What's the Rush?
Published Dec. 4, 2005
I don’t think fashion designers have kids.
Clothes shopping with my seven year-old daughter last weekend was an education unto itself as we passed rows
of sexy little numbers that Britney or Christina or Jessica might wear. Admittedly, some of the clothes look great on
today’s teens, but clothing giants seem to be aiming their low-slung pants and belly-baring shirts at younger and
younger audiences. “What’s the rush?” I wonder to myself, knowing she’ll be seventeen soon enough.
“Look at this dress, sweetie,” I say, holding up a gingerbread man appliquéd pinafore, and wondering if anyone
even knows what a pinafore is anymore.
My daughter scrunches her face, then raises her eyebrows like I’ve lost my mind somewhere in the toddler
section, and says bluntly, “Wouldn’t wear it.”
I try again, offering up pant suits, empire-waist Christmas dresses, pretty pink cardigans.
“Mom, I want cool stuff,” she says, reminding me how uncool I must be.
I peruse the little girls section in search of a compromise and silently curse the merchandisers who have created
an entire generation of young girls declaring themselves “Bratz” and “Cosmo Girls.” Somewhere between the
colorfully matched sets we buy for our preschoolers and the “Sex and the City”-inspired clothing lines for teens is this
vast wasteland of clothes for young girls that designers don’t know what to do with.
I see t-shirts proclaiming, “You Can Have My Brother,” and a wall full of panties that read “I Hate Boys,” and “Boys
are Stupid.” My mind flashes to my own beautiful sons and to my wonderful husband. I deftly steer my daughter away
from them pondering what on earth we are teaching our girls. Has it really come to this? Merchandisers and
marketers are going to tell our kids what to value (fashion, sex, disrespect) and what not to (family, relationships)?
Rushing our kids into adulthood is a national pastime, it seems. Nine year-old boys are playing video games
depicting gang shootings and bloody murders. Twelve year olds surf the internet with abandon. Fourteen year-olds
girls are reading Cosmopolitan magazine in order to glean such indispensable information as “How to Be a Better
Kisser” and “The Spot That Really Drives Him Wild.”
Kids beg and plead for games and toys and clothes that are wildly inappropriate, yet are marketed directly to them
with a barrage of commercials and advertising. Just like the sugary cereal ads geared to grab the attention of a four
year-old, advertisers know who to target.
But it’s not the marketing that’s at fault. It’s parents.
At the slightest whine, the first whimper, the initial, “But, Mom, everyone has it,” – we cave. And in our caving, we
hand over our power – both to our kids and to the marketers who want them.
Still, I know there must be a solution to my daughter’s need for a few new blouses and the department store’s need to
provide me with an outlandishly unfortunate selection. Surely there is a compromise here somewhere, lost between
the shirts that affirm the wearer is “Hot Stuff” and, well... the gingerbread man pinafore. If nothing else, it all makes for
some great discussion between mother and daughter.
We finally find a few things that are cool to both of us and make our way to the checkout line, past the mannequins
in black lipstick with spiked, pink-streaked hair.
As we head to the parking lot my daughter reaches up to hold my hand and asks, “Can we go get ice cream?”
“Sure,” I say.
I’m in no rush.