In the not so distant past, I remember spending many a weekend lamenting my new hobby I called “clothes management.” It was the perpetual task of sorting and piling and checking miniature tags and realizing there were no tags because someone had been whining and pulling at the back of their neck and crying, “The flag, the flag is owie!” And so we cut ’em all off.
There were bins for later and bins for winter and bins for my-heart-is-breaking-at-the-thought-of-parting-with-this-little-bit-of-cloth-covered-in-drool-and-bark-chips. I would sort and stack and fold and label and bag. And then it seemed like I had to do it all again just eight weeks later.
Maybe two years ago I shipped a giant box to the Netherlands and had the most artistic quilts made out of all those precious baby clothes. Seriously. I went through 22+ pages of listings on Etsy. (You’ll never find the time to make the quilt yourself. Ship them to Holland, stat.) They’re really the only material object I plan to grab in the event, heaven forbid, of a forest fire.
Then in the blink of an eye we went from the preschool crowd to underclassmen. Clothes began to fit for six, even twelve months at a time and seasons became irrelevant. Small people developed strong opinions and my taste in fashion was relegated to three times a year when I get to choose what is worn for exactly half a day: school picture day, family picture day, and Easter Sunday. Also known as “Mom, does that mean I have to wear a pocket shirt?” days.
For the record, pocket shirts are generally collarless, soft t-shirts in fibers and colors found in nature.
At one point I had the ingenious idea to get rid of all of our patterned socks and just buy white. That was back when our socks were all in a jumbled drawer in a closet without electricity. Saved me hours of time and frustration. Till it backfired. And the boys would only wear mismatched socks covered in various cartoon characters or stripes.
Last weekend, I embarked on an afternoon of clothes management. I’d gotten a little rusty, but it seems it’s just like riding a bike. The boys’ closet consists of mostly neon athleisurewear, Pokémon and Minecraft shirts, and kneeless jeans. I sorted and bagged our various free walk-a-thon t’s, summer tie-dye projects (this year I got smart and had them re-tie-dye last year’s project), and all the things with pulls, rips, and holes. I bagged-up thirty pairs of little briefs that nobody fits into anymore (we’ve graduated to boxers), twenty pairs of uncomfortable black crew socks, and our Texan “Keep Austin Weird” t-shirts because they just incite bickering with San Luis Obispo Austin’s big sister, Taylor.
Part way through this project I decide to google “how many clothes does a kid need.” This is great fun if you’re looking for a good chuckle. “Choose a color palette?” Ha! Does fluorescent count? I found all these mommy blogs written on kid “capsule wardrobes.”
Now I’m totally an aspiring capsule wardrober. My Pinterest feed has all kinds of inspiration for paring back and mixing and matching classic, effortlessly chic pieces. But the kid “capsule wardrobe” posts?? Crazy town. I don’t know who has spawned these opinionless kids who like khakis and button downs, but it sure isn’t me. Capsule wardrobe connotes a sophistication rarely observed in the second grade… we’re aiming for more of a “diminished drawer” outcome.
What I did take away after about six minutes of realizing these mommy blogs were getting me nowhere was this: little people need a maximum of 14 shirts and 14 bottoms. Two weeks. That’s it. Save money. Do less laundry. Wear your jeans more than once. The rest of us do.
So, I decided to create my own Real World Boys’ Capsule Wardrobe (ages 7-9). These clothes do not necessarily mix and match. Your kids are not going to win a “best dressed” award. The concept of “they’ll wear the clothes you buy them” is pointless. We’re raising independent boys who are able to make good choices and practice sound judgment. Their friends shop at Target. They’ve been to Target. Choose your battles. And know that someday there will be crushes whose offhanded comments will send them back to you for some actual fashion consulting.
In the meantime, you come to this mommy blog for unvarnished, practical advice you can use… here goes:
- 4 pairs Lands End Iron Knee Jeans (dark wash makes it look like you’re trying)
- 7-10 athleisure shorts— various shades of gray are most versatile and tone down the “crazy” going on up top
- 7 athleisure shirts— generally any mix of fluorescent or brightly colored Adidas, Under Armour, Puma and Nike
- 7-9 character t-shirts (choice of Pokémon, Minecraft, Star Wars, Harry Potter, etc.)
- 1 t-shirt supporting your elementary school
- 1 t-shirt from a university (as a reminder that college is a given)
- 1 collared shirt for the third grade Baila Folclórico or your cousin’s baptism
- 2 pocket shirts or Henleys for two picture days and holidays
- 1 pair of tennis shoes (Keens if you’re smart and like to get out the door quickly; PF Flyers if your kids insist on developing “life skills” like tying shoelaces (mommy eye roll))
- 1 pair camo Crocks
- 2 bright swimsuits with swim shirts (preferably long sleeve to reduce the amount of sun scream that needs applying– no, that’s not a typo)
- 14 pairs various Star Wars, Minecraft, other little boy boxers
- 10 pairs “no-complaining” socks (trademark pending)
- 4 pairs of pajamas
- 1 Minecraft hoodie
- 1 fluorescent puffer jacket
Organic? Sustainable? Fashionable? No. Realistic and “cool”? No doubt.