Do me a favor. Before you proceed to read the rest of this post, please hit play on the following song. You need to have the mood set properly for the subject matter. (I apologize if you have to skip an ad first.)
Okay, now that you are listening to the same song that I am mentally humming as I write this, you can view these pictures of my boys.
I am wise enough to know that my days of having any kind of relevance in terms of the fashion world are well over. I am entering my late thirties; I am still chubby; and my most recent monthly clothing purchases were comfortable oversized shirts from Me + Em. Yes, being a woman, once you have too many gray hairs and a C-section shelf belly, the fashion world does not care about you.
Because I still can’t break bad habits, I have taken to channeling my clothing shopping to the boys. It is bad. I do not want them to grow up shallow and materialistic. I don’t want them to care about these things. And yet, I can’t stop because they are adorable and I love finding them adorable things to wear to highlight their adorableness.
I have always considered myself an informal expert on male fashion. In college I had my rating scale for the clothing choices of my male classmates which most of them failed. Look, with the 754 ways I failed every rating that boys made of women at BYU, having a rigid clothing rating scale seemed at least an outlet for my own indignation, even it was similarly very shallow.
Here are the boys modeling some of their more casual looks:
Until Desmond is like, no, I want to do happy for this shot, while Calum demands another take with his serious, cold and penetrating stare:
Desmond tells his brother, “Come on, lighten up a little.”
“We are just a couple of little dandies.”**
**Note, in no way do I want my boys to grow up to be dandies. I want them to grow up and think, “Gosh Mom, you were so frivolous and ridiculous and shallow.”