Last Monday, I was in Southampton, and with the pull of the Westquay shopping centre impossible to ignore, I found myself “just browsing” in nearly every store it had to offer (much to the disappointment of several sales assistants). When we tell someone that we’re just having a look around, I think a lot of us are saying it just to politely get them off our backs. In my case, though, I’m telling the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth. I might see plenty of items I like and am tempted by, but very rarely do I feel a burning desire to part with any cash – or anything that strong at all.

In these tough times, you could be forgiven for thinking that I’m just being somewhat frugal. Subconsciously, perhaps I am, but I don’t think that explains everything. Of course, my reaction to something can vary depending on what it is. If it’s a meal or a new book, for example, then that’s something I could share with others, something to be fully consumed and savoured (in drastically contrasting ways, obviously). If it’s an item of clothing, on the other hand, my response – or lack thereof – couldn’t be more different. It’s closer to indifference.

I think it’s at its worst with clothes, as a matter of fact. You can point something out to me and I might agree that it looks nice, but that’ll be the end of the discussion. Either that or I’ll just tell you what I think you’re expecting to hear. I’ve been doing a bit of soul-searching to try to find out exactly why that is – why I feel so little towards what I wear – and that’s what led me to force myself to make some purchases in Westquay. When I’d managed to prise myself away, I had a new T-shirt, as well as a short-sleeved, smart casual summer shirt covered in mountains, yachts and palm trees. I’ve got a Spanish holiday coming up at the end of June, so the latter seemed particularly appropriate, I think you’ll agree. But my God, was it difficult to choose! Not because there was a wide range of options, but because I didn’t actually know what I wanted to look like. After so much deep thought, there it was – the grand revelation, hitting me in real time.

You see, for the first 26 years of my life, I haven’t really had much input into my own image. It might sound like I’m complaining about that, but I’m not. Mum, Dad and numerous other friends and relatives have meant well – I’ve just found it all too easy to accept everything I was given on birthdays or at Christmas. Maybe I was equally grateful and relieved, because each gift meant one less wardrobe dilemma, and we all know how people can struggle with those – especially in adolescence. In my twenties, however, I don’t honestly feel that things have gotten any easier. I can’t tell you how many laps I did around the M&S racks before settling on what to buy. With each one, another question would go round and round in my head, and all of them related to what other people would think of what I went for. Whether I liked it or not was the last thing on my mind, because what do I like? It looks like I ought to find out. Trusting myself, backing myself and liking myself a little bit more surely can’t do any harm – my life as a whole will be better for it.

Mason