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While nowhere near as titillating as a drop-dead designer bag or a spanking pair of Louboutins, a Wolford merino ribbed turtleneck sent me plunging headlong into a luxury groove recently. And what started as a splurge on a decadent-but-practical sweater somehow ended with my owning a $95 thong.

Earlier this fall, resigned to the fact that I can't afford to dole out small fortunes for those to-die-for designer accessories that make the fashion world go 'round these days, I decided to take a more practical tack and put my hard-earned dough into high-end basics.

I had already invested in a simple-but-striking black body sweater last season at Yorkville's Wolford boutique - that uber-expensive Austrian knit label that dares to charge $55 for plain opaque pantyhose. It served me tremendously well over the year, becoming a staple in my wardrobe. So, craving a luxury fix, I spent about $500 for two more simple body sweaters: one sleeveless, in mocha, and one long-sleeved, in dark chocolate.

After a couple of weeks of happily wearing my new purchases - the quality is so sublime, just donning one of these garments makes you feel rich and privileged - I decided to splurge on a coveted Wolford ribbed turtleneck in charcoal grey. Price tag: $672 (including tax). It is what's referred to as a "forever piece " - and one that I knew I'd wear like crazy.

The sweater had to be specially ordered (there were none left in my size). It finally arrived on the eve of a two-day business trip I was taking to Los Angeles; I had to take it with me. I rushed over to the boutique, cringed as I handed over my credit card, excitedly took my purchase home and proudly stuffed it into my suitcase.

My first night in L.A., I took the precious sweater out of its box, practically salivating as I attempted to slip it on. Egad! It wouldn't go over my head! Hmmmm. How could that be? I tugged a wee bit harder. I heard a faint rip. My heart sank. I yanked it off. Horror of horrors: My "high-quality" sweater had a big gaping hole in it. There must have been a flaw in this particular garment, I reasoned. I decided to return it as soon as I got home, though the inconvenience of not being able to wear it on the trip was a total drag.

Back in Toronto, the lady at the Wolford store was most understanding. While she had never seen this type of "faulty" sweater before, she

offered to order a new one.

But the piece had lost its lustre; I just wanted my money back. Frankly, I felt like a fool for having spent so much on a plain little sweater in the first place.

Heading out of the store with credit receipt in hand, a rack of irresistible lingerie caught my eye. "Oh, I didn't realize Wolford made lingerie!" I cooed, fingering the sinfully light, delicately embroidered fare. Before I could say "Fruit of the Loom", the saleswoman was demanding my bra size, asking whether I preferred a thong or panties.

A reluctant but quick try-on later, I found myself standing at the cash register with my fantabulous new lingerie ensemble, which included a skimpy lace tank top priced at a whopping $235. (The pretty lace bra came in at $175, while the teeny thong or "string," as the package calls it, was a staggering $95.)

There is no question the ultralight bra fit superbly, and that was its biggest selling point. But to be honest, I'm not sure what possessed me to spend so much on an "outfit" that will probably never get any exposure.

"I don't even have anyone special to wear this for,"

I lamented to the saleslady.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you will," she predicted,

a twinkle in her eye.

"Yeah, maybe," I said. (Is lingerie like Field of Dreams? Buy it, and he will come.)

I've yet to wear my enchanting underthings. They're tucked away in my lingerie drawer, patiently waiting to be put to good use. The sheer anticipation of donning these exquisite little pieces is half the fun.

Still, I'm shocked I spent that much on something so inconsequential. Those string panties alone cost more than the houndstooth miniskirt I just bought at Club Monaco. On many levels, it makes no sense.

But luxury today comes in many guises. And what's fashionable now are these innocent, personal indulgences of ours.

For those of us who work hard for the money, it seems that even a little lace can go a long way.

jbeker@globeandmail.com