Nam Darien

VANITIES

What’s the matter with kids today? Nan weighs in

was right: youth is wasted on the young. Look at my nine-year-old nephew, Jerome: he wears fragrance and uses hair gel. Worse, he is not ungenerous in his application thereof. The other day, he visited me at my apartment, having gussied up; my dear, he smelled like a bowl of strawberries in a whorehouse. And as for his hair, it absolutely glistened; I could practically see myself in it. I took one good look at him and all I could think was: Two-drink minimum.

A recent article in England’s Sunday Telegraph corroborates my findings: “A survey of ... modern children reveals a widespread use of beauty products by primary school pupils of both sexes and an obsession with fame and fortune.” Of the 2,000 7-to 10-year-olds who were surveyed, more than half of the 9and 10year-olds used deodorant and hair gel; 40 percent of all the children said their ambition is to become famous.

Recently, Jerome asked me to be his Special Person on Special Person Day at his school. (Jerome goes to a prestigious school on New York’s Upper East Side.) Here is what I saw: Prada Prada Prada. Name-dropping. Tiny aerosol or hand-pumped bottles of designer water, sprayed on the face in an effort—as one eight-yearold told me—to look “dewy.”

“Jerome,” I said as we hunkered down for lunch in the cafeteria, “your friends are so ... chic. They hardly seem like children.”

“Oh, we may look all sophisto,” Jerome informed me matter-offactly, “but we’re still just kids. I mean, most of us can’t even move on from the young, fun fabrics—we’re seeing a lot of distressed denim this season, a lot of patchwork and jersey.” I said, “I see.” He continued, “Or look at how we all deal with the media. Most of us won’t even sit down with a TV reporter unless we’re guaranteed at least three minutes of face time. Talk about bratty! Talk about intransigent!”

I was heartened at one point to see that one second-grader had come to school dressed as a cowboy (quite adorable). But closer inspection revealed that the child’s bandanna had been absolutely drenched in CK One; clearly this little cowpoke had just stepped out of the chorus line of Aromahomosexual!

Meanwhile, the parents crave early signs of professional aptitude. A boy who recited “Milk, milk, lemonade...” was heralded by his father as “the next Adam Sandler”; one little doyenne of despair—a third-grader whose report about a decrepit jungle gym her journalist mother had titled “Things Fall Apart/The Center Cannot Hold”—was lauded as “Didionic.” Alas, poor Jerome spent the day brandishing a cardboard toilet-paper tube from a gerbil’s cage; it’s safe to say that at least part of Jerome’s adult life will be spent traipsing around an expensive restaurant asking, “Fresh pepper, fresh pepper?”

My most disturbing moment? As Jerome and I were leaving— I had persuaded him by this point to return the toilet-paper tube, claiming it was the gerbil’s “birthing tube”—a third-grader, a storklike creature named Natalie, said, “You’re Nan Darien? I absolutely adore your column!” Never did I think that that statement would horrify.

Wish you could decant just the right amount ol shampoo or conditioner From the bottle? Keep a shot glass in the shower! II your friends look askance, just remind them ol their own tragic battles with alcohol.