by MIA FREEDMAN
When my now 15-year-old son was in primary schools, most days started with another argument about what he’d be wearing. I never expected to have fashion fights with my son. When I imagined being a parent, I has always pictured my off-spring dressed compliantly in cool little outfits that cleverly reflected my own fashion sense.
Not accessories, as such but more like stylish little extensions of my own love of clothes and my own opinions of what looked good on a small child. Okay, I pictured the kids as accessories. But like most pre-conceived notions of how your child will behave and what you’ll be like a mother, I got it so very wrong.
Let’s start at the beginning. Fifteen years ago, when Luca was born, there wasn’t much on offer in the way of baby clothes. It was pre-Bonds reinvention, back when they only did plain baby singlets and terry-towelling jumpsuits in pastel pink, blue, yellow and white.
Also on offer were assorted other labels that did frilly froufrou stuff with naff ducky and teddy prints. Back then, GAP was the Holy Grail for their simple, well-made, cute basics but since you couldn’t yet buy it online, you had to send someone to get it. Any friend or relative going to the USA was instructed to bring back bag loads of the stuff.
Through the toddler years, Luca’s wardrobe was fairly uneventful. Boy’s clothes aren’t much fun: it’s just tops and pants with the odd superhero cape that becomes popular around age two. That’s it. All year round. Dull really.