So buy the beautiful dress. Just buy it with eyes wide open. And for heaven’s sake, wear it more than once. Have you ever made a frivolous dress purchase? What’s your personal “line” between a treat and a mistake? Let me know in the comments.

If a judge deems your purchase frivolous, that specific debt is declared . You will have to pay for that dress, even if all your medical bills and credit card debt vanish.

Under the U.S. Bankruptcy Code, Section 523(a)(2)(C) creates a presumption of fraud for any “luxury goods” or services totaling more than $725 (adjusted for inflation) bought on a credit card within 90 days of filing for bankruptcy. While the law doesn’t define “luxury goods,” legal precedent consistently points back to that 1887 case. A winter coat? Necessary. A set of designer stilettos? Potentially frivolous. A bespoke suit for a job interview? Necessary. A velvet smoking jacket for lounging? Frivolous.

The trustee overseeing her case objected. He argued that Mrs. C. had run up these debts with no reasonable expectation of paying them back, and more pointedly, that the items themselves were She was a homemaker, not a diplomat or a stage actress. A simple wool dress would keep her warm. A silk one with a train? That was a luxury.

How a 19th-century legal concept haunts your credit card statement and your closet.

In high-net-worth divorces, one spouse (usually the husband, historically) might object to the other’s clothing expenditures. A judge will ask: Was that $5,000 handbag a reasonable, necessary expense for maintaining the marital standard of living, or was it a frivolous dissipation of assets?

We’ve all been there. You’re having a rough week. Maybe a bad day at work, a fight with a friend, or just the relentless gray of February. So you do what any rational 21st-century human does: you open your phone. Within three clicks, a silky, emerald-green slip dress is winging its way to your apartment. You tell yourself you need it. But do you really?