Spice Rack

The ladies on my favorite podcast (Pantsuit Politics) spent several minutes one day discussing their “Mom Aesthetic.” Sarah was a Beige Trenchcoat Mom, coined after Kevin’s mom in Home Alone—a mom who would move mountains and accept rides with random polka bands to get home to her son in time for Christmas. Whilst looking stylish in a beige trenchcoat. Beth chose Moana’s Grandma Aesthetic. I haven’t seen it, but, according to Beth, Moana’s grandma is a lighthearted dispenser of wise advice. Always there when you need her, but confident enough to let you make your own way, trusting that everything will work out for the best in the end. Possibly she is also magical. Disney grandmas usually are.

I don’t have Instagram or TikTok—my rule is only feeling bad about myself on one social media at a time. Pantsuit Politics was the first I’d heard of “Mom Aesthetic” so I delved into Google to learn more. Apparently, there are plenty of moms who have given much though to their aesthetic. At the top of the list is “Butter Mom” (not to be confused with Butter Face, although I’m sure you could be both at once). Butter Moms embody a gentle lifestyle. Comfort food. Candles. Homemade cookies. Gardens. Analog. This mom curates a vibe that makes you want to come home from college on the weekends so she can do your laundry.

Butter Moms, I learned, were a middle finger to the “Almond Moms” of the early 2000s. These are skinny, Gwenyth Paltrow types who somehow possess the self-control to only eat a handful of almonds per day, rather than having to hide the bag from herself because nuts are delicious but evil in mass quantities. Almond Moms are willowy and cool and carry high-end purses without plonking them in something dirty. Almond Mom is aspirational rather than realistic and will cost you lots of money in therapy if she is your mom.

“White Mini-Van Moms” are aspirational, but attainably, rather than in an eating disordered sense. She’s put together and her mini-van is clean, in spite of children (White Mini-Van Mom is not a dog person). She converses with the kiddos rather than bellowing at them from the front seat. They sing along to Taylor Swift on road trips. She drinks water from a Stanley mug all day and therefore has glowing, dewy skin. I could never be a “White Mini-Van Mom,” mainly because I’m messy, but also because I’m too contrary for Taylor Swift.

The opposite here is “Black Mini-Van Mom.” Sweatshirts, leggings that are probably also pajamas, crumbs on the seats, last week’s McDonald’s French fries on the floor, kids on devices, energy drink in hand. Insides shriveled from lack of water.

Lastly, “Gummy Bear Mom.” Probably the most “normal” of the bunch. This is a mom who’s flexible enough to let her kids eat junk food every so often. In the name of body positivity. Truly though, these are “Humble-Brag Moms” who post ice-cream moustache pictures of their children on social media while using words like “treat” and “balance” and “#makingmemories”. Yes, yes, we all see you’re a great mom. Do you want a medal?

The first thing that came to mind when I considered my mom aesthetic was “Wacky Waving Arms Guy.” The one who frequently hangs out at car dealerships, blowing to and fro, wiggling with joyful abandon. There is one outside our local weed dealer…err..dispensary. He’s green.

I’m this guy because I wing back and forth emotionally depending on the wind or my cortisol level. I can be lying completely flat “It’s a storm” or standing tall like an exclamation point, all in the space of a minute. All with the same vacant smile. So unfazed! As long as you don’t look too closely.

I don’t have a parenting philosophy. I don’t think about what life lessons or pithy sayings Max will carry when I’m gone. I’m not teaching bravery, persistence or gratitude. I’m just trying to stop him from hitting things when he’s frustrated. I’m trying to remember the difference between 2012 and 2023 Furby. I feel like a great parent for moments as fleeting as Waving Guy’s posture. Like on the way to the local swimming hole. Quality time! No screens! And then the actual reality of parenting deflates me quickly, like on the way back from the swimming hole, which now had a fence around it. Kid kicking the glove box in a rage! Dog cowering in the back seat! If you can sense desperation behind my wacky face, well, mind your business.

I might be waving madly, and feel desperately scattered from one moment to the next. But. I am strong. Rooted to the spot. Dependable, if dependably blowing hither and yon. I’m not a great mom, but I’m here. And like that feeling when you spot a great inflatable waving arm guy, I hope I spark just a little bit of joy.