Hello. I am an impulse shopper. When I’m sad or mad or hungry – goodbye $300, hello floral dress number 1000 that I’ll wear maybe once. For someone who spends an inordinate amount of time analyzing the artistic value of creative designers and admiring classic tailoring and quality materials, I end up spending an awful lot of time and money buying things I don’t need. Enough. New decade, new style philosophy; feel free to streamline with me.

Step one: throw out or donate everything that hasn’t been worn in the past six months. Clothes that don’t fit, cheap impulse buys that are worn out – gone. The thrift-store pieces you have been meaning to hem or take in here and there get one month to be completed or else they go out with the rest. Set aside two or three pieces of the nostalgic variety, but remember, sentiment is for the weak.

Step two: take stock, organize and see where the holes are in your bare bones wardrobe. Basics shopping is my worst nightmare. I have trouble spending money on plain things that I will wear every day because I am constantly distracted by fun pretty things. For me, pieces that uphold a functioning wardrobe are three pairs of jeans that fit absolutely perfectly in dark, black and gray. For the rest of the bottoms category: a pair of cords; a formal pant; dress shorts; denim shorts; a floor-length skirt; a short, tight one for evening and a knee-length for moments when one must be presentable. On top: a classic white shirt, camel coat, dark coat, a few sweaters that you look and feel good in, neutral colored shirts with minimal but well-placed visual interest (for example, lace sleeves or simple draping). And of course, a dress formal enough for a brunch or wedding, the little black dress, a fun cocktail number and a few day-dresses for “no time in the morning,” ready-made outfits.

And then finally, the fun part: with all the money saved from abstaining from impulse, my “less wasteful, more tasteful” plan allots for a once-a-season splurge. This one sacred spot leaves room for that one piece that has never left your dreams since the moment it walked in Paris in March. Namely, that A-line Prada dress with the graphic ink-blue and wrought metal-green cable print, under-the-bust cut-out and unapologetic huge ruffled décolletage, one part ‘60s teenager, one part subversive bombshell. Or maybe the equally vibrant electric-blue-green Proenza Schouler dress with the Peter Pan collar and extra helping of Lolita, heavy on the latent sexuality of youth.

My justification is, of course, that this way of curating a wardrobe with deliberation and love is as legitimate as collecting art. It sheds the cheapness of instant gratification and returns critical thinking and intellectual as well as aesthetic pleasure to dressing. And even though no amount of self-restraint will ever save me enough money to even touch my dream dresses, I like to think that the purity of appreciation will make each purchase I make worthwhile. In the meantime, I am resolving now at the beginning of this new decade to treat my wardrobe with respect and no longer clutter it with man-made materials that I bought simply because they were on sale. From this point on, I vow to treasure it as my personal collection of the garments that inspire me and challenge the fashion world with creativity and artistic innovation.