My daughter, Violet, is totally obsessed with her clothes. If she doesn't like what she is wearing she is prone to histrionics. And what garments does Violet favor? Don't ask me. It's an ever-changing, unmeasurable, unknowable quantity. Her favorite color is pink one day and black the next. I truly believe she is a future fashion editor.
Getting ready for the bus is a special experience. I allow her the freedom to choose whatever outfit she wants, but I would like her to dress for the weather. She often appears wearing a miniskirt, jeweled gold sandals and a tank top when it is 34 with the wind chill. And mommy don't play that.
I think this is inborn. I have never truly been a fashion person, though I love fashion, edited a fashion magazine and have been to fashion week in Paris twice. That was pretty sweet. These days, my style is 80 percent suburban housewife (corduroys and cardigans), with a splash of aging hipster (crazy glasses) and a dollop of "Mommy Drinks" (my ancient leopardskin coat, which you'll pry from my cold, dead hands). So she's not getting it from me.