My daughter’s classmate recently had a pony at her third birthday party. A pony. The small brown pony, which was there to give personal rides to toddlers, was accompanied by a foam machine, a pink castle bouncy house, a spray painting wall, a bracelet making station, and a real live mermaid, frolicking in the pool of the sprawling ranch-style house that had been rented for the occasion.
I first saw the Instagram footage of said festivities (sadly, we hadn’t been invited) while making final arrangements for my own daughter’s third birthday weekend. I had planned a party at school (with the pièce de résistance being a Peppa the Pig animator), followed by a small Peppa-themed party at my parents’ house the next day. Suddenly, it all seemed downright pathetic, a drop in the ocean that is the outrageous toddler party scene we had become privy to in our first year of preschool and living in the 0.001% bubble that is Miami Beach.
My mind started racing as I scrambled for what to do. Should I hire a magician, a balloon twister, some sort of animator to give our cozy house party some extra oomph? Would Sasha, who had been talking about her “Peppa party” for months, be bored when the day finally came? Would my friends judge me for not providing enough activities for their kids? No matter how much my therapist (and mother) tried to reassure me that kids that age want nothing more than a cake with candles, a few friends, and some pictures to relive it all the next day, I was unconvinced.
This was not a new experience for me. In my years of occasional party planning, I had always ended up spiraling at the last minute, an anxiety-driven reflex that always has a direct effect on my credit card statement (and a large part of the reason I’m terrified of ever planning a wedding). And yet, this is my own problem that likely stems from anxiety and low self-esteem and all the other issues I have learned to accept as my companions in this journey called life. As a 37-year-old woman who grew up in a “you’re lucky if you get a bootleg Barbie for your birthday” post-Soviet climate, I also have the ability to zoom out and acknowledge that this hyper-privileged microcosm I’m living in is completely disassociated from 99% of the global population, and that none of these things actually matter.
The question is, how do I instill this understanding in a small child who is growing up in said microcosm? At the moment, my daughter is three and doesn’t yet compare herself to anybody; a tiny Duplo set makes her day. And yet, she is also at an age where we are starting to see all of our actions – the things we teach her, the rules we instill, the behavior we model – reflected back at us as they slowly shape the tiny human she is becoming. So, as she gets older and the comparison reflex inadvertently kicks in, how do we prepare her to feel satisfied with what she has, while also acknowledging how lucky she is to even have it in the first place?
I know I’m not the only one asking this question. Since my friends started having children, I’ve heard this concern iterated frequently as a standard plight of the one percent-adjacent folks living in privileged neighborhoods where pedigree whispers and money speaks. The private school system that many of us fight so ardently for further drops the barrier between upper middle class and extreme privilege, allowing one to penetrate circles that they never previously had access to. (The one difference is that, while the old money folks on the Upper East Side or in St. Germain are hiding their money in their classic sixes and their chateaus, in Miami they are throwing it in your face every chance they’ve got, be it through their Birkins or their baby showers.) Before you know it, you’re attending birthday parties in 8-million dollar homes and wondering if you’re doing your child a giant disservice by not taking them to St. Barths for the holiday weekend. Will they survive? Will they grow up feeling whole?
The rational part of me knows the answer to this question – in fact, I have even seen proof within my own family. My partner grew up in subsidized housing while attending one of New York’s best private schools, an experience that yielded lifelong friendships, drive, and appreciation for everything he has. Twenty years later, my niece attended that same private school, an environment where Hamptons homes and Loro Piana hand-me-downs were the norm, while always being aware that she doesn’t necessarily have the same resources. Money was allocated to priorities, namely education and travel, and she turned out to be one of the more secure people I know. With proper parental guidance, children can thrive in these surroundings and absorb the best of them – education, friendships, ambition – while deflecting all the bullshit surrounding it.
So, what exactly does this parental guidance entail, especially in this strange new world we live in? As the parents of a toddler, my partner and I are spared many of the big decisions surrounding raising the Tik Tok cult that is Gen Alpha. (Do you let them have a phone? A credit card to go on $700 Sephora sprees? Do you enforce summer jobs to teach them the value of the dollar?) Our only intention at the moment is to set a foundation that will allow our child to face a very materialistic world with a strong emotional cushioning. “Talk to your kids. Tell them where you came from and how much more they have than you,” says a friend’s husband, a first-generation immigrant who is currently raising his daughters on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, adding that he plans on making these conversations a regular occurrence. Another friend stresses the importance of taking your children out of their environment. “In these circles, there is this prevailing belief that nothing is ever enough,” she says, pointing out that it’s often the richest people who are constantly comparing themselves and reaching for more. “Show your kids a world outside of the bubble. Travel with them, show humility and honesty, and try to not be such a piece of crap yourself. Hope that somehow they store that information subconsciously and it will come out when they need it most.”
Indeed, when it comes to kids, the golden rule is always leading by example, which makes it even more important to question our own approach to money and comparison culture. “My biggest spiritual belief is that we must take care of what we currently have, and really have a handle on it before we start to desire more and call more into our lives. This is more of a value system though that I wish to teach my son through example,” says another friend, emphasizing that she makes grounding herself a daily practice that is non-negotiable for her sanity. I myself have been on a similar path as of late, making a conscious effort to focus on my own life rather than allowing my happiness to be affected by what I see through my tiny phone screen, highlights and embellishments sprinkled like fodder for the weak of mind. Given that cross-referencing my life to that of others has never yielded anything but misery, I’m fully committed to hushing the noise before it trickles down to my highly impressionable child. I read recently that nothing inspires us to tackle our issues as much as our fear of passing them on to our children. Indeed, there has never been a better motivator.
As for the birthday party, it was a wild success, mainly due to tequila (for us) and all things Peppa (for Sasha). I did hire a balloon twister, but the birthday girl barely acknowledged her. She was too busy blowing out the candles.