Wear What You Will

To my little fashionistas,

Each time I discovered it was a daughter joining our family, my heart did an excited little flutter. I was destined to be a mum of girls. We would have tea parties and bake together and I could dress you in beautiful clothes! I pictured you in pretty floral smocks and Mary-Jane shoes or cute dungarees with bows in your hair.

Oh, how I have tasted the bitter pill of reality. Never in my wildest dreams (or nightmares) did I imagine the alternative: crocs. Bright. Pink. Crocs. Of all the shoes in the world, each and every day I must leave the house with you wearing the ugliest shoes ever made. I don’t care if they feel like marshmallows on your feet, they are hideous. And they are the only shoes you will ever wear, no matter the occasion.

You see, my fantasies did not account for your personal taste or comfort. It all started when you turned two years old and you started to develop ideas of your own. In those early toddler days I spent so many hours trying to convince you to wear outfits that, at least, matched. But the battles were too numerous and you have worn me down.

These days I leave you to select your clothes and refrain from commenting, unless your choice is inappropriate for the weather. It breaks my heart to watch you leave the house in striped shorts and a mismatched t-shirt – when the beautiful dresses begin to smell musty in your wardrobe – but what is a mother to do? Just this weekend, I asked you to choose pretty dresses to wear to your sister’s dedication service; one of you did better than the other. A luminous dress with holes in the shoulders is lovely for the beach; not so much for a semi-formal occasion. But I bit my tongue and politely offered you a cardigan. And of course, your outfits were incomplete until you donned your (*gag*) crocs.

Yet, as much as I marvel at your clothing choices, nothing comes close to the fashion crimes committed when I ask your father to dress you. As babies he thought a vest constituted an outfit, he forgets to pair t-shirts with bottoms and the mismatching – oh, the mismatching. We’ll forgive him though; he did grow up in a house of boys. But I’m defeated on all sides. On this matter I am now resigned to a mental shrugging emoji.

After many arguments about what you wanted to wear versus what I wanted to dress you in, I had to question my motives for wanting you to look a certain way. Was it for your benefit? Was it for my own? I realised it was neither. I was worried what other people would think. I feared they would assume your fashion sense was a reflection of my own. Now I know my sentiments were ridiculous.

How many superheroes do we regularly see in the playground? Or fairies? Princesses, even? Because kids your age don’t care what other people think. You all wear whatever takes your fancy on any given day. And that is beautiful in itself.

I know now it is your comfort that matters. Arguing over the clothes you want to wear is simply not a battle worth fighting. Allowing you to make decisions about these small things affords you a necessary sense of freedom and independence. It develops your decision-making ability which is a vital life skill.

I only have myself to blame for buying you the ghastly crocs in the first place. Maybe I will be wiser in my own choices in the future.

So, go and be free in your fashion choices little ones. If today is a superhero day or a red top and pink shorts (gah!) day, so be it. Live your life. Go and be you, whatever that looks like.

Love,
Mum