Why do we insist on dressing infants in ridiculous outfits that neither we, nor older children for that matter, would ever want to be caught dead wearing?
For instance, right now I have the kid dressed in footy-pajamas with what appear to be jungle scenes imprinted all over it. It is a garish blend of multiple shades of blue coupled with toxic green leaves, bright orange and bright yellow lions, and monkey-crap brown monkeys. I also believe there are some vibrant green hippos and orange-and-white zebra-like things on the outfit, a combination you would never see in nature. This disaster of a sleeper is combined with a completely unmatching powder blue bib with the word “baby” inscribed across the front, in case I would ever forget what he is and confuse him with a mango or a ferret.
This is not even the most hideous outfit we’ve put on him. We have a red hooded jumper with antlers mounted on top of the hood, as well as a velor jumper made to resemble a tuxedo, complete with a red bow tie sewn onto the front. Then there is the infamous hand-me-down that I made him wear for Christmas in some twisted act of generational humiliation: the Edwardian-style white ruffled dress shirt and red velveteen vest-and-knickers combo that my parents dressed me up in for my first Christmas. Of course, we’ve taken an insane amount of pictures of him in all of these outfits, so that we can embarrass him horribly in front of his future mate with them some day.
I always believed that I would never subject my kid to this kind of treatment. Now that he is here, though, it’s become cute and fun in some terribly warped manner. What would be revolting for us to wear is now somehow adorable on the baby. It is as if there is some kind of gene that suddenly kicks in the instant people become parents that causes them to instantly become fashionista sadists.