Check out this number? Talk about fashion sense. Sarah Jessica Parker, watch out. Punky Brewster, eat your heart out. Stella’s in town, and she’s got it going on, girlfriend.
Stella is starting to assert her own desires as far as fashion goes, and the result is often a little hysterical. While she doesn’t insist on wearing these ensembles in public, I see that on our horizon. So watch out world, Stella’s got a groove comin’ on.
So here’s my small confession: I’m undeniably satisfying my long-dormant inner fashionista in how Stella dresses. And I’m going to milk it as long as possible. Because it's really quite fun making Stella look so spanky. We’re still able to dress her as funky and hip as we like, and I love seeing her strut around looking so unconsciously cool. But I know our days are numbered until Stella claims her stake in her own private Project Runway (see above) and starts picking out all her own clothes (seriously, did you see above?). After all, I’m a progressive and modern Mama who allows her beloved child the freedom to express herself freely and make choices that enable her to feel a sense of autonomy and agency.
Oh my. I really do buy all that woo woo parenting stuff, but yeesh. In light of that yeesh, I’m going to selfishly savor the eensy bit of control I have over this cutie patootie’s wardrobe for as long as I can.
So I guess the underlying gist of my confession is that I’m loving this wacky period because I really do have a bit of fear that Stella will eventually demand bright pink everything and princess doohickeys everywhere. I know, it’s a pretty darn small fear. And it really has more to do with my overly analytical, overly theoretical brain. Because if I’m rational about it, nobody ever died from wearing too much pink. Independence is totally attainable wearing rainbows and sparkles. And feminists are allowed to like unicorns. Right? (Of course, if any of you have any record to the contrary, please drop me a line. Evidence is always valuable in light of any stance. )
Actually, I don't really mind the foofy fluffy puffy crap girls often fall for. Sure, I was never one of those girls. But I do seem to remember adoring all things dress-up. Make-Believe and her lovely step-sister Dress-Up, in my humble opinion, should be mandatory activities for all children. Fortunately for us (and our creativity-stifling world) most kids seamlessly jump back and forth between reality and make-believe for many years without much prompting. Some of my fondest memories of childhood involve diving into the ginormous box of dress up clothes my mom placed in my closet. There was the spasm-inducing itchy bridesmaid dress from my aunt’s 1960’s wedding. (High lace collars with crimson taffeta may seem like a good idea at the time, but resist, Ladies. Resist.) And I think I logged an entire year dancing around my room in a homemade felt poodle skirt – complete with pink poodle and larger-than-Texas crinoline. And none of this includes my clandestine journeys into my mom’s closet where knee-high black heeled boots and beautifully textured hats beckoned me like sirens.
So yeah, I’ve enjoyed my share of fluffy girliness. And I’m actually enjoying a bit more of that as I grow up. Pink no longer signifies fragility to me. It’s just sorta pretty. I’m trying to resist all the black in my closet and embrace color and pattern and – gasp! – prettiness. After all, what we wear represents a lot about ourselves. I did, however, make the Papa make me promise that I wouldn’t become one of those mamas – bless their comfy hearts – who allows herself to keep wearing yoga pants in public for more than a few months after giving birth. It’s one thing to wear what’s comfortable when you're woo woo is still screamin', but a year later is really… well, it’s not where I wanted to be a year after giving birth. Oh, and God forbid I settle into the fashion complacency of the dreaded Mom Jeans. I’m not advocating Britney Spears low rises for everyone. But I don’t really want to be more pear-like than I have to be. Enough said.
Man, I sound so shallow. Anyone who knows me knows that they’ll most likely find me in a comfortable pair of (reasonably waisted) jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. Occasionally, I dig out a cool sweater from beneath a gigantic pile of laundry, but it’s pretty ho-hum around here. Happily. So I guess that’s why I’m having so much fun with Stella’s wardrobe. We buy wisely and carefully and receive gifts graciously, fully embracing her wild colors and mismatched patterns. The three of us are diggin’ the Cindi Lauper-ness of it all and that’s what matters. Stella lives her life boldly, groovily and without an iota of self-consciousness, and oh how I love her for that. And oh how I'm inspired by that. And the crazy color combinations and the pairing of polka dots, stripes and flowers make perfect sense on her tiny little frame since they really just emphasize how spectacularly alive Stella is in this life.
Stella is starting to assert her own desires as far as fashion goes, and the result is often a little hysterical. While she doesn’t insist on wearing these ensembles in public, I see that on our horizon. So watch out world, Stella’s got a groove comin’ on.
So here’s my small confession: I’m undeniably satisfying my long-dormant inner fashionista in how Stella dresses. And I’m going to milk it as long as possible. Because it's really quite fun making Stella look so spanky. We’re still able to dress her as funky and hip as we like, and I love seeing her strut around looking so unconsciously cool. But I know our days are numbered until Stella claims her stake in her own private Project Runway (see above) and starts picking out all her own clothes (seriously, did you see above?). After all, I’m a progressive and modern Mama who allows her beloved child the freedom to express herself freely and make choices that enable her to feel a sense of autonomy and agency.
Oh my. I really do buy all that woo woo parenting stuff, but yeesh. In light of that yeesh, I’m going to selfishly savor the eensy bit of control I have over this cutie patootie’s wardrobe for as long as I can.
So I guess the underlying gist of my confession is that I’m loving this wacky period because I really do have a bit of fear that Stella will eventually demand bright pink everything and princess doohickeys everywhere. I know, it’s a pretty darn small fear. And it really has more to do with my overly analytical, overly theoretical brain. Because if I’m rational about it, nobody ever died from wearing too much pink. Independence is totally attainable wearing rainbows and sparkles. And feminists are allowed to like unicorns. Right? (Of course, if any of you have any record to the contrary, please drop me a line. Evidence is always valuable in light of any stance. )
Actually, I don't really mind the foofy fluffy puffy crap girls often fall for. Sure, I was never one of those girls. But I do seem to remember adoring all things dress-up. Make-Believe and her lovely step-sister Dress-Up, in my humble opinion, should be mandatory activities for all children. Fortunately for us (and our creativity-stifling world) most kids seamlessly jump back and forth between reality and make-believe for many years without much prompting. Some of my fondest memories of childhood involve diving into the ginormous box of dress up clothes my mom placed in my closet. There was the spasm-inducing itchy bridesmaid dress from my aunt’s 1960’s wedding. (High lace collars with crimson taffeta may seem like a good idea at the time, but resist, Ladies. Resist.) And I think I logged an entire year dancing around my room in a homemade felt poodle skirt – complete with pink poodle and larger-than-Texas crinoline. And none of this includes my clandestine journeys into my mom’s closet where knee-high black heeled boots and beautifully textured hats beckoned me like sirens.
So yeah, I’ve enjoyed my share of fluffy girliness. And I’m actually enjoying a bit more of that as I grow up. Pink no longer signifies fragility to me. It’s just sorta pretty. I’m trying to resist all the black in my closet and embrace color and pattern and – gasp! – prettiness. After all, what we wear represents a lot about ourselves. I did, however, make the Papa make me promise that I wouldn’t become one of those mamas – bless their comfy hearts – who allows herself to keep wearing yoga pants in public for more than a few months after giving birth. It’s one thing to wear what’s comfortable when you're woo woo is still screamin', but a year later is really… well, it’s not where I wanted to be a year after giving birth. Oh, and God forbid I settle into the fashion complacency of the dreaded Mom Jeans. I’m not advocating Britney Spears low rises for everyone. But I don’t really want to be more pear-like than I have to be. Enough said.
Man, I sound so shallow. Anyone who knows me knows that they’ll most likely find me in a comfortable pair of (reasonably waisted) jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. Occasionally, I dig out a cool sweater from beneath a gigantic pile of laundry, but it’s pretty ho-hum around here. Happily. So I guess that’s why I’m having so much fun with Stella’s wardrobe. We buy wisely and carefully and receive gifts graciously, fully embracing her wild colors and mismatched patterns. The three of us are diggin’ the Cindi Lauper-ness of it all and that’s what matters. Stella lives her life boldly, groovily and without an iota of self-consciousness, and oh how I love her for that. And oh how I'm inspired by that. And the crazy color combinations and the pairing of polka dots, stripes and flowers make perfect sense on her tiny little frame since they really just emphasize how spectacularly alive Stella is in this life.
2 comments:
This 36 year old actress just bought a pink empire button down shirt to wear to auditions and had lenses put in her mom's old 1970's frames for glasses. Annie Hall Look OUT.
When Hannah was two I had made her a polka dot zip up clown suit, finished with pompoms. Hannah spent about a year wearing that outfit in the house and around town. Another winner in our house was the "princess capes" (hem a square of shiny fabric, put in some elastic and velcro about three inches from the top. Finish it off with a dollar store crown).
Here's a word of advice...on picture day, you create the choices Stella will choose from and you get to do their hair. Good luck! And Happy Birthday too!
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