by Katie Allison Granju
I should have seen it coming. By two years of age, my now-seven-year-old daughter, Jane, began demonstrating her unique fashion sensibilities by suddenly refusing to wear anything that looked like overalls. Maybe you've never raised a toddler or maybe it's been a while. In any event, you should know that overalls—corduroy, denim, fleece, and velour— are the mainstay of most American babies' wardrobes. And after Jane's announcement that they were not something she ever wanted to wear on her small person again, she was left with about two outfits.
After exhausting my will to discuss, explain, cajole, and yes, bribe her into wearing the rest of the clothes in her closet, I decided one morning when nothing else was clean, and I really, really needed her to wear what was available, that I would simply tell her how it was and put the overalls on her. After a mental and physical struggle that took far longer than I had time for, I managed to literally wrestle all 24 pounds of Jane into what I wanted her to wear. She had given in, but it was clear that wearing something she didn't like was her personal equivalent of walking
around in a hair shirt. Nothing could shake her from her angry melancholia until we got home and she was able to take the dreaded overalls off and replace them with something more to her liking.
So here we are at second grade. I long ago gave up trying to convince her to wear the adorable smocked dresses, peter pan collars, and mary jane shoes that all the other little girls in her circle wear. In fact, she crossed dresses off her list several years ago. I was able to get
her to wear one recently for a family christening, but only after she found a minidress in her size made of shimmering purple paisley crushed velvet that looks like something Twiggy might have favored circa 1967. She wore it with her favorite hot pink clogs and purple tights.
I have actually grown to appreciate Jane's unique and funky fashion sense as part of what makes her who she is. But as she has grown out of little kid sizes and into elementary age sizes, I am now faced with a dilemma: the clothes available to her and that she wants to wear—at age seven—make her look a little too much like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver for my taste. The children's racks at Old Navy and even good old Sears are loaded with super-low rider jeans, belly-baring sweaters, platform heels, and furry handbags. Jane wants to look just like a junior pop diva in this stuff. And she thinks I'm stifling her creativity by telling her she can't wear it.
I have to admit that I feel conflicted. I never thought I'd be one of those prudish or over-controlling mothers from my own childhood who forced their kids to walk out of the house wearing one outfit who then changed into another in the bathroom at school. I try to pick my battles with my children and save my veto power for the Big Stuff. It irritates me that I'm squandering it on whether or not my kid can wear sequins on her jeans. But ultimately, I think I'm gonna hold the line on this one.
It wasn't so long ago that clothes for children were markedly different than those worn by adults. It was a big deal at age 12 or 13 to get to wear that first pair of pantyhose or strappy shoes with heels. It was a milestone for a girl that helped mark the importance of her change from girl-child to sexually mature young woman. But today's clothes for little girls blur that distinction entirely. But for the missing breasts and hips, I see a lot of nine-year-old girls who have managed to make themselves look pretty darn close to Jennifer Lopez or Christina Aguilera. While it may be empowering for adult women to flaunt their sexuality in a way that lets the world know that they embrace their bodies and are in control, this same look on a kid just makes her look...vulnerable and without adult protection.
Jane and I still argue about clothes on a daily basis, but my new tactic is to show her pictures of people like Liz Phair and Tori Amos, while playing her lots of Sleater-Kinney and Ani DiFranco while we're driving around in the car. This morning on the way to school, she told me she was reconsidering her previous burning desire to pierce her bellybutton, so maybe I'm having some impact. Instead, she said, maybe she wants a set of drums. I smiled and turned up the Rosanne Cash CD.
Katie Allison Granju's webpage is www.locoparentis.blogspot.com. She is the author of Attachment Parenting: Instinctive Care for Your Baby and Young Child (Simon and Schuster/1999).
November 20, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 47
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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