I’ve always thought that addicts were the types loitering outside the methadone clinic on 35th and Eighth, or midday patrons at certain old-man bars. I’m not that kind of person, I’d think self-righteously. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. But I’ve since realized that I am an addict. I’m unable to curb my spending.

I buy everything. I own about 12 colors of nail polish right now, for instance. Maybe 40 handbags, including a bunch of clutches that I never use. I have about the same number of jeans and even more pairs of shoes. I have a huge box reserved for makeup and beauty products. I stuff clothes in suitcases and shove them under my bed. I’ve filled up a dresser, rows of shelves and a hanging clothes rack. I bring junk I don’t want home to my parents’ house and store it in my old bedroom.

So I decided to take on the challenge of not shopping for an entire month. No extraneous purchases—whether at Duane Reade or Barneys. I’d save money, I reasoned, and would prove to myself that I could go without.

It was much harder than I envisioned. At first, shopping was all I could think about. I tried to distract myself with work or exercise—I had recently joined a yoga studio and began going about five times a week. I spent more time with friends—something I’d previously neglected—but whenever I wasn’t busy I thought about spending. I realized that when I’m alone, aside from eating or sleeping, I want to be shopping. I was almost afraid to go into stores, and for a month I pretty much didn’t. In 30 days, I only set foot in a boutique once, and I stayed for about five minutes before leaving. It wasn’t just the temptation of going through the racks that plagued me, but also a strange sheepishness I felt about entering a retail establishment with no intention of buying anything. Browsing wasn’t any fun, because I knew that the result would be me leaving empty-handed. Often I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to be shopping, and I’d walk toward a store only to remember (with a little shock) that I couldn’t buy anything.

I didn’t tell many people what I was doing. I usually shop alone anyway, frequently when I’m tired or upset. In the mornings, I’d wake up grouchy—nothing to wear!—and I had to do laundry more often because, at the time, I only had one pair of pants that I liked. I broke the fast on Friday, December 8—immediately after work I went to Macy’s and bought a pair of jeans and a dress, ignoring the twinge of guilt I felt at the register. I still have a ton of stuff on my wish list (new boots, an iPod, a gym bag), but I’m trying to restrain myself. In a month, I saved a few hundred dollars, and I realize I’m sick of being broke.—Leslie Price