I am a fashion leader.  

Except that I’m really not. I’m not even a contender. So the fact that I recently received a letter that said, “You are a fashion leader,” made me particularly pleased. Unfortunately, my elevated fashion credentials don’t really belong to me at all. The true fashion leader is a woman I don’t know. I’ll call her Katherine M.   

Katherine M. came into my life five years ago when I learned that she had been borrowing my Social Security number. I discovered her existence when my husband and I decided to refinance the mortgage on our Oak Bluffs house.   

“Sorry,” said the loan officer. “You forgot to pay your Victoria’s Secret bill.”   

What Victoria’s Secret bill?

 “You should get a copy of your credit report,” the loan officer said.

It turned out that someone by the name of Katherine M. was obtaining credit cards then defaulting on the accounts, likely because she was using my Social Security number instead of hers, and that was the whole point of the exercise. She had joined an expensive gym and gone on a voracious shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret, hoping, I suppose, that she’d look sensational and I’d splurge and pay for her indulgences.   

I reported the problem to various officials, and for several years all was quiet. But then, as if she had returned from an extended trip abroad – still well-toned but probably in need of new lingerie – Katherine M. was back.  

This time, though, solicitations addressed to Katherine M. started arriving in my mailbox. It began with a simple application for a credit card, then a congratulatory letter from another credit card company. One letter said she had applied for a credit card, but her application was rejected. I’ve never been so happy to receive a rejection letter.  

I stashed the growing pile of Katherine M.’s mail in a to-be-dealt-with-later pile. I didn’t know why I was suddenly getting her mail; all I knew was that after several years without her, Katherine M. was back in my life. I tried to ignore her.   

Then I received the letter from an upscale department store informing me that I could achieve the look I wanted at prices I’d love. They told me that I was a fashion leader. They even enclosed a credit card and coupons to prove their belief in my fashion accomplishments. What a wonderful deal. But the deal was supposed to be for Katherine M. Too bad for her that it was sent to me.   

I fiddled with the sleek black credit card that had her name imprinted on it. An image of a bridge and urban skyline was finely etched into the plastic. Katherine M. must be an urbanite. My credit card has an image of two hikers on it. I wonder if Katherine M. knows that I shop at sporting goods stores?

As I held her credit card, it occurred to me that I could start posing as the woman who posed as me. I could shop where she likes to shop. I could transform myself into the type of person who flashes sleek black credit cards at trendy boutiques. Through deft imitation, I could become a fashion leader.

The thought of posing as the woman who had gone on a spending spree pretending to be me was strangely empowering. She had borrowed my identity and now it felt as if I had access to hers. I looked down at my baggy pants and slightly wrinkled shirt and contemplated the possibilities.