You have nothing to wear. An acute case of Wardrobe Paralysis. Prognosis: grave.

I have examined the case. The condition is Wardrobe Paralysis. The prognosis is grave.

It is not a failure of taste. A person may love clothes, buy them with care and own a great many, and still stand at the rail unable to see a single outfit. The clothes are present. They are not offered.

A patient has written her own account of the same condition, from inside the wardrobe: a full wardrobe and nothing to wear.

Fabric and fit each hold a vote as well. Both must pass your skin before an outfit is permitted to exist. That is a great deal of governing for a Tuesday.

A familiar outfit has no decisions left in it. The weather is known. The fabric has been tested against your skin. The fit is settled and the colours have already agreed. You take it because it is the easy road, and I do not hold the easy road against you.

The rest of the wardrobe is not missing. It is in a drawer, being ignored with great consistency.

I am told the wardrobe has been organised: baskets, labelled compartments, a glass-fronted drawer. I approve of all of it and I doubt it will help. A tidy wardrobe still shows everything at once and offers nothing in particular.

Consider a shop. On a shop's website one garment is lit, alone, against a plain background, and you recognise it at once. In the drawer the same garment is fabric among fabric. The shop did the choosing before you looked.

That is the whole diagnosis. You do not lack clothes. You lack a starting point.

I prescribe three decisions and no more.

Tonight, choose one garment you have not worn this month. A top, a bottom or a pair of shoes. This is the anchor. Take it from the back of the rail or the bottom of the drawer. The front has had its turn.

Add the other two pieces and make them plain. If the anchor is patterned, the others are one colour. If the anchor is one colour, the others may be whatever is nearest. The anchor does the talking. The other two need only be present.

An example. Anchor: a pleated skirt from the back of the rail. Add a black tee and the boots by the door. Three pieces. Dressed before the kettle has finished.

Lay all three on a chair. Three garments on a chair are an outfit that exists. Garments in a drawer are a rumour.

In the morning, consult the weather once. Replace only the piece the weather rejects. Do not reopen the other decisions. Reopening is how a morning is lost.

Keep your five. They are sound. Let one of them go each week and let the anchor take its place.

Do not buy a catalogue system and photograph every garment into it. A catalogue of the whole wardrobe is a longer drawer.

Do not attempt more discipline. Discipline is the method you have already tried.

Some nights not even one garment will volunteer. For these nights I keep the Volvelle. A volvelle is a paper instrument of rotating discs pinned at the centre. Mine has three: top, bottom and shoes.

Press TURN THE WHEEL and the discs settle on one top, one bottom and one pair of shoes. Boxy tee, midi skirt, combat boot. Or sweater dress, ankle socks, T-strap flat. Each disc has a HOLD. Keep the piece you like and turn the rest.

The wheel chooses from a fixed list of garment types: ten tops, ten bottoms and nine pairs of shoes. That is 900 outfits. It does not know what is in your wardrobe. It names a type of garment and you find your own version.

If it offers a pencil skirt and you own none, turn again. It will not tell you what to wear. It will, however, hand you something to react to, which is easier than inventing an outfit from nothing.

Each outfit arrives with a dosage line. One reads: Two circuits of the block. Contraindications: Beige.

Treatment remains available.

Consult the Volvelle