Once upon a time there was a little girl who was dressed by her mother. Her mother decided what she was going to wear, and usually involved dresses (when jeans would have been preferable) or outfits which matched that of her little sisters (which her little sister LOATHED, and which is still brought up on various occasions to this day). It would have been correct to say that the little girl did not have much control over her clothing choices. Her mother was exercising her inner stylist.
To be fair to the mother, she loved dressing the little girl up, who was a fairly compliant child in the whole dressing-up situation. And her clothes were very good quality, with LOTS of dresses, mainly in hues of red and blue. The little girl however, had to get used to constant scabs and grazes on her knees from tripping and used to wish for jeans as protection. Eventually the mum saw the light and jeans finally became a staple part of the little girl’s wardrobe.
So…the little girl grew up and made her own fashion decisions. There were a lot of mistakes along the way and a few successes until she reached a style with which she was happy.Her inner stylist began to grow.
She became a mum herself. She suffered a momentary pang when she learned her first child was going to be a boy; that meant no beautiful little dresses in gorgeous colours. Then she realised she could exercise her inner stylist with her little boy when she saw the wide range of cute and functional clothes that were available for little boys. She was also a bit tired of walking into wall to wall pink whenever she approached the girls section of the childrenswear department. She vowed if she ever had a daughter, she would never let her wear pink.
And then the little girl who became a mum had a little girl of her own. At first all was good- people’s gifts for the little baby were decidedly not of a pink nature. The little girl baby got to dress in decidedly non-pink clothes, including dresses, and jeans and functional clothes that the little girl could play in quite happily.
However, any resemblance to the compliant Barbie doll with which she used to play were dispelled as the little girl wriggled and jiggled and hated having her hair brushed. Even at a young age this little girl knew what she wanted. Pretty little raincoats were no longer worn. Anything not resembling the colours pink or purple were refused to be worn, unless it was a dress or a skirt.
In fact the little girl became quite adamant that jeans were not to be part of her wardrobe anymore and were only to be worn with much sufferance and extensive negotiation (and not a little bribery).
The inner stylist inside the mother realised that she couldn’t win every battle and that the little girl had her own inner stylist which needed to be listened to and stocked up on a wide range of bandaids and leggings in the event of grazed knees.
Sometimes she did look at the perfectly coiffed little girls who would obediently trail behind their equally perfectly-coiffed fully made-up mothers at school pickup and dropoff and wonder how they could look so poised at such an early age, and at such an early time in the morning. Then she would look at her own little gorgeous bundle of energy, full of life and personality, and decided she wouldn’t have her little girl any other way.