A shameless shopper

Our modern distractions: 1

The Tablet?s Lent series will look in turn at the attractions that divert our attention from what matters most (see leading article)

IT did not, I have to say, come as a particular surprise when I was asked to take the subject of shopping for this Lenten series on distractions. My support for the retail sector never flags, in good times and in bad, and if anything, is matched by my faithful and unswerving support of London?s service sector. I can quite see, though, that this might strike others as mere extravagance, and the thought crossed my own mind after my outing on Thursday last week. Not every Tablet reader will be familiar with the phenomenon of retail therapy: let me talk you through it.

I started, late morning, just off Sloane Street in Chelsea, getting a blow-dry with one of my pet hairdressers ? ?30, half the normal price because I am a journalist. After that, I was ready to make my move on Prada. After agonising a bit, I bought a pair of shoes to see me through spring ? beige suede, pointy toes, very elegant, ?230. From there it was a hop, skip and a jump to Armani, the Milanese minimalist, but nothing there did it for me. Next door, though, was Max Mara, where I got a sturdy casual skirt for ?109. For lunch, I stopped off in Joe?s caf?, which sounds reassuringly normal, but in fact is a ladies-who-lunch hangout. Then it was on to Grosvenor Street in Mayfair for a facial, ?50. That was nice and close to Vivienne Westwood, where I brooded over her fetching Fifties shoes, but decided I?d better think them over.

Next I drifted around Fenwicks, because I get a yearning for colour at this time of year, trying on pink jackets. Eventually I went for a rose-print blouse, Parisian, for ?109. On the spur of the moment I had a manicure, ?28, just for the emotional uplift. And after picking up some repairs in Miu Miu across the road, I dropped in on Russell & Bromley to try their pistachio suede boots, but finding they were just too much effort to get on, I made my economy purchase of the day, a pair of outdoor shoes, down to ?55 from ?145. This concluded the day?s effort, but only because it had dawned on me that I?d left my Prada shoes in the cloakroom at Joe?s caf?, and had to get there sharpish before they closed at six. Otherwise my retail efforts would have taken me right down to the bottom of Bond Street.

Did I feel guilty afterwards? Nope. Do I have money to burn? Nope. Is the amount I spend on a blouse about four times what my mother would dream of? Yes. Were there better ways of spending money than the way I spent it? Certainly. But what? If you put it to me that the amount I spend on shoes in any one season puts right into the shade my contributions to charity, then I hang my head and vow to increase my miserable direct debits to good causes. But not many people do. The argument you actually encounter against wilful shopping is that there are other, more prudent ways of spending. I don?t, for instance, have a mortgage, and most people think I ought to. I don?t have a pension, and I never get to hear the end of that one from a friend who works at the Treasury. I don?t put aside a proper proportion of income to pay my tax, which means that when the Inland Revenue closes in, I have to scrabble around frantically with loans from the bank. Most of the people who think it frivolous to spend money on rose-print blouses wouldn?t turn a hair if I spent it on a boring, stupid car, or putting double glazing on my windows. Most arguments against consumerism focus on one particular kind, the ostentatiously frivolous sort.

All I can say is that I have no illusions about the vanity and transience of my pleasures here, whereas the people who put all their money into refurbishing their flats actually congratulate themselves over their good sense. Is shopping a distraction, then? In questions like these my mind naturally gravitates to Herbert McCabe, the Dominican theologian whom I loved dearly, who died a little while ago. He was perhaps the reverse of the consumerist: I remember him showing off his purse to me once and bragging that it cost him 50p from Oxford market. He would, I think, have taken a rather dim view of my expenditure. But Herbert was full of good sense about distractions. He was very sound, for instance, on the notion of distraction during prayer. Following his own teacher, Victor White, he took the view that most of what we regard as distractions from prayer flow from us not praying for what we really want.

For instance, our mind wanders when we are glorifying God and asking him for world peace because what we really want is a short holiday in Wales. If we were only honest with God about our real wants, we?d eventually arrive at the sort of spiritual maturity where we could pray for world peace because we meant it. But we have to be honest about our real desires first. There are, I think, other things that prevent you from praying for what you really want. I remember once going frantic at home looking for a copy of Vogue magazine, or Harper?s and Queen or something, and caught myself reasoning why I wasn?t actually praying to find it. The subliminal notion was that this was far too frivolous a matter to bother God with. De minimis non curat Deus. The other was that if I exhausted his goodwill on small things, I might not be able to touch him for the big stuff.

Eventually I decided that God could manage my frivolity, so I prayed to find Vogue. I did too. It doesn?t stop me praying for big things, for other people, but if you?re trying to keep your seamier side from God?s notice, it gets you nowhere. Now, I could, I suppose, have devoted at least some of the energy I expended shopping on prayer, but it would have been distracted prayer. I?d have been brooding about pink jackets. Better, I think, to offer your sheer frivolity to God: it might not be purged from your character, but your spending might afterwards fall into a more social-minded perspective.

Herbert?s other argument was that evil, as such, didn?t exist. After Aquinas he took the view that all created things are good; what is lacking in vice is a sense of proportion. So, almost all the bad things we do are simply wildly distorted goods ? our lusts, for instance, are simply a disproportion in our perfectly wholesome sensual appetites, our gluttony is simply our proper appreciation of another of God?s gifts uncircumscribed by the virtue of temperance. So, if I have a thing about Prada shoes, it isn?t something bad. It simply needs to be circumscribed by two different virtues ? prudence and charity. The prudence would make me consider whether it is entirely wise to buy another pair just now, given my income tax situation; the charity would make me pause in doing so when unfortunates in Zambia are dying of hunger. So, although my natural acquisitiveness is an expression of a perfectly justifiable love of pretty things, the discipline is to put it in a proper context.

I always think, though, that Christ probably had a kindness for extravagance himself. Mary Magdalene, when she covered his feet with expensive unguents, may have had a perfectly lovely time buying it. We have it on good authority that when you?re fasting, you should put on your party best. And just because you?re trying to circumscribe your heart, it doesn?t mean to say that you can?t take pains with your shoes.

Melanie McDonagh is a journalist with the London. Evening Standard