Don’t you just hate it when that happens? You’re at a bar wearing a perfectly planned outfit to a private party. It’s one you’ve worn before and you know it works for you.

You’ve had time to match up all the right accessories and you feel classy and confident wearing it.

You’ve been casually mingling and sipping on champagne when, through the corner of your eye, you glimpse some vaguely familiar volumised tresses gliding through the door It’s that girl (whose name you can’t remember) that you met in May at another party. She just happens to be a friend of the person hosting this party. Trouble is, you weren’t expecting her and – shock horror – you’re wearing the same outfit as the last time you met.

You dive behind an indoor tree as she turns towards you. The branches poke loose leaves into your neatly coiffed hair as you peer between them, making you look dishevelled as well as recycled. You spend the next half hour dodging her between tables, hiding your face behind cocktail menus and finally heroically leaping over the bar to spend the rest of the night cowering behind the counter after she unexpectedly comes over to order a drink.

Sound familiar?

Or am I the only one who becomes paralysed with anxiety over the prospect of being spotted wearing the same outfit twice?

It’s not like I have a shortage of clothes.

My friends know me as the one who has three closets, two sets of drawers, several shelves and a couple of hat boxes.

They’re all fit to burst to burst with discarded shoes that have long been forgotten about and dresses that have only been worn once since they were bought two years ago.

I’ll admit it: most of my clothes only get worn every three or four months, leaving just enough time in between for everyone who saw me wearing them to forget that particular wardrobe choice.

Yet even I have versions of ‘comfort clothing’: the trusty mikado-yellow Kurt Geigers that have been reheeled at least three times, the sheer green silk blouse that makes me feel sexy every time I wear it and my adored Ted Baker winter coat which refuses to be neglected.

And let’s face it: for most people, times are still tough for the purse strings. It’s becoming more acceptable to recycle rather than refresh our wardrobes and even celebrities are being papped enacting a style sequel. But I don’t carry it off with quite the same cool. As well as the alarm of bumping into people who’ve seen me decked in the same DVF dress that I wore to so-and-so’s birthday last month, I dread the thought of going down in Facebook history wearing an outfit more than once.

So as I soon as I’ve been snapped in something, I get photophobia.

Maybe I just have shallow expectations of other people, believing that they will make permanent sartorial judgements of me.

But the truth is, most people probably don’t notice and, if they do, they probably don’t care. In reality, the only comment that’s ever been made is: “I loved that top you wore on your first day of work back in January.

“Are we ever going to see it again?” I’m experiencing a long-overdue epiphany. Maybe that DVF dress won’t stay hidden away for too much longer then…