Dressing With Flair

Stylistically, I vacillate between preppy and bohemian chic. I like blush-pink cardigans and bright cropped pants, gauzy dresses and patterned blouses. If I could pick a store to live in, it would be Anthropologie. This is all in theory, of course. In reality, I wear mostly neutral colors and stripes, and buy all my clothes from Target, where they have a fitting room large enough to roll in a shopping cart without having to remove the kids from their seats. I can’t remember the last time I voluntarily wore a skirt. Or heels, for that matter.

Enter Ellie, who considers it her moral duty to dress like a princess every single day. She absolutely refuses to wear pants—I know, what? Where did this come from? Where did that girl who wanted to wear her horse jammies all day go? She has two perfectly good pairs of jeans but insists on wearing a tulle skirt every single day. I finally caved in and got her a few skirts so I wouldn’t need to do laundry so often. That, and enough tights to make it through the winter. I think she’d look effortlessly chic in dark skinny jeans tucked into boots, with a striped grey shirt and a subtle hairband—but I have a higher chance of talking her into going out in nothing but her undies. As far as she’s concerned, the brighter, the better. The bolder the pattern, the denser the sequins, the puffier the tulle, the better.

We’ve discussed the concept of matching. That usually ends as it did this morning, with her insisting that the pink dot on these bright-purple-with-multiple-colored-polka-dotted tights matches the pink on the pale-pink tulle skirt she wants to wear. Paired with her white shirt with fuchsia ruffles down the front. Look! There’s some pink on both! The shirt and skirt actually look passable together, but the tights… well, our discussion ended with her in tears, sitting on the floor in naked misery. Mom, I’ve been thinking about those tights all night. I really want to wear those tights with that skirt. And I think, well, who am I to deny her so much joy? So there she goes, out into the world in her pale pink skirt over purple tights with green polka dots. With a smile on her face.

Sometimes I linger secretly outside the door after dropping her off at preschool to spy on her. I love the way she acts—so capable and confident. She hangs up her own things, then approaches some other kid in her own quiet, unafraid manner. She acts like someone who believes in her own beauty, walking around decked her in her handmade necklace and ummatching tights, and I think, I hope she never ever loses that. I hope I can help her embrace who she is, even if it’s not always the same as who I am.