Ruwaida Abela Northen: How Much Shopping Is Too Much Shopping?

A shrinking dress size meant a growing wardrobe for Ruwaida Abela Northen – but at what point does a shopping addiction go too far?

I have a problem. Alright, I have a few. But the problem I’m acknowledging today is my love for shopping. I can’t resist beautiful clothes. I think it’s because I spent all my twenties and half my thirties unable to dress exactly how I wanted. I was carrying around 75 extra kilos, my silent wardrobe critic. Now, I’m in what I affectionately call my “overcompensating era.”

And let me tell you, it’s real. I regularly discover clothes with tags still attached in my wardrobe – by accident! I buy dresses with no event in mind, heels that are anything but practical, and somehow my wardrobe has more gowns than I have galas. But now that I
finally have the body to match the wardrobe I once dreamed of, it feels like I have a permission slip to say yes to every must-have piece I used to pass up.

Sometimes, I even shop while half-asleep. I’ll wake up to find congratulatory emails in my inbox for purchases I barely remember making. The first few seconds? A mix of panic and curiosity as I scramble to figure out which of my favourite sites hit the jackpot this time. It’s like sleepwalking with a credit card – a strange adventure that leaves me wondering what’s going to show up at my door next.

Online shopping has become such a regular event in our house that ‘delivery’ was one of my four-year-old’s first words. Every time the doorbell rings, he shouts it with the kind of excitement most kids save for Father Christmas. It’s like we’ve turned parcel arrivals into a family ritual. I hold Extremely Important Person/Platinum shopper status on multiple sites, and I wear the distinction like a badge of honour.

I can practically hear Sophie Kinsella whispering, “Buy it, and the occasion will come.” And trust me, I do. There’s a thrill in finding something that not only fits but feels right. For years, my relationship with clothes was purely functional, more about covering up than feeling confident. Now, the fact that I can actually afford the pieces I love, and that they fit, is intoxicating. Every new outfit is a tiny celebration, a nod to the version of me who never quite got to shop this way before.

But there’s another side to this transformation. When I was a UK size 22, shopping felt like being invisible. The rails were filled with beautiful things I longed to wear, but the shop assistants didn’t seem to see me. At my heaviest, I felt like I existed outside their world of curated outfits and gleaming displays, as if my size made me blend into the background.

Now, at a UK size 8, I see the difference all too clearly. Shop assistants practically flock around me, offering help, making suggestions, pulling clothes they think I’d “just love.” It’s flattering, I suppose, but it’s also a reminder of how quickly people shift their attention – and their kindness – based on appearances. Sometimes, I wonder if all those times I was overlooked fuelled this shopping compulsion. Maybe I’m making up for the years I felt unseen.

Recently, I went all out with a closet detox and gave away (drumroll, please) 98 kilos of summer clothes! That’s almost a whole person’s worth of outfits. Yet, somehow, my wardrobe still has no room. It’s like a magical black hole of fabric – I clear things out, and within days, it’s back to bursting at the seams. I’m starting to wonder if my clothes are multiplying in there or if the universe is trying to tell me that “detoxing” isn’t meant for my wardrobe.

But – here’s where the problem comes in – guilt has started to creep into my sprees. I can’t help but wonder if I should be spending this money differently. Should I be investing in my children’s future, setting aside more for retirement, or preparing for the unknown? An alien invasion might be a bit far-fetched, but some days, the list of sensible alternatives is pretty long.

When I catch myself staring at yet another new dress, I can almost picture my future self with an eyebrow raised, asking, “Do we really need another one?” I imagine my kids down the line, giving me that look: “Thanks for the wardrobe, Mum. Now, about that university fund…” I guess this is where I am: stuck between the thrill of making up for lost experiences and that practical part of me saying, “perhaps slow down.” I want to hold onto this feeling, this tangible proof of my transformation, even if it’s a little excessive. But I also know I need to find a balance.

So, I’ve decided to keep shopping, but maybe start a university fund on the side. Life’s short, the kids will be fine, and just in case the aliens do show up, at least I’ll look fabulous.

From Harper’s Bazaar Arabia September 2025 Issue