Hating the Hunt

My partner is a shopophobe. He grew up in a country town and likes to call himself a rural sexual, as opposed to a metro sexual. 

If it were up to Hubby, he'd still be wearing lumberjack shirts from 1992. We can't have this - I have my own reputation to uphold - so gradually, almost without realizing it, I've found myself shopping for him. What started as a T-shirt here, pair of socks there, has become a full ensemble for every season.

My taste doesn't always suit his, but no matter. I came back from Woolworths the other day with a new sweater that Hubby turned his nose up at. ‘It's me or a potato sack, dear,’ I told him placidly, aware that he's never likely to turn protest into shopping action. I have him by his little Calvins.

For this man, retail therapy is something you have after visiting the mall. And he's not alone.

Men, as a species, hate shopping. For them, football is from Mars, fashion is from Venus. Last year, the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania did a study titled ‘Men Buy, Women Shop’, about the sexes' different priorities when walking down the aisles. Researchers found genders were reverting to stereotype in stores: men were hunters, women gatherers. Men wanted to shoot in, find a parking spot, secure their target item, choose the shortest check-out queue and get the hell out of there. Women were happier to browse, chat to sales people and try samples before making a purchase.

It's this kind of research that could mean my days as a wardrobe dictator are numbered. Stores have realized there's a huge untapped market of male consumers and are adjusting their strategies. The Wharton School study also reported women spend $4-trillion annually and account for 83 percent of US consumer spending. Think of all those bachelors sitting home alone in their lumberjack shirts, with no women to shop for them. What an opportunity. But how can it be exploited?

In the flagship Top Shop outlet on London's Oxford Street, big couches and screens showing sport and music videos were introduced to lull male shoppers into a false sense of security. But this is merely taming the beast, tranquilizing the hunter with TV, not stomping out his phobia.

For Hubby, the worst part about shopping is trying things on. It's hot, it's crowded, the fitting room is too small and he bangs his elbows against walls and curses so violently I blush on behalf of fellow shoppers. He refuses to model any outfits. The mirror is the enemy and basic instincts make him want to smash it into submission.

It's not as if he's ignorant - thanks to being bombarded by celebrities wearing designer gear on television, the Internet and in movies, he knows who Marc Jacobs and

Gucci are. He just won't have a part in their boutiques. If Hubby's unhappy in a busy chain store, he's downright miserable in a minimalist emporium where there's no escaping the suave shop assistant. Poor baby.

But in the trend-setting States, recent research shows male consumers are coming out of the closet and into stores, where they have even been seen to - wait for it - linger, without a wife or mother in sight.

This sounds like progress, but I'm not sure women are better off relinquishing the power of dressing their man. Hubby has no idea how much control his shopophobia has given me. I determine if his feet are warm with woolly socks in winter. I can make him sweat with cheap polyester fabrics in summer. I can turn him into a surfer, a businessman, a biker or a hiker.

Truly, woman maketh the man. So what if I can't change his lumberjack language? I can change his shirts. One red-checked flannel wonder at a time.