My husband, Christopher, doesn't put much stock in his appearance. His haircut costs $9, his only grooming effects come from Duane Reade, and save for a few nice tweed jackets inherited from his grandfather and a designer suit or two, the majority of his clothes are purchased at modest sources. I like it that way. Who wants a husband who is overinvested in the way he looks? The truth is that I'd be freaked out if he started coming home with glossy little shopping bags containing expensive remedies. That said, I want him to have the benefits of "new and improved," "medically researched," and "technically advanced" products that may make him feel better or look younger without having to tiptoe out of a department store with them. This gives him little choice but to steal from me.

I must admit, the first time he raided my medicine cabinet I thought it was romantic. It was early in our relationship, and the idea that he felt comfortable enough to help himself to my body cream signaled a new level of intimacy between us. Throughout our 10 years together he has crossed that line again and again—snatching everything from drugstore Magic Move pomade to Chanel antiaging eye cream—though my acceptance of this habit has different reasons now than it did initially. I'm at the point where it's more important to maintain independence than it is to foster intimacy. Now, when I look the other way, it's because I secretly like the idea of my husband going about his day with the fresh hint of my beauty stash following him around; a way for the world to know that he's all mine. I'm not the only one. If any man has a right to use his wife's Frédéric Fekkai Glossing Cream, it is Frédéric Fekkai himself. His wife, Shirin von Wulffen, confides that he regularly uses the styling product he created specifically for women. "I like to get the same movement and shine," he explains. "It's far better than having it be dull and stiff."

Shirin doesn't mind her husband's quest for glossy locks, but other women are more perturbed by such intrusions. L.A.-based stylist Leah Forester says that her film producer fiancé, Bill, a tall and lean yogi type, "has the propensity to find the most expensive product in my cabinet and then dig his fingers in it and glob it on—so annoying." But there are two sides to this story, and Bill, 43, claims it all began when she first offered up the stuff: "I usually subscribe to the philosophy that if I eat well, exercise enough, and rinse off my face in the shower, I'm going to look my best. But when someone offers you a miracle cream that promises to make you look younger and healthier, you don't have a lot to lose by trying it." It became a problem when Leah's favorite bottles started rapidly emptying. Not quite willing to go to the store himself, Bill now sends an assistant—his cosmetic pusher man—to buy the goods.