As we rush to get ready for breakfast, I present my daughter with a few outfit options: “We have some new bell bottoms, a red tank top, jelly bean leggings, or this lovely purple dress.” With two minutes to spare, I try to be quick and accommodating.
“Purple dress!” my 4-year-old exclaims, her eyes sparkling with joy. I can’t help but roll my eyes internally. A dress? Of course, she would choose the twirly, floral-patterned one. If there’s a stereotype to embody, she’s got it down pat—she’s “all girl,” as they say.
As I help her into the dress, I watch her skip toward the stairs, twirling with delight. Honestly, I don’t entirely embrace her fondness for frilly clothes and glittery accessories. It bothers me that she adores her Cinderella sneakers and prefers tutus over pants. I often find myself frustrated by her love for what I see as stereotypical “girl” clothing.
Purchasing princess-themed items feels like a betrayal of the values I want to instill in my daughters. Have I taught her nothing? Shouldn’t she aspire to more than this princess nonsense? But if that’s what she desires and it doesn’t cost any more, how can I refuse? Am I doing any harm? Why am I not supporting her choices?
Let’s be real—I also have a bias. I celebrate my older daughter’s unique style, praising her for being cool and different. She gravitates toward gender-neutral clothing, favoring blue and sporting Converse sneakers and baseball tees. I believe she’s picked up on my message that being different is admirable. She doesn’t fret over fashion or mix-and-match outfits like her younger sister does. For her, it’s not about the “twirl factor.”
Recognizing this disparity in how I respond to my daughters’ styles is disheartening, and I can’t help but feel guilty. I see this as a reflection of the larger struggle between feminism and fashion. Some argue that caring about fashion contradicts feminist ideals, while others believe it allows for self-expression and empowerment.
It’s a mixed bag. Society often pushes the idea that rejecting beauty norms equates to being a “real woman.” I can admit that I dislike my post-baby body. I’m not thrilled with my sagging skin or gray hair. Just because I acknowledge this doesn’t mean I care any less about feminist ideals.
I enjoy makeup, shaving my legs, and wearing stylish heels. My youngest daughter loves sparkly shoes and beautiful things. There should be no shame in wanting to feel pretty. We shouldn’t apologize for liking “girly” attire or accessories. I’m still a valid feminist even if I want to look a certain way.
So what if my daughter enjoys fashion? It doesn’t define her worth. She’s not shallow or less important for loving pretty things. My little girl finds joy in playing Twister, sipping chocolate milk through a fun straw, being a good friend, and excelling in gymnastics. Fashion is just a part of who she is, not the entirety.
Instead of worrying about whether her love for floral dresses is anti-feminist, I should celebrate her self-expression. Who am I to criticize her choice of princess shoes? If she takes a bit longer to get dressed, so what? It’s her unique style, and I choose to respect that.
Caring about appearances doesn’t mean that’s all we care about. I know this because I care about my looks, my daughter, social issues, and my loved ones—all at once.
In conclusion, I choose to embrace my daughter’s passion for fashion. It’s not a reflection of her value, and it doesn’t diminish her many other interests. Let’s foster a world where girls can love sparkly shoes and twirly dresses without shame.
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