Brand-name shoes have been coming up a lot in Georgia’s life lately. Hova and I try to be careful to call things by their object name, and not the brand. It’s a conscious choice, given the fact that I was once verrrrrry concerned that I have the RIGHT brand of jeans — San Francisco Riding Gear bellbottoms, to be precise. Once I moved from Portland to Southern California it had to be Levis 501s, pukey-pink Flojo surfer sandals, and a baseball shirt with a sparkly rainbow “Miller” ironed-on at the mall. After struggling to be into the in-thing in a massive, class-stratified high school (no small task for a new girl from the trailer park), I got in with the drama crowd, dallied in punk rock, and started shopping at the Goodwill. Turns out I had a mind and a style of my own, and on my budget Goodwill was a treasure trove. I was weird, and that was fine, and my brand concern fell aside in the quest for pointy stilettos, funky t-shirts with cinch-waist dresses, and clunky costume jewelry. The Levis stuck though. And I am aware that it’s a little hypocritical that the Converse All Stars I can’t seem to give up I call, simply, “sneakers.”

Last week Georgia was in the closet looking at my shoes. She has a thing for high heels, and I still have all those gorgeous spiked killers from my past. So after she piled up all the fancy shoes she lined up Hova’s Converse, then my Converse, and said, “Why don’t I have some of these sneakers?” Well she did. They were the first shoes we bought her, and the only shoes she had until she got an opinion. They were just soooo cute! But the last time she tried them on in the store she screamed at the top of her lungs “TOO TIGHT! GET THEM OFF OF ME!” So to answer her “Why?” I said, “We can get you some sneakers if you want.” And I would love her to have a pair. I admit the brand works on me and has for years, even though we can get the same style for less, or even for a little more but more conscientiously made.

Even though I know my weaknesses, I’m still trying to be conscious. So I find myself wondering about the difference between $45 brand V surfer shoes and $15 brand X surfer shoes, and I know I am in trouble. I remember my mom wondering why the cute, cheap bellbottoms from Freddie’s weren’t acceptable. They just simply were not. And I expect to hear that from Georgia at twelve, or even eight, but when I hear her best buddy, Baxter, who is three, talk about his Vans, it jars me a little. His mom is equally disturbed, and dumfounded that he not only notices other people who have on them on, but those who have on wannabe Vans. “Mom, those are cool Vans. But they don’t have the tag, so I guess they aren’t Vans.” Not that, at this point, that makes them better to him, but he is noticing the details that make up the brand.

And G's gal-pal Torie has the molded plastic strapped clogs that are gracing the feet of the masses. I am not a fan, and lucky for me Georgia decided that they are “Too silly and too big.” But Torie calls them by name (well, really what else could you call them? They are a phenomenon!) and Georgia will know them too. And I’m curious to know if they will become desirable to Georgia, and at what point I won’t be able to get the knock-offs by her.

How did kids evolve to be such brand magnets? I know there’s a lot of research, but I’m the Momster so I’ll expound my crackpot theory. I’m thinking it must have had something to do with learning what not to eat in the wild. Kids learn so fast, and at this age it sticks. We’ll go on a nature walk and I say, “There’s a trillium, that’s a birch tree, those are ferns, that’s a maple.” She knows it forever. She knows bamboo, strawberry foliage, nasturtium. Some kids know all correct names for train cars, or construction equipment. So the marketers are doing nothing more than capitalizing on this innate ability to recognize and pull up information. Once it’s in there, it’s in there. So I feel like I need to be careful of what gets in there. And once again, I am in experiment mode. Will it make a difference if I don’t use brand names? Will she judge a shoe by its quality and comfort (or cruelty in the case of the high heels) rather than its brand? Check back with me in five years, I’ll let you know how it’s going!