Conspicuous Consumption Baby

A few months ago, back when i had time to indulge all of my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, I created a big spreadsheet of all the baby items people had told me to purchase. I looked around for these items online and wrote down on the spreadsheet the store that had the best price, as well as the price and how many of the item people said I would need. The spreadsheet had everything from diapers (100 newborn size, 100 size one) to a changing table listed on it. The only thing I left off was the stroller, because most strollers aren't made for infants and therefore don't need to be purchased until the baby reaches at least three months.

But I still investigated the stroller, which, in New York especially, is sort of the ultimate baby purchase. Strollers in New York are super status-y, since you take them everywhere and use them constantly and sometimes use the money you would have put towards a car for the stroller instead. And so, every conversation I had with my baby-owning friends about strollers began with the question, "Are you getting a Bugaboo?" The implication being that if you are about to purchase a thousand dollar stroller, there is no need to have any further conversation with you on the topic because clearly you are completely out of your mind. And so i would always reply, "Of course I'm not getting a Bugaboo, I'm not insane."

Bugaboos are everywhere in Park Slope. You can see them from a mile away, their bright red canvases glowing through the grey winter air, the Bugaboo logo screaming out, "I spent WAY too much on my stroller and am possibly overcompensating for the fact that I work a million hours a week and never see my kid." Their position as a status symbol surpasses even that of a Gucci bag or a pair of Seven jeans. And I always feel sort of sorry for the kids being pushed around in Bugaboos, those poor tykes who will spend their lives showered with labels and grow up refusing to even set foot in Old Navy.

That was until last week. When a very generous friend of the family offered to purchase Milo a Bugaboo. And on the one hand, I am SO opposed to conspicuous consumption when it comes to my child, and I don't want him being pushed around in an over-priced status symbol on wheels. On the other hand, have you seen the way the Bugaboo handles all the cracks and bumps in a New York City sidewalk? And what about that gorgeous design? And how cool would I look pushing a Bugaboo down the street? Or would I be embarassed?

And then I realized that Milo is already totally enveloped in labels and status-y crap, simply because all of our friends and relatives bought him gorgeous, totally overpriced toys and clothing. He owns the entire fall line from Baby Gap, he sleeps and spits up on Dwell sheets, he naps in a beautiful velvety receiving blanket from Polo. And while I simultaneously love this stuff and think it's utterly ridiculous, Milo could care less if his t-shirts say Le Petit Bateau (especially since after a few hours of wear he has coated them in Le Grand Merde).

And so, twist my arm, I will take the Bugaboo. I will push my baby around in a status symbol on wheels; I might even push it into Old Navy. But only because it's a really good stroller. I swear.