I write about children’s fashion for a living, and the high street’s paltry boys’ offering is nothing new to me. But I was stunned at the lack of choice, harassed by Angry Birds at every turn, and depressed that once a boy goes beyond the realms of cute (which mine certainly have) they have little alternative than to dress like a seventh division football manager. There was nothing to buy until Boy 2, by then sulking furiously, spotted a shiny navy suit. He has wanted one since Sky Fall, longing to look smart when all around him is in chaos and Dri-Fit. He tried it on. His brother said he looked like the head-master, but he was too busy styling his hair to listen. He grinned and I bought it, of course, triumphantly sharing in the fleeting retail thrill.
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