It’s been a long time since I’ve had much to do with what my eldest child wears. From a very young age -– maybe two and half –– Iole knew exactly how she wanted to dress. On her third birthday, I wrote her a note on the back of a post card that said, “ich bin mein stil” –– “I am my style.” At that time, her outfits were an eccentric mix of hot pink tutus, tiaras, cowboys boots and frilly tops. These days, she’ll rarely wear a dress. And her choices are steered by comfort and conformity. Physical comfort has always been a priority, but dressing to fit in, that’s new. To her chagrin, I won’t buy, “teenager clothes” –– tops that show her belly and leggings with dollar signs on them –– but I do understand, that for now, at least, flower crowns and fairy dresses are out. Iole still knows how she wants to dress, it’s just not how I would like her to dress. And so I resist the urge to force her into a pretty frock with velvet bows and printed tights, because I know that that is my taste, and not hers. And because few girls want to be the kid in polka dot culottes when your pals are all in jeans. One day she may choose to stand-out, but today, all she wants is to fit in. And so we navigate our way through this awkward terrain, (that my Mum and I navigated our way through, also) where I accept her need to feel the same as everyone else, while gently whispering to her that it’s okay to be different.