There are wars raging in my house every morning before school. Not the “Did you brush your teeth?” battles (though those are alive and well). Not the “Please eat something other than Takis for breakfast” skirmishes. No, the daily wars are fought over tween fashion choices—the hills my children are inexplicably prepared to die on, while I clutch my coffee mug and wonder if this is the moment I officially become my mother.
If you’re parenting tweens, you already know: the wardrobe has become both a battlefield and a peace treaty. What they wear is no longer about practicality—it’s identity, independence, and sometimes, a personal vendetta against the weather forecast.
Let’s review the most pressing fronts in this war.
The Hoodie Obsession
Apparently, hoodies are not just clothing. They are lifestyle. Religion. Possibly oxygen.
It can be 92 degrees with humidity high enough to melt asphalt, and yet Jase insists on wearing a hoodie. Not just a hoodie, but the hoodie—the one that hasn’t seen the inside of a washing machine since spring break. If I dare suggest he might be warm, he reacts like I’ve accused him of a felony.
The hoodie, to him, is more than fabric. It’s safety. It’s anonymity. It’s comfort. It’s pockets that hold gum wrappers, broken pencils, and the mysterious crumbs of something that was once food. I get it. When I was twelve, I too had a sweatshirt that was basically my emotional support blanket. (Mine was a Florida Gators sweatshirt. Football? Basketball? I have no idea. And no shame.)
Still, I look at my son sweating through August and think: “There has to be a better way.” But no. He will wear the hoodie. Even in July. Even if it means heatstroke. This is the hill he will die on.
And apparently, I will die on the hill of passive-aggressively muttering, “Fine, but don’t complain to me when you’re hot.”
Crocs | The Great Divide
Crocs are back. I’ll give you a moment to process that sentence. Honestly, they never left my house. Henley has been wearing them since forever.
For those of us who lived through Crocs: Round One (2002–2010), this feels like history playing a cruel joke. Back then, they were for gardeners, chefs, and the occasional toddler. Now, Crocs are the it shoe of tweendom, covered in charms that cost more than the actual shoe.
They stomp through Walmart in those dirty white Crocs like she’s a runway model, while I trail behind wondering when footwear started doubling as an art project.
The problem isn’t the Crocs themselves. (They’re comfortable, I’ll give them that.) The problem is the commitment. Henley insists Crocs are acceptable in all settings. Gym class? Crocs. 4H Auction? Crocs. Snow? Crocs with socks, obviously.
This is her hill. And I, as her mother, am standing firmly on the hill of: “You are not wearing Crocs to the chorus concert where your grandparents will be wielding cameras.”
Shorts in Winter, Pants in Summer
This one feels less like fashion and more like performance art.
In January, Jase struts to school shorts while snow flurries swirl. He insists he’s not cold. “I’m fine, Mom,” he says through chattering teeth. Meanwhile, I’m in a parka, scarf, mittens, and regretting not packing hand warmers in my bra.
Flip to July, and suddenly he wants sweats. Heavy. Black. The kind of pants that trap heat like a solar panel. Again: “I’m fine, Mom.”
It’s not about comfort—it’s about control. He will wear what he wants, regardless of logic, weather, or the fact that I just spent actual money on perfectly good season-appropriate clothing. This is a hill he will die on. And I, in turn, will die on the hill of sighing loudly while packing an “emergency outfit” in my tote bag like the amateur I am.
The Ripped Jeans Revolution
And then there’s Sadie, my dramatic, book-loving, girly, brave soul—who has decided that ripped jeans and spaghetti strap tank tops are the pinnacle of tween fashion.
Not just a tasteful knee rip, mind you. We’re talking shredded denim that looks like it survived a bear attack. Paired, of course, with a tank top that makes my inner Midwestern mom voice go full church-lady: “That’s not appropriate.”
To Sadie, ripped jeans mean confidence. They mean she’s edgy, bold, maybe just a touch rebellious. To me, they mean frostbite in December and possibly unnecessary conversations with school dress code enforcers.
She struts in her outfit like she’s auditioning for a Disney Channel reboot, while I’m standing there with a cardigan in hand, begging her to “just throw this over the top.” She rolls her eyes with the practiced flair of a twelve-year-old who knows exactly how to wound her mother without saying a word.
Her hill? Fashion freedom.
Mine? “Layer up, sister.”
Picking Our Hills
Here’s what I’ve learned after years in the tween fashion trenches: you have to pick your battles.
Do I love Crocs? No. But they’re not hurting anyone.
Do I cringe at shorts in a blizzard? Yes. But if frostbite isn’t imminent, I let it slide.
Do I allow hoodies in 100-degree weather? Against my better judgment, yes—though I reserve the right to smirk when the complaints roll in.
Because fashion, for tweens, is less about clothing and more about control. It’s their way of saying: “I’m becoming my own person.” And as parents, sometimes the best we can do is keep them safe, keep them mostly appropriate, and keep our sense of humor.
Why It Matters (Even If It Feels Silly)
It’s easy to dismiss these fights as shallow. But really, fashion battles are a sneak peek into the bigger independence wars on the horizon. Today it’s about Crocs versus sneakers. Tomorrow it’ll be about curfews, friend groups, and driving. The hoodie, the ripped jeans, the shorts—they’re practice runs for saying, “I can make my own choices.”
So while I may roll my eyes at the utterly disgusting clogs, I also see something sweet beneath it. My kids are figuring out who they are. They’re experimenting with style, with comfort, with confidence. And honestly? That’s a hill worth cheering them on from.
Final Thoughts from the Frontlines
Parenting tweens is a constant mix of “this is ridiculous” and “this really matters.” Every hoodie, every spaghetti strap, every Croc charm is another chance for them to assert independence, and for me to learn to let go a little.
So yes, the battles continue. Yes, the fashion hills are real. And yes, I will absolutely keep sighing at the shorts-in-snow routine. But secretly? I’ll also keep snapping pictures, because someday, we’ll both look back and laugh.
And maybe—just maybe—when my kids are parents themselves, standing in their kitchens muttering about hoodies in July, they’ll finally understand.
Until then: we march on. In Crocs.
Fry, Party of Five 