Why I’m proud of myself for not buying a pair of corduroy trousers

There’s this pair of trousers. They are dark brown and made of corduroy. Loose cut, comfy but not quite baggy. I saw a picture of a young Woody Allen wearing a similar pair and, since then, have become obsessed with finding some of my own. This raises a lot of issues. First and foremost, when did Woody Allen become my style icon? Hard to pinpoint exactly. One day in my mid-40s, I woke up wanting to wear corduroy. Life comes at you fast sometimes.

Eventually, I found the exact pair I wanted online. They were a hundred quid. How could I justify that sort of expenditure this close to Christmas? I didn’t even need any new trousers. Plus, I hardly ever go anywhere that requires me to look even remotely stylish.

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I found myself staring at the trousers on my laptop while I should have been working. Several times I put them in my basket and, once or twice, I hovered the cursor tantalisingly over the checkout button. When Black Friday came around, and the website offered me a painfully enticing 30% discount, it took every last shred of self-discipline to resist.

As I write this, the trousers remain unbought, and the discount offer has mercifully expired. I have successfully navigated the purchasing danger zone and I feel deeply proud of myself.

Now, a story about not buying a pair of trousers might seem trivial. You probably spend a great deal of your time not buying trousers. You might not recall the last time you even thought about trousers. I understand. But we all have our own obsessions. I have several and almost all of them cost money. The daft urge to buy a silly pair of inappropriate trousers that I would probably only wear once or twice before flogging on Vinted points to a deeper problem. 

I have an addictive personality. When I was a kid, I couldn’t stop snacking on sugary foods. I got chubby and this made me unhappy. I was well aware that all I had to do was stop binge eating biscuits and sweets. But I couldn’t. I was locked in a dopamine loop: when something made me feel good, I was unable to think: ‘Wow, that was enjoyable, I shall treasure the memory, feel grateful and move on with my life.’ I would instead think: ‘Wow, that was enjoyable. I shall now devote my entire existence to chasing the same feeling again and again and again to the detriment of all other aspects of my life.’

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I would later apply the same thinking to alcohol and, for a brief time, drugs. At times, I have done it with friendships, work, exercise and video games. As soon as something delivers joy, distraction and comfort, I have to keep doing it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It gets in the way of other more important stuff, like work, relationships and health. 

I conquered my problem with booze through therapy and chatting to other people who’ve gone through similar. But the same instincts still persist, only attached to other behaviours. Granted, buying trousers isn’t half as damaging as boshing vodka for breakfast and cocaine for elevenses. But it represents a demon inside that can escalate quickly and stop me from living a better-balanced existence. 

After 10 years of sobriety, I am more self-aware. I could see the trousers were just the latest in a long line of irrational fixations. Now, when such fixations arise, I ‘play the tape forward’. I imagine the sequence of events: from purchasing the trousers, to receiving them in the post, to trying them on, to wearing them a few times before growing bored with them and giving them to the charity shop. 

There is a discomfort inside that I become aware of once in a while. A need for reassurance, a balm for my insecurities. A voice tries to convince me that I can find solace in my basest urges (in this case, a pair of brown cords). I can ignore the voice better than I used to. I know it’s a liar. Eventually, it fades. Addictions are often small urges that gradually get out of hand.

I was in my late 30s when drinking went from an innocent pleasure to an ugly compulsion. If only I’d learned sooner about how to ride these unhelpful urges, I might have saved myself a ton of therapy money. As it is, I’ve saved myself at least seventy quid in trouser costs.

Sam Delaney‘s book Stop Sh**ting Yourself: 15 Life Lessons That Might Help You Calm the F*ck Down is out now (Little, Brown, £22).

It is available from the Big Issue shop on bookshop.org, which helps to support Big Issue and independent bookshops.

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