I am a “medium maintenance” mama. Definitely not a super girly-girl, but I enjoy spa days and cabin camping over the pitch-a-tent-and-sleep-on-the-ground type of adventure. I have very clear memories of playing G.I. Joe on the elementary school playground and comfortably mixing Transformers and My Little Pony. Today, I love Monty Python and Star Wars more than the Real Housewives of Wherever, and I can be found in jeans and a t-shirt on most weekends (if I make it out of my yoga pants and Spurs baseball cap).
When I learned I was pregnant with a girl I made every attempt to be neutral and avoid gender stereotypes whenever possible. Princess culture is imposed upon girls and learned, I told myself. I lovingly decorated a blue and brown nursery with orange accents. I generally didn’t register for pink items, but she did get some girly items as gifts. And as demanded by Southern culture, even if we were in Wyoming, there was an occasional oversized bow. My sense of smug regarding our pink-limited lifestyle was surely palpable to those around me.
My karma arrived when my baby girl said “shoes” before “Mama.” Because of course.
It was a sign of things to come. She constantly picked purple or pink when given a choice. It made me nuts. Soon I found myself up one weeknight painting glitter on a Thomas the Train t-shirt. But that was reasonable if it made my two-year-old happy, riiiight??
That was definitely the beginning of the end, and eventually I gave up fighting the parade of pinkness. I didn’t have the sanity to continue to fight the good fight. In my heart I knew that style should be a personal choice, even if her choice makes me cringe.
So a glitter bomb of Disney Princesses and girl culture invaded my life, and now I’m trapped in a world of flippy sequins. Flippy sequins EVERYWHERE. On EVERYTHING. And unicorns, caticorns (aka unikitties), and narwhals (aka unicorns of the sea). WHEN DID NARWHALS BECOME A THING, Y’ALL?
Don’t get me started on llamas. Girls, you know they spit, right?
OK, I will acknowledge that when I was a kid I indulged in a little Lisa Frank. But the fluffy-topped pencils of my generation have been replaced by flashing, glitter-filled gel pens and flippy sequin notebooks. AND IT IS ALL SCENTED. At least the original Strawberry Shortcake kinda smelled like strawberries. Now everything just smells like plastic to me. Does that make me old?
Wait, don’t answer that.
Chokers are back in style. Glitter ones, of course. If you didn’t know, I’ve been told it’s most fashionable to wear them with cat ear headbands. (Thanks, Ariana Grande. You’re a gem.) I fought the idea of the choker for awhile, but then my daughter asked to wear makeup. So now she wears cat ears and a choker every single day instead. Sometimes that’s what compromise looks like when you’re a parent, apparently.
Shopping is not my thing. I will gladly pay a fee to avoid the burden of too many choices in a crowded store. It is sensory overload for me. So, I shop online whenever I can, including when my daughter needs something. Usually she is content to scroll through options on my phone, while sitting side-by-side on the couch. Usually. Enter the store Justice, my own personal nine circles of hell.
I imagine that Justice is the lovechild of Claire’s and Lululemon, descendant of the Gap and 5-7-9, little sister of The Buckle. The music is loud; glitter and mermaid sequins sparkle everywhere you look. There are leggings, faux fur, and denim in various decades of acid-washed glory. As a friend said, Justice’s entire design strategy is, “I like it. Now put a unicorn/unikitty/narwhal on it. And add some flippy sequins.”
All of this means that the store is like catnip to my daughter, and I can’t get out of there without spending at least $100. That’s after she has tried on every outfit and held a dressing room fashion show.
Apparently there is no justice in the world for a medium maintenance mama, only Justice.
