I knew this was going to turn out well when my feet reached the floor of the Underground carriage. At five foot nothing, my feet rarely touch the ground when I'm sitting down, but I was in Hong Kong, a place built entirely for people like me.

I was first alerted to the sartorial possibilities of a long-haul shopping trip when a friend, who's slightly taller than average, came back from Hong Kong with armfuls of clothes for me, and little other than handbags for herself.

'They're all just like you,' she said, retail frustration oozing from every pore. 'The whole bloody place is like Top Shop just for small people.'

This sounded brilliant. A life-long devotee of clothes and dressing up, my height has always been a serious impediment to my hobby, like being an aspiring opera singer who's tone deaf.

I have rarely bought anything without having it altered. It really takes the edge off your retail rush if you have to wait for your spanking new trousers to come back from the tailor before you can wear them, and buying something on the spur of the moment on Saturday afternoon to wear that night is out of the question. Details on hemlines and interesting cuffs are wasted on me, as they invariably end up on the tailor's floor.

Even perfectly ordinary trousers and tops can sometimes look odd because short people aren't just inflicted with short legs; we're short all over. Our rear end is closer to our waist, so hipster trousers reach almost to our bras.

But even as I sat on the Underground on my way to the Ladies' Market, things looked promising. Just as my friend had said, I was surrounded by people just like me, and I was going shopping where they go.

I had my first taste of what it's like to be average in a boutique next to the market. I picked out armfuls of dresses and skirts in my usual size, small. The sales assistant took them from me and said: 'You medium.' I had never before been a medium in my life, but I took her word for it, and went into the changing room.

I slipped a sleeveless black cotton dress over my head, buttoned it, stood back and stared. It fitted. I felt like a Cinderella who's been trying on the wrong glass slippers her whole life, but knows everything is going to change now that she's found the right one.

This was better than any Prince Charming though. The hem sat just on my knee, the belt went around my waist, rather than my backside, and it didn't gape around the armhole. It cost a grand total of £15, and I would have paid 10 times that for the sheer novelty value. Obviously, I bought it.

'See?' said a girl with punky hair and arms smothered by bangles. 'You medium.' I decided the clothes in this shop must be cut particularly small, but it worked for me, so I wasn't asking any questions. My tour guide, Yvonne, (a respectable 5ft 2in) had to stop me buying more by reminding me there was a whole city at my disposal.

Hong Kong is manageable and safe, and shopping there is simple. Taxis are plentiful, the Underground is easy and reliable, and most of the affordable clothes shops are concentrated in one area, Tsim Tsa Tsui. What I couldn't do on my own, however, was to drive a bargain like Yvonne could. Very little haggling goes on in the shops, but it's rife in the markets where you are free to practise your bartering skills.

Market shopping in the UK is difficult when you're small because trying things on isn't allowed. Here it was different. The Ladies' Market at Mong Kok (it means 'Busy Corner', and never was a name more apt) is small, but full of goodies.

Around the corner, noodle shops are plentiful, and you can revive yourself with a bowl of dumpling soup. Snaking down a narrow, crowded street, with plastic signs in Cantonese overhead, it feels exactly as you imagine Hong Kong should, and it's easy to be swept away on a wave of giddy consumerism.

Buoyed up by my new-found normality, I gathered up cheap groovy T-shirts and a couple of skirts, knowing they would fit, but the shoes were my undoing. There were mint-green pumps, polka-dot kitten heels with ankle straps, pointy-toed brown Dries Van Noten rip-offs and, my favourite, a red and white candy-striped pair with a buckle.

Kids in sweet shops are bored and jaded in comparison with how I felt. The asking price for the first pair I liked was HK$120, or around £11. I got out my wallet and was about to hand over the cash when Yvonne put her hand on my arm. 'Ask for half,' she muttered. I thought she was mad, but I clearly needed serious coaching, so Yvonne stood behind the stallholder and fed me my lines by mouthing at me.

The girl who ran the stall looked me in the eye - we can do that here, us small people - and refused to give in. 'Walk away,' mouthed Yvonne. Certain I was walking away from footwear nirvana, I turned around and made to leave. The stallholder came after me and sold me the shoes for HK$60.

I felt confident enough to return the next day on my own, and drive down the price for five pairs to HK$300, or about £27. In one weekend, I had turned from being a small person in boring shoes who couldn't drive a bargain into a medium-sized person with fabulous shoes who could bargain with the best of them. Hong Kong was magical.

It got even better when I ventured into Tsim Tsa Tsui. It's certainly not the only place you can shop, but it's compact and manageable, with lots of small boutiques in Chatham Road and Granville Street, and in the nearby Miramar Centre. The more upmarket designer shops are on Hong Kong Island, but I was on a budget and sticking with the tiny bargains in Kowloon.

The Miramar Centre is home to a shop called i.t., similar in style to a very upmarket H&M. It was there that I realised that trousers made for Hong Kong people are a very different proposition from skirts and dresses. I picked out a beautiful pair of sailor trousers, in my usual small size, and tried them on. Just as it looked as though the hems were going to sit beautifully on my shoes, I realised I was having a real struggle to pull them up. The sales assistant watching me disappeared and wordlessly came back with the same trousers in medium. I don't know the Chinese for 'Does my bum look big in this?', but it was clear that there's a Western-size ass on this Hong Kong-size body. I wasn't at all offended by her implicit criticism of my derrière; it made a lovely change from English salesgirls shaking their heads at me, and saying, 'but you're so small'.

The streets of Kowloon are a fashion parade in themselves, and watching the diminutive fashionistas sashay past is an education in dressing for the smaller figure that no magazine article could ever teach. The girls there are incredibly forward thinking, and tend towards a longer, slouchier silhouette than short girls do here.

My shopping took a completely different direction after just a day of looking around, and I found myself gravitating towards unaccustomed shapes and outlines. Another lesson is the way in which Hong Kong girls avoid high heels much more than the British. It's as though once everyone around you is the same height, you can embrace your inner small person, without any need to pretend you're three inches taller than you are. The Hong Kong heat and humidity can be fierce, so people-watching is as good an excuse as any for frequent water breaks. Once inside the shops, air-conditioning makes the whole experience much more comfortable, but getting from shop to shop can be a chore if you don't pace yourself.

On Saturday night, I went out with some friends, wearing my new hipsters and top, bought that day and no alterations necessary. As we walked through the thronged, neon-lit streets, I was struck by the fact that I was at eye, rather than armpit, level with the people I was being jostled by. I was entirely unremarkable. Having felt like three-quarters of a person all my life, I realised there were millions of people like me and, somewhere at least, I'm normal.

This was a sweet moment, but there was an even better one the next day. As I was rifling through yet another rail of clothes, I saw a dispirited Englishwoman come out of a changing room with a pair of trousers and head towards a sales assistant. 'These don't fit either,' she moaned loudly. 'This is an extra large. I need an extra extra large. Do they come any bigger?'

Lady, in the land where I'm a medium, I think it is unlikely. Try Oxford Street.

Hong Kong hints

· In the event that you fall in love with something that doesn't fit, many shops offer free, or very cheap, instore alterations.

· Some of the clothes are unfortunately prone to slight shrinkage, so allow for about 10 per cent extra room.

· When you take a garment to a cash register, the assistant will get you a fresh one from the store room, wrapped up in plastic. They're not trying to palm you off with dodgy clothes; it's just their particular method of stock keeping, but it's worth checking they've given you the right size.

· Carry a bottle of water and wear comfortable shoes. Shopping in that heat can be an endurance test, although it's definitely worth it.

· The Hong Kong sales are in December and August, making already cheap clothes even cheaper.

· Some shops don't allow you to try on during the sales, so be prepared to wheedle your way into the changing room, or else take a chance on the odd garment.

Factfile

Dee O'Connell travelled to Hong Kong with Cox and Kings (020 7873 5000).

A three-night stay in Hong Kong can be added on to Cox and Kings' tours of the rest of China. The firm's eight-night China Experience tour, plus a three-night trip to Hong Kong staying at the Mandarin Oriental hotel, costs £2,070 per person. The price includes flights, transfers and tours.

We list some of the best shops below, and you'll find more by wandering around any shopping centre.

i.t. Shop 1030, Miramar Shopping Centre, 1-23 Kimberley Road, Tsim Tsa Tsui; its sister shop, b&ab, is next door.

U2, 111-139 Nathan Road, Tsim Tsa Tsui - separates and staples, like Gap but without yards of extra material.

Apple, 39 Granville Road, Tsim Sha Tsui - sweet and funky street clothes.