubberised sunglasses (who does?) and he already has a bag for his computer. I quite like the tote for myself though.

It's the same every Christmas, I go shopping and buy myself presents. The worst was the year I went out early, in November, to get stuff for five family members. I came back with a pair of sandals and two T-shirts from Adrian Hailwood. All for me, me, me.

Not only is it shameful being this self-centred, it's also expensive. I feel so guilty about splurging on myself when I am meant to be buying for other people, that when I finally do get around to the others, I spend far more than I'd intended on every present. This is why I will never own property in Auckland.

Boo bloody hoo, right? I'm lucky. Some people can't buy anything, for anyone. But having such poor impulse-control has gotten boring. This year it's going to be different. I'm buying nothing for myself out of the Other People's Presents budget. Not a new perfume from Mecca, not a rabbit-fur purse from the Georgia Jay pop-up on Ponsonby Central that's come from nowhere when I can least afford it.

It's been a funny year, in which I've gone from loving and enjoying shopping to interrogating every purchase. I could go out and buy myself anything, just because I liked it, and felt I deserved it. But now I'm too attuned to the ways I use shopping to deal with uncomfortable emotions, from writer's block to PMT to that untethered angst that descends without reason, to blithely get among the annual Christmas spend-up.

Not that there won't be presents this year - I have no intention of skipping a tradition that makes the season. It's just that I'll be keeping my wits about me this year. That means not thinking that every present I buy for someone else warrants one for me also. It's not a bad gift to give oneself, at the risk of sounding like Oprah; the gift of not overspending, of not getting crazy on it. It's good to have that sorted in my head at least, before I head back out there to find that bloody jumper.

- VIVA