Don’t Dress Your Toddler Like a Hipster
After watching my 3-year-old consider and reject 14 pairs of sneakers, I was just about beat and ready to call it a day when he spotted a pair of Crocs, the clunky and unfortunate footwear trend I was hoping would pass before my children caught wind of it. Of course, he loved them. And because it was nearing 8 p.m. and I was weak from hunger, I consented to purchasing the ugliest pair of shoes I swore I would never spend money on. And there was my son, sporting a style he loved, and I loathed.
Well before all the Tumblrs, blogs and Twitter accounts showcasing stylish 2- and 3-year-olds, I, too, used to harbor dreams of molding my children into mini-fashionistas. I bargain shopped at department store sales racks, rummaged through thrift stores and consignment boutiques, and clicked through eBay’s exhaustive inventory for secondhand designer duds that did not cost an arm and a leg. I’m still so proud of my purchases — a $5 leather bomber jacket, a designer-label cable-knit cardigan for $8 — but more often than not, my son insists on wearing his lime green Cookie Monster T-shirt and faded jean shorts. He once rifled through the laundry bin for that exact outfit, and it was hours before I realized that the musty odor I was sniffing was coming from his clothes.
And now, Crocs. It’s difficult for me to reconcile my son’s adoration of the uglier cousin of the already-ugly clog while being bombarded with online images of stylized toddlers in infinity scarves and motorcycle boots. But slowly, I’ve come around to it. While there’s no debating the fact that these trendy toddlers are adorable and their style enviable, there’s also something a little peculiar about it that I couldn’t initially put my finger on. Now that I’m a wise and veteran mother of two, I’ve figured out what lay at the root of my discomfiture: these children don’t look like children so much as eerie, miniature-size versions of SoHo hipsters and Upper East Side socialites, and they are splashed across social media to inspire the style of actual grown-ups.
Though I peddle photos of my children on Facebook as much as the next doting mother, there’s something a little off-putting about posting daily images of your child’s outfits to Instagram so that adults can deliberately copy their looks.
Who are these children who willingly allow themselves to be dolled up like GQ cover models? Most of the children I’ve met would have you ban cookies and Sesame Street faster than they would let you drape a silk pashmina across their shoulders or stuff their feet into horse-bit loafers, and with good reason. Any item of clothing that mimics clothes for adults is probably too confining for typical childhood activities, which tend to involve sand, dirt and paint stains, and other messes that come from kids being kids. A typical childhood is one best left to Gymboree, not Gucci. Wear school clothes, play so hard they become play clothes, outgrow them, repeat. Simple.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with playing dress-up on your child. And I support teaching your children to take pride in their appearance, and in looking put-together and stylish. It’s celebrating your child for that parent-imposed style that I question. Why inculcate an emphasis on outward appearance in the under-5 set? Childhood is fleeting, and there’s plenty of time later on for children to learn about labels and get caught up in what’s in and what’s not.
In the same vein, there are only so many years when you can get away with picking your favorite old T-shirt and worn shorts out of the laundry hamper. Sooner or later, unless you belong to a small minority of people who work completely from home, you’re going to need to put on a pressed uniform or tailored suit, tuck in your shirt, and make an effort. Why start early? It’s actually a little heartwarming to see my child put his toe into the waters of declaring his own style — even if that toe is inside a Croc.
