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Maybe someone could invent Viagra for flaccid consumer desire.

Because something unexpected happened the other week, something I hadn’t suffered from – ever, I swear.

I was out on a street, one of those busy downtown ones lined with swinging doors of glittery temptation, and I was feeling in a shoppy-ish mood (ebullient, in other words). So in I was sucked, and there I found myself, looking carefully at a very pretty dress, the kind I once thought I couldn’t possibly live without.

That’s when a different kind of thought pattern arose.

“Well, it’s just a dress,” argued this uninvited little inner voice. “And you’ve had many dresses in your life,” she continued with a sort of bored tone.

“Well, yes,” I replied. “I have.”

“And what has that taught you?” she wondered.

“That I like dresses?”

“Ha ha.”

I thought more carefully. “They’re all just dresses. And after a while, they hang there in my closet, not new any more.”

“Uh huh.”

“The thrill doesn’t last.”

“And?”

“And so ... oh my God!” I was shocked. I realized what I I was thinking: “Why bother? Why bother spend this money on this item I think I want so much when it, too, will go out of style, become just another thing I once wanted, another ... impermanent pleasure.”

Economists worry about “flagging” consumer confidence. But this is about having a spent consumer libido.

“Yes, you’re getting old,” said my annoyingly all-knowing little voice.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, just so you know, you’re in self-denial,” she concluded primly.

The truth is I know I’m not alone. Because I’ve asked people – others, not just my friends, many of whom are kind enough to consider lying just to reassure me.

In midlife, consumer habits often change. Not everybody’s do, of course. I know plenty of midlife (and beyond) people keep spending and accumulating possessions as they always did. Arguably, if they have the means because of a successful career and other sources of income, they’re almost making up for lost time by buying all the things they once lusted after but couldn’t afford.

But many find themselves with an altered, minimalist consumer desire, and while worrying about retirement is the most obvious cause, that’s not the only reason.

Some of the consumer psychology at midlife seems to involve a search for meaning (not something easily found in a Prada bag); a clarity of self that doesn’t require commercial props to define itself; and a weariness about the emotional cycle of purchasing (from thrilled to blasé) after having been an active consumer for the past, oh, 40 years.

“When I was younger I bought things to show myself, or to others, who I was,” says Debbie Middlebrook, a 46-year-old Toronto woman. “There was this excitement when you first have your own money, when you can buy things. A sofa! A car! And based on what you buy, you build an identity. ... But now I know who I am. I’m comfortable in my own skin. And I don’t need things to tell me that.”

Her shopping habits have changed dramatically in midlife, she says. If she does buy something, she takes a long, long time to ensure it’s exactly right for her.

“It’s about authenticity in midlife,” explains Jeff Richardson, director of The Centre for Midlife Renewal in Toronto. He sees the attitude in many of his clients and also in himself. He’s 52. “We pare away things that don’t matter so much. And with that authenticity, we have courage to say ‘I don’t care what others think.’ ”

It’s also about a search for meaning, something that many people want as they age. “Some of us come to a point where we understand that material things just don’t bring happiness. They don’t bring any meaning,” offers Nigel Brown, principal of Life Planning Matters in Kelowna, B.C. When he was younger, Mr. Brown, who is 65, liked “nice things,” as he puts it. But following a difficult family period that resulted in a break-up, he re-evaluated his spending – and not just out of necessity.

Buying things can be “a fix,” he says, one that provides a momentary pleasure. But the lasting trick is to “understand where your life is” and find out what really makes you happy – simple things, he says, such as friends and meaningful conversations.

“When you go through life and get older, maybe you’ve been through some trauma, maybe there have been some disappointments, and so you sit down and you think, ‘What has this Lexus, this nice suit, this boat really done for me?’ You realize that purpose and meaning are the anchors that will get you through life when nothing else will.”

I think it also has something to do with a been-there-done-that attitude. To be honest, the attitude is the same as the way my friends and I sometimes admit to feeling about possible romantic partnerships. A love affair always starts with great, goofy excitement – but then, well, the infatuation often fizzles and you’re just left with something else you have to worry about.

Possessions can be a burden.

It all sounds very Puritan and abstemious, I grant you. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that when my little anti-purchase inner voice pipes up, I sometimes override her. Not all my impulses are perfectly under control. (When that happens, I think you’re dead.)

“Listen,” I tell her when she is being insistent. “You’re my conscience. And I admire you. Really, I do. You often do know better. But let’s chat later. Because right now I need to get out of my head and into a new dress.”

That puts her in her place, and miraculously she is quiet – at least until the credit-card bill arrives.