Kids, No Chaser


Friday, June 01, 2007 posted by Henri

Yeah I know the correct definition of parenteral. I'm just too damn cool to use it right. I also know the definition of hipster parent: loser. Or at least that's what the anti-hipster parent movement will have you think. What's with this anti-hipster parent backlash? You know who's driving this anti-hipster parent bus? Neither do I but they're wearing some dope-ass Run Athletics sneakers son. Seriously, it's hipster parents who scream the loudest against hipster parents. The whole thing is silly right? Parents dress kids. Always have. When life gives you a choice...choose something. When my Mom had me in a short-sleeved tan plaid blazer with matching shorts, no one called her a hipster parent. In 1978 I was the coolest Bionic Man lunchbox toting 1st grader in all of rural Virginia. But I sure as hell know she wasn't dressing me in what I wanted to wear, which at the time was cowboy boots and "Fonzie" Jackets. So what if I have little Jane's Addiction onesies and Shepard Fairey changing tables and a stroller smuggled in from the Netherlands? OK ok yeah...I'll admit there are some things that go a little far. I mean like crib linens that cost more than the crib? Please buy one, it'll pay my hosting fees for 5 years. Yeah, I's all a slippery slope. One person's ridiculous extravagance is another's prudent personal shopping decision. Which brings me to the soft spot I have in my heart for all things Diesel. Yeah I know...I'm stuck in 7 years ago. Which is why I found these dope-ass baby Diesels in the sales bin. And the wife also happens to own a matching pair. And now my kid is the coolest little metroparented emo-haired kid on the playground. At least he's not sporting a fauxhawk. Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.



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