Before I was a mother, I was under the mistaken impression that if I had a boy I could buy ten sets of one-size-fits-all overalls and generic dark colored onesies that come in a pack of ten and be done with it. But no, I have made the fascinating discovery over the past 19 months that toddlers have the capacity to be even more finicky, in regards to style, than an editor at Vogue. I blame the finicky-ness on the father; I’m perfectly content with my one-size-fits-all mom uniform (aka yoga pants and any shirt that doesn’t have buttons). Under the tutelage of my toddler, I have ascertained the following to be five of the top toddler styles:
1. The Nudist. Many a toddler enjoys the liberating breeziness that accompanies the highly-accessible nudist lifestyle. If it were not so expensive to rent a steam cleaner after the toddler poops on the rug, I would be a heartfelt proponent of this clothing option, or sans-clothing option. Because my own clothes are usually thoroughly toddler-soiled, mildewing in the long forgotten washer, or wrinkled on the floor, I’ve become a personal nudism enthusiast.
2. The Fashionista. There is a squad of Fedorables that frequents our neighborhood park, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit my son frequently leads the pack. Again, I blame it on his fedora-wearing father. If you haven’t established that a Fedorable is a fedora-wearing toddler that will likely end up in a hipster band later in life, that’s what it is, and my tot is a card-carrying member; he’s already begun to fine tune his skills on the electric keyboard and hipster harmonica. A fedora is not a requirement of the fashionista toddler, but a hip “in” clothing item is a must. This tiny token of coolness may come in the form a faux fur vest, twirly skirt, designer tutu, TOMS, or intentionally ripped $80 jeans.
3. The Minimalist. The simpler the better for this tot; the name of their game is simplicity, functionality, and comfort. They have no patience for the scores of buttons that accompany a patterned button-up blouse and accompanying hip-kid vest, and find the rawness of the Nudist style to be supremely inconvenient when trying to prevent sand from entering their crack at the park. This child is the one I imagined when I bought stock in Osh Kosh B’Gosh, anticipating the need to buy large quantities of the previously mentioned overalls.
4. The Costumer. This tot, similar to the fashionista, has a flair for the dramatic and has no problem sacrificing comfort in favor of making a bold statement. This is the child who bravely dons their fully insulated astronaut costume when accompanying mom to the store on a 100 plus degree summer day, or the ballerina who must be dressed in her finest leotard and tutu when attending the Nutcracker on a balmy minus five-degree winter night. And don’t even think of diminishing the integrity of the tutu by encouraging the application of a coat.
5. The PJ-er. The PJ-er shuns any clothing item that isn’t composed of flannel, or does not have built-in footies. This child is true to my heart, and I am still this child. I’m such a proponent of resisting the removal of my flannels, or sleepy-time-yoga-pants, that my fully dressed fashionista child has taken my hand and led me to my closet, encouraging me to put on “real clothes.” True story. I’m certain my next child will happily sit in their drool-stained PJs with me all day, politely passing on social invitations that would require we leave the house. Unfortunately for me, the public ‘PJ-er’ toddler is much more socially acceptable than the public ‘PJ-er’ mother; I’m actively working on reversing this social stigma, one ‘flannel PJ shirt and slept-in yoga pants’ day at a time.
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