Personal Essay: The Grit and the Glamour
Why do we wear yoga pants while our daughters wear tutus?
by Erin Blakeley
July 9, 2009
And clearly, it isn't a function of time. Fashion, even on a miniature-scale, takes a few minutes. Choices have to be made. An outfit has to be assembled. But putting tights on your toddler and barrettes in her hair and matching those accessories to her
skirt and sweater can't possibly be less time consuming than applying a little powder to your face and tucking in your shirt. But given the choice, many women seem to spend their mornings styling their daughters — and then cramming their entire beauty regimen
into the five minutes they have before their kid gets bored watching Dora.
I wonder if we don't feel a tiny bit of freedom when we dress our girls. After all, their bodies are unfettered by curves, unblemished by stretch marks. And if you think your daughter looks better in clothing than you do, then perhaps dressing her is a more
gratifying exercise than dressing yourself. Many of us are still middling in what we refer to as our transitional jeans, not quite the size or shape we used to be before we had kids. Maybe frumpy chic is a temporary wardrobe diversion
until the day comes when we are able to morph back into our earlier, more fashion-forward selves.
I wonder if we don't feel a tiny bit of freedom when we dress our girls.To be sure, there are the practicalities involved in dressing up for a day of hanging out with your kids. I spend most of my day sitting on the floor, stomping through a sandbox or pushing a doublewide stroller through a city of narrow spaces. So heels are
out. So are low-rise jeans. And forget about wearing anything that isn't machine-washable.
But there is danger in all this transference; by dressing them, and not ourselves, we are pushing onto them the burden of living up to someone else's standard of acceptable appearances. No one says a word when a mom is dressed in an outfit hastily assembled
from the laundry basket when we're all dressed the same way. But we see a kid who was dressed without any clear intention — a little girl wearing mismatched yellow socks and purple sweatpants and a green hoodie — and snicker, "Did they dress that kid
in the dark?" As our toddlers grow into little girls and then later, into young women, the disapproval that flashes across our faces and escapes under our breath will lodge in their minds. If were lucky, they will rebel against us. But if we are not, we
may be raising a whole new generation of women who feel insecure about their bodies, hiding in plain sight in their own uniform of fleece and spandex.
I shudder at the thought of giving up my beat-up running sneakers and track pants. But perhaps a swipe of the mascara brush and a pair of dress flats might not be the worst thing in the world. Because if we continue to abdicate the part of ourselves that
we lose in parenting — the free time to groom ourselves, to dress ourselves, to care as much about our own appearance as we do about that of our children — will we be able to get it back? Is there any guarantee, when our kids are older and dressing themselves,
that we will return to the women we used to be?
©2009 Erin K. Blakeley and Babble Media
About the Author
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Erin Blakeley is a freelance writer and journalist whose work has appeared in the Star Ledger, NYC24, and Tiempo, among other publications. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with her husband and son.
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