35/52 – Fashion
The first day of school has come and gone. Another annual photo is in the bag.
My budding baby fashionista has been enrolled in a preschool program that requires a uniform. Every day for the next two years she’ll don her red shirt and navy blue bottoms and enter the universe of la langue française. I’m not a fan of a uniform at this age. Just like the collar on her stiff red golf shirt, I feel like prescribed clothing stifles her creativity. She no longer has the opportunity to sneak out the door in a tutu or with seven layers of t-shirts.
Shopping for Bubaloo is a breeze as he refuses to set foot in a shopping mall. His somewhat new-found interest in grooming and personal hygiene hasn’t quite yet translated into the clothing realm. I look online at a bunch of pants and shirts, he vetoes what he finds distasteful, and we’re done. Back to school shopping takes less than an hour and I don’t even have to get off of the couch.
Bella, on the other hand, likes to set her first day of school outfit as a barometer for her year. She likes to feel good about herself. She likes to return to school after the summer as a transformed woman. And, so she did.
Because when you step out of a change room and a gay drag queen in Cape Cod tells you that you look like a knock out and that you need to own and work a particular dress, you do it. No questions asked. Even if it makes you a smidge uncomfortable in your own skin. You commit to the dress. And then you go out with your mom to find the exact shoes, jean vest, leggings and accessories that he prescribed. We all know how much the first day of school matters.