Why Do We Find It Hard to Let Go of Our Fantasy Self?

Even when it's not serving us.

Last Wednesday, I found myself seeking assurance on a Sézane sweater that had been on my wishlist for a while. I happened to be near the store and decided to pop in and try it on in person. I wasn’t blown away — and neither were the friends I texted about it … or my followers on Substack who responded to my note where I asked if I should keep it or not. And yet, I bought it.

The picture I sent to everyone I know.

As

Maureen Welton

sagely wrote, “Anytime someone asks for an opinion my gut is to guess that if you have to ask, it’s a no. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it! ❤️” She’s right, of course. As someone who tends to overthink, the sentiment of “if it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no” is not a helpful tool for me. That said, I was clearly not in love with this piece and since it cost nearly $200, I probably should have been.

As someone who frequently edits down their wardrobe, has guardrails around their shopping habits, and usually has no problem saying no to spending, I always find it interesting when I decide to hold onto certain pieces I know deep down likely don’t work. I’m going to blame my fantasy self.

I’m not sure who first coined the term the “fantasy self,” but I first learned of it from content creator and self-proclaimed recovering shopaholic, Christina Mychas. She defines the fantasy self as the “idolized image of who you want to be and how you want others to perceive you.” For Christina, that was the “cool girl” — but there was disconnect between the piece she’d buy to try to fit this persona and the pieces she’d actually wear.

In her podcast “Sustain This” (linked below) she muses: “How many of us want to be like a Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and The City type persona and have a closet full of Manolo Blahnik shoes, but you wear sneakers all day in your real life — and even if you have the opportunity to wear those high heels, somehow you don’t reach for them.”

Because I’m very mindful about what I let into my closet, I spend a lot of time removing and adding items to a Pinterest wishlist. The longer something stays on that wishlist, the more I begin to image what it would mean for my personal style when I purchase it. For this Sézane sweater in particular, I likely envisioned myself feeling very chic and French in it. I probably liked the idea that it was a high-quality piece from a well-known brand — and when people asked where it was from, I could give them an answer with pride. I probably liked the idea that the soft powder-y pink color would make me feel feminine and pretty, especially since I usually wear black or white.

But when I actually tried it on, I didn’t really feel those things. I felt a bit uncomfortable in the bell sleeves, which were too whimsical and bohemian for my taste. While I try not to buy things based on if they’re “flattering or not,” it does feel worth noting that I didn’t feel particularly “good” in this sweater. And the color? It didn’t live up to my lofty expectations. But because I put so much weight on this item, I bought it. I stubbornly wanted it to work because I already envisioned the person I would be when I owned it and I wanted to claim her, dammit!

Now, I’m left with a piece that I either force to make work or I’m left with the errand of returning said piece. Last week, I was leaning towards keeping it, upon writing this, I’m leaning towards returning it. The point isn’t whether I do or don’t, the point is that allowing our imagination to get the better of us with style will cost us a lot of unnecessary money and cause us a lot of unnecessary confusion.

Yes, style can lend itself to making you feel cooler, chicer, insert adjective here, but it’s not a magic pill. Conflating how an item will make you feel and who it will turn you into is the biggest capitalistic shopping trap. No one piece will transform you into your fantasy self and attaching your fantasy self to a particular piece is a recipe for disappointment.

I say this mostly as a reminder to myself and my Sézane sweater, but perhaps you needed to hear it, too. A good 2025 resolution is to buy things that make you feel more like you, not more like an idealized image of you.