Personal Statement

Personal Statement

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Adventures of a Teenaged Boy Stylist, Continued

So the Hollister trip wasn't HORRIBLE.  Big Kid was absolutely correct when he warned me that "Hollister smells exactly like my Axe body spray."  (The reason that he knows this is that girls frequently come up to him and tell him that he "smells like Hollister.")
The difference is, Hollister actually pumps the brakes on the scent application, whereas a teenaged boy tends to pour it on.  The scent is subtle - while you are in the store.  Then, when you leave, it follows, and you find yourself wondering:  is it clinging to my clothes?  To the mucus linings of my nasal passages?  Or both?  Whatever, it's insidious.  But please let it be in my nose, because if it's on my clothes, people may mistakenly think that I WANT TO SMELL THIS WAY.
But let's talk about the clothes.  He approved of the dip-dye tee above, which was my favorite.  Crew neckline:  less d-baggish than a vee.  And you can't go wrong with ombre.  Reminds me of a Polo tee that he had as a kid, but I'm going to stop thinking about that now, because I'm really trying to yada yada over and through the fact that he is no longer six. 

He also insisted on this one.  Umm, okay.  It's a vee, but it's a shallow vee.  We aren't veering into Simon Cowell, chest hair-framing territory.  And I think that the shirt would look less d-baggish if the person wearing it wasn't standing LIKE THAT.

Moving on.

Yay, back to a crewneck.  Good colors on him.  Momma likes.

Well, it's a hoodie, but it's not a baggy hoodie that swallows him, and it's not goth-hued.  Bright and sunny.  Definitely surfer-ish, and the Big Kid is surfer-ish (actually factually, he's got skills on a short board).

Okay, fairly sure that my high school boyfriend had a substantially similar shirt in 1986.  And DEFINITELY sure that he posed in it like this.  Like, "Yes, my shirt is a bit tight.  That's intentional.  Because I want you to notice the breadth of my shoulders and the tone of my arms.  Why, yes, I do play tennis."

But enough about THAT guy (who was actually perfectly lovely, and not at all d-baggish).


Big Kid definitely had a version of this shirt when he was, like, three.  But instead of a - what is that supposed to be, a seagull? - it had a cute little bicycle embroidered on it.  Okay, I'm veering towards sentimentality again.  Where's that Axe stench when you need it?  That stuff is like smelling salts.  I could totally blame it for any tears that may happen to be forming in my eyes.

We got shirts.  Swim trunks eluded us, which means [sigh] another trip to a mall, because I don't think that my "teenaged boy stylist" skills encompass guessing at swimwear sizing.  He did get athletic shoes, after MUCH wailing and gnashing of teeth, and he also got Vans.  Because Little Kid was tagging along, he, too, acquired athletic shoes and Vans - and rash guards, t-shirts and shorts.  So we're stylish.  And not naked.  Well, unless we want to be.  (We're boys, so we seem to want to be naked, a lot.)

Job well done.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

High-Level Phone Conference Between Parents of Teenaged Son

Spouse:  I'm thinking of taking the Big Kid to Sears after school.

Me:  Okay, reason?

Spouse:  He's outgrown his shoes.  Again.  And Sears is having a BOGO sale.

Me:  Brands?

Spouse:  Athletic brands.  You know, like New Balance and stuff.  [Editor's note:  IT'S ALWAYS NEW BALANCE WITH SPOUSE.  HE DRANK THE KOOL-AID, AND IT IS SOMEHOW STILL SLOSHING AROUND IN HIS BELLY.]

Me:  [Rolling my eyes as Big Kid's proxy.]  You know he hates New Balance.  When he says he needs shoes, he means Vans, or Converse.  Something canvas with zero arch support.

Spouse:  He can get those, too.  But he needs athletic shoes.

Me:  By the way, I still have multiple pairs of New Balance in my car from Christmas.  The ones that he rejected and you still haven't sent back.  [Yes, I was proving a point.]

Spouse:  He outgrew them before he got them.

Me:  Yes, and he rejected the CONCEPT of them before he got them, too.  Lucky for him, his feet grow every third day.  But Sears is a good idea, if you wait for me to get home first.  If we take him to [name of mall that we rarely go to because we are dyed-in-the-wool West Side-ers whose car naturally points TO THE WEST, and "other mall" is TO THE SOUTH - and .8 miles farther away], the Sears there has Lands' End, and he can try on swimsuits, because he needs swimsuits that aren't competition Speedos and can be worn in polite company, and he likes Lands' End because they have an actual functional drawstring.  [Parents of older, specifically male children:  am I the only one who feels momentarily smug when I can pull a personal detail like this out of my hindquarters?  See, World, I am a fully engaged parent - I KNOW HIS SWIMSUIT DRAWSTRING PREFERENCE.]

Spouse:  Good point. 

Me:  And it also has a Hollister, and he recently asked for tees without ironic-and/or-nerdy logos on them, specifically striped ones, specifically Mossimo or Hollister [MORE POINTS TO MOM FOR PAYING ATTENTION!], and Hollister is having a 50%-off online sale through this evening, with free shipping.  So if he could try stuff on in the store, then it would avoid me having to measure him, WHICH HE HATES, and I can place the order when we get back.

Spouse:  Perfect.  Wait, what's Hollister?

Me:  It's the "Southern California lifestyle brand" of Abercrombie & Fitch.

Spouse:  UGH.  Seriously?

Me:  Okay, on your son's behalf, I would like to point out that he only recently decided that, maybe, he wanted to start dressing like a d-bag.  And most of his friends have been demanding to look like d-bags since they turned ten.

Spouse:  GOOD POINT.  [Name of Big Kid's friend] has been dressing like one since he was FIVE.

Me:  Exactly.  So we should give ourselves a pat on the back for making it to 14 1/2, and we should maybe indulge him a little bit.

Spouse:  Agreed.

Me:  Plus, the fact that he thinks that Mossimo - a Target brand - and Hollister are on par with one another is some indication that he is still somewhat adorably clueless.  That, or further evidence that Target is run by marketing geniuses.

Spouse: Well, we knew THAT.