Design Parenting: Pro or Con?
Design Parenting: Pro or Con?
I don't want a house overrun with kids' stuff. And some people are angry about that.
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My realization that I’m a “design parent” all started with my search for a playpen for my then-crawling daughter. Everywhere I looked, all I found was gray nylon, brightly colored plastic, or things that looked like castles (and not in a cool way). When I posted to my IG stories in search of suggestions for a “non-ugly baby playpen,” I was hoping one of my design-savvy friends would jump out of the woodwork to deliver me an option. Instead, I received four direct messages, all with the same tone: “It’s not for YOU, it’s for your child — get over it.”
So being a mother who wants to maintain a design sensibility in her home is, apparently, taboo?
But how did we get to this place — where it’s normal and acceptable for a household to be dominated by children’s things? After all, it’s not like the Victorians had rooms overrun with toys for stacking, bouncing, or noise-making.
Indeed, according to American Home Life, 1880-1930: A Social History of Spaces and Services, we discover that the Victorians, overly obsessed with decorum and fearful of their children’s safety, relegated wee ones and their things out of sight — usually in the nursery, “located at the back of the house or on the second or third floor — as far away from normal activity of adults as possible.”
The parlor, a staple of the Victorian middle class, was a public area not appropriate for children. Instead, this curated space reflected (or attempted to reflect) a family’s worldliness and intellect. (It’s referred to as a “museum of the family” in the above book.) Yet by the 20th century, Americans began to tire of formality; the parlor, which was a framework for artifice and performance, evolved into the friendlier “living room” — a multifunctional hub of the home.
A change in parenting styles also led to the increase of the child’s presence in the home. By 1920, American parents allowed their kids to be more independent. “Articles in women’s magazines encouraged mothers to make their homes safe for their babies, so that toddlers can be given the free run of the house without fear of injury,” writes Karin Calvert in American Home Life.
A steep rise in leisure-seeking and consumerism in the early 21st century brought an influx of objects to market specifically for children — not just toys, but kid-sized furniture, or furniture that was more kid-friendly.
And then we all know what happens. WWII ends and there is a baby boom. The average amount of children per woman goes from 2.3 to 3.5. And while there was a concurrent housing boom, newly constructed homes weren’t palatial — the modest 800-square-foot Cape Cod or Ranch style home became the norm in the suburbs. (That’s a lot to handle for a stay-at-home mom.)
Still, post-war, the living room largely remained an adult space. I asked my father, who grew up in Chicago in the ‘40s and ‘50s, if there was a corner of his childhood living room for toys and he said no: “Playing with my toys in the living room wasn’t off-limits, but all the toys were kept in my own room.” Same went for his friends.
As we get into the mid-century and beyond, parenting focused on the psychology and well-being of the child. But, when we examine living rooms of the ‘60s and ‘70s in publications like Better Homes and Gardens, we still don’t see portions of living rooms dedicated to children (but we do see children playing in them).
A turning point seems to come in the ‘80s and ‘90s, an age of excess and an increase in manufacturing of baby-specific products. I do have to wonder if the increase of women in the workforce — we go from a 43% participation rate in 1970 to 61% in 2000 — was a contributing factor to the living room as playroom. With both parents working, life begins to feel more hectic and disorganized.
In 2024, we find ourselves in the era of helicopter parenting. We are so consumed by our children, that the Surgeon General has officially slapped a warning label on us because we are “exhausted, burned out, and perpetually behind.”
And this leads us to a place where we are so intensely focused on our children, that everything else — the things that made you you — become insignificant. Especially for women, there’s an expectation to give everything over to your child.
As we were preparing for our daughter’s arrival and doing the shopping for the one billion things a baby “needs,” I started to get the sense that I was something of an outcast. Friends would text me suggestions for gear (“You definitely need this!”) and I would respond with disappointment (“Okay, but do I have to get this baby formula maker that looks like an off-brand Nescafe?”).
And then then the baby gate thing happened and I lost it. Why was I not “allowed” to create space for a child in my home on my own terms?
After Eleanor arrived in 2021, we bought our first house — very much a dream come true. It was much smaller than our old apartment, and all of a sudden, our home filled up with even more Eleanor-related stuff.
So we became the type of parents who don’t buy large toys. We set up a tent in the corner of the living room to hide Eleanor’s playthings; there’s also a woven basket filled with toys, but it has a blanket piled over it when she’s not playing.
(Eleanor’s tent is in the corner of the living room, except for the holidays when we move it to the center to make room for the tree.)
But still, that pressure to cede your house over to your child comes all the time. Eleanor’s preschool teacher keeps imploring me to set up a “Montessori corner” for her in the dining room and…::rage-filled sigh:: We also need a new living room rug and the sensible thing to do would be to buy something cheap and boring that won’t show stains. But that makes me feel sad; the rug I want is something I’ve wanted for two years, and I don’t want to wait another two (or more) years to feel like I can make certain decorative choices.
I get that for some families, there are other priorities. And I also understand that maintaining your sense of self (whether it’s through your home, fashion, or otherwise) is exhausting when you’re a parent. Sometimes it’s easier to cave. Or some people don’t have a choice.
But I do know I’m not alone in being a “design” parent. I just wish I could say so out loud and not sound like a total asshole. But, by all means, feel free to rip me to shreds in the comments if you feel differently.
Schmatta is written by Leonora Epstein, a former shelter pub editor-in-chief. Follow at @_leonoraepstein. For consulting and collab requests, please visit my website to get in touch.
where i start to roll my eyes is when design parent-ism (the performative kind that gets displayed on social media) extends to the child’s room once they are beyond infant age. i know your four year old does not feel an affinity for that tasteful earth-tone triangle pennant or whatever please be for real! i do think it’s important for kids to have some sense of ownership & belonging over their own space from pretty early on even though that almost always clashes with our own aesthetic desires if we’re honest. the flip side of that is that the adult members of the family should also have the freedom to express _their_ aesthetics in the parts of the home they are responsible for. in my house this includes the shared spaces, but as they get older we do involve them in decorating decisions the same way we are slowly increasing their responsibility for shared chores. it is actually really fun to pick out art with your kids, or let them arrange a tchotchke shelf with items they feel are worthy of display! their gd ninja turtle figures get put the fuck away in their room, though
I don’t let my 4 year old eat messy snacks on our gorgeous Kazak living room rug but when my 10 month old spits up on it I just wipe it away and don’t worry about it because good quality rugs are made to last and wool is easy to clean. Also, it’s MY living room and having some cheap trash from Ruggable would probably make me resent my children.