“Where are you taking those good black jeans,” asked my husband as he checked out the pile of clothes at the front door. They’re too short in the waist and too belled in the bottom, I explained. And these hiking boots kill my feet. And the mango colored shirt? Well, we agree that was a regrettable purchase.

The occasion was a clothes swap at a friend’s backyard in Forestville. The basics of the swap are pretty simple. All the guests bring items from their own closets that they’re ready to give up. The clothes are not tattered or hopelessly outdated. You might admire them on a friend, just not on yourself anymore. If ever.

I don’t know the origin of the clothes swap but it may have started in the pioneer days when women had to make do with one dress all the way from New Jersey to California and somewhere in western Kansas one yelled out “I’m so sick of this rag,” prompting the woman in the next wagon to yell out, “I’ll take it” and with that, one ripped off her gray muslin and the other her yellow calico and they swapped.

By the time everyone got to Sacramento the word had spread and someone had a party in her backyard and all the women got silly and tried on each other’s clothes and had something to drink and came home with a brand new look. When their husbands inquired, “Where did you get that?” they could say, “This old thing?”

It’s the best kind of shopping. You are surrounded by personal advisors who won’t hesitate to urge you to “take it, you can wear it with jeans.” Or to frown and say, “leave it.” It costs nothing. You’re recycling. And you might make a score. Like I did with my new pencil skirt that can go with sandals or boots and according to observers makes me look tall. And which my friend Maureen is ever so grateful to never wear again.

What’s left at the end of the day gets taken to the local hospice thrift store, so even though you haven’t spent any money you do end up stimulating the economy.

It’s the best kind of shopping.

You would not mistake this scene for a garden party in spite of the Jamaican music, wine and food and women spilling out of their underwires. On the clothesline by the garage were coats, pantsuits and near-formal dresses suitable for fund-raisers. Along the deck was a lineup of shoes – mother-of-the-bride wedding sandals, running shoes bought online but never worn and a dreamy pair of cowboy boots that no amount of straining and pushing were going to fit a size 9.

On the blanket next to the vegetable garden was a pile of summer sweaters where a couple of teachers held forth on the California budget. Tank tops and T-shirts stretched out on a blanket by the pool where some of us wished for a return to shoulder pads. There wasn’t much action at the lingerie table except for a tasty discussion over whether nightgowns or T-shirts are better for sleeping but dont’ do much for your sex life.

The clothes swap is such a good idea I don’t know why men don’t try it. They wouldn’t need hardly as many tables. Maybe one for khaki pants, one for button down shirts, one for those baggy shirts with pictures of surfboards and martini glasses. Here’s an image: a bunch of men walking around in skivvies and black socks asking if plum goes with their hair color.

Shopping was such an automatic habit, a near lifetime one, but as it turns out, not that difficult to break. Like cutting French fries from your diet.

I’m talking about recreational shopping, something you did at lunch or when you had a few open hours on a weekend. Time to cruise the stores, just looking. But there’d usually be something to take home, that you didn’t really need but could rationalize. It looked good on you. You deserved it. It was such a deal. And you hadn’t had anything new in…a while.

But then the economy and consumer confidence dissolved. Frivolous shopping seemed not only unwise, but almost obscene. The least a person could do was draw a line at her own closet and the easiest way was to avoid temptation.

It helped that so many others in my endangered middle income group became practical at the same time. I’d ask a friend what she had bought lately and it was nothing much but the essentials. Food, of course, maybe some new tires, some necessity from the hardware store. Those who could still afford extras chose to keep their gym membership or their hair cutter rather than binge at the mall.

Who needed it, I said, but began looking forward to my friend’s semi-annual clothes swap in her backyard.

It was starting to feel like a long drought.

When I saw all the “buy local” signs pop up in store windows around town I realized that if Main Street started becoming vacant it was going to be bad for all of us. And there was my new rationalization.

I bought a wide faux leather belt. “Going for the Michele Obama look?” asked my daughter, which I took as a compliment and which would have been enough, in old times, to send me back to the store to buy one or two more in different colors. But I honored my new thrifty self and stuck with one. It cost $12, but it seemed to cheer the woman who sold it to me.

I thought of my mother who used to scour the church rummage sales for clothes with status labels and then get out her sewing machine and remodel them for herself. She was of that generation that also owned darning needles. No one threw out a pair of socks or a sweater just because it had a mere hole in it. Same with shoes. When a heel wore down you went to the cobblers, not to the shoe store.

I also bought a new pair of yoga pants. On sale, although more than I’d pay at one of the discount stores. But these came from a shop in walking distance from my house. The owners live in the community. The pants are of organic cotton, made in California. All good reasons to purchase.

I heard that in tough times women tend to buy black purses and not splurge on color. My daughter although, bought a green glittery wallet, but that was for luck, she said, to bring money into her life. That makes it more of a spiritual reason, I guess.

I wonder if our consumer society has been permanently altered by our economic terror? Or, if one day were Timothy Geithner to announce that consumer confidence had returned, the economy was rallying and we could all open our wallets again, would we rush the stores like an after-Christmas mob.

I hope not. Gluttony is so passe. So Hummer.