Dissecting my fashion sense…as a baby

So I was looking through old pictures back when I was home and I realised something:  whoever dressed me had a hidden Rachel Zoe in them.  I was a cute baby (not modest about it either :P) and there were times when I looked like a fashion-savvy toddler but also many other times when I was dressed hideously in atrocities I can’t even define.  So in this post, I bring to you readers a couple of photographically captured moments from my childhood with a ruthless analysis of what I was made to wear.  Hit or miss, you decide.

all dolled up, but am i really loving it??

Ok so here I think I’m about 3 years old and the expression on my face is evidence enough of what I think about the outfit I was made to wear.  Not pleased, not at all.  There is just too much going on.  The sailor neck, the bow, the polka dots, the ruffled skirt, the red tights; they’re all really cute and chic individually but put them all together and you’ve got a veritable smorgasbord of what NOT to wear.  The baubles in my hair are distracting and it’s probably a good thing I can’t see the shoes that were put on me.  Take away the bow, the layered ruffles and the tights and you’d have a better, albeit simpler, outfit.  And simplicity is the ultimate sophistication but I guess whoever dressed me wasn’t too concerned with how urbane a 3 year old should look.  This, folks, is the reason why they say that pictures from the past do come back to haunt you.

Ok why do I look so grumpy in pictures?  Couldn’t someone have just told me to smile and actually look like a happy kid?  I suppose I was too preoccupied with thinking about eating the cake in front of me, and that also explains why I didn’t protest before I was dressed in this…creation.  I think I was about 4 or 5 here, not quite sure.  Let’s go from top to toe on this one:  now the side ponytail is normally very stylish and swanky and it might’ve worked here if didn’t have those things dangling from it, what are those anyways, ribbons or tentacles?  Thebangs are a nice touch, but sadly, they’ve been swept the wrong way.  I like the overall navy blue, white and red combo, its very sailor girl (what’s with the obsession with the navy?) but once again, the outfit is a bit too busy.  I like the lace but the sailor neck has got to go and the shade of red of the shoes isn’t quite the red that’s on the dress.  It’s just a slight difference in the tint but it’s the details that make the dress.  All in all, not a horrible effort.

Those are all the pictures I can bear to share for today.  I was a cute kid though, right?

p.s:  for reviews of ACTUAL runway shows and collections, http://www.thirdsmagazine.com is a good page to check out (I’ve even contributed a couple of reviews myself).  It may not be as commercial as style.com but we like it that way.

Mother, may I?

I’ve never been baby-crazy.  Out of all my friends, siblings, etc, I am the least likely to like a baby.  Honestly.

I have never been able to muster up any sort of maternal feeling simply by looking at a cute baby.  I am not the type to coo over chubby cheeks and a pair dimpled arms.  I have never liked holding babies, even the ones that I am related to.  I cannot understand the big deal about such a tiny being, a baby is a baby only for so long, eventually it too will be like us soon.  You dont go around ga-ga-goo-goo-ing people you see on the street, do you?  Aren’t they too just bigger versions of the babies you so love to love?

I sound quite horrible, I know.  My aversion to babies neer fails to surprise any of my friends.  Yet, I am used to it, I have accepted the fact that I am just not the sort of person that will double over with excitement and drop to  my knees and start babbling in baby talk at the sight of a baby.  So when my brother and his wife had a baby daughter, I felt a bit uneasy.  Of course, I would be expected to react accordingly: gushing over her cuteness, praising her childish alertness and marveling at her roly-poly baby body.  The thought of it made me quite nervous, I was not sure how I’d feel about her at all.  Sure, I went shopping for her, bought lots of teeny tiny shoes and accessories so pink that even cotton candy would be ashamed, but that was all irrelevant.  The real question that afflicted me was:  would I like her, or rather, would she like ME??

It came as a surpise, not just to me, but also to my family.  My baby niece has eyes only for me.  Of course, that may have something to do with the fact that her clever brain registers me as the one who will for sure pick her up and rock her whenever she scrunches up her face, on the verge of tears, but the fact remains that she does, indeed, like me.  It’s such a weird feeling, one that I hadn’t thought I would experience before I had my own kids.  Being liked by a teeny, tiny life, being wanted by it, and wanting it, liking it, loving it back just as much.  I could spend hours just looking at her, in awe of how she, being not yet 2 months old, is capable of making me feel SO much.  It has not even been 10 days since I arrived, and already, I am wondering how I’ll feel when it’s time for me to go back and not spend all day taking care of her, rocking her, playing with her.

It may sound like I’ve experienced some sort of ground-shaking epiphany, and this experience has changed my perception of babies forever.  Fortunately, not, though.  I still cannot make funny noises or faces at her, nor do I want to (I think babies are alot smarter than we think, they see us distorting our faces and hear us changing voices and saying strange things and probably wonder, ‘What the fcuk? Where do you think I’m from, Kalamazoo?’)  And I still cannot, and will not, clean her poo.

I still generally don’t like babies, I just like this baby.