More pics after the jump.

The label, which will debut next spring, will be called Winter Kate, which are daughter Harlow’s two middle names. Her 37-piece line will hit shops in February 2010.

She said of the new company, “It feels as though I’ve always been working on this collection, but officially I started putting it together in early 2009. I’ve wanted to design a clothing collection for a very long time.”

WWD says that, “Her collection includes long slip dresses, asymmetrical short dresses, tunics and a kimono-sleeved, maxi dresses, which are meant to be layered with vests in cotton macramé, suede or silk, or a shrunken leather jacket.”

Who is the line for? Nicole says, “She is a woman like me: She does not look at labels; she knows how to mix and match. The pieces can be dressed up, made casual, but most importantly, they provide the wearer a means of self-expression and fun.”

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Over the weekend, both Suri and Violet were spotted going to Starbucks with their mums on different occasions. What extremely different looks did these girls sport? Violet wisely opted for a heavy puffer jacket with pants, sneakers and mittens. What did Suri wear for the same errand? A lightweight pink dress and heels, no tights, no leggings and certainly no mittens.

Which outfit do you think is more appropriate?

Hottie Megan Fox is dating Kassius’s dad and was snapped sporting the same exact shirt about a year ago. And looking at how it fits on Fox, it appears she is wearing a small kids size.

Check out Megan Fox in the shirt after the jump.

So did Kassius raid Fox’s closet or vice versa?

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A pair of light wash mid-rise clam diggers.  Cele|bitchy wondered “Did Stella design this sh-t? Or did Gwyneth just pair a Stella jacket with her K-Mart mum jeans? I seriously think I had those jeans when I was a kid. And yes, they were from K-Mart.”

I’m all for mixing, matching and getting all retro but going for the acid wash hues of the ‘80s mum jean? I, for one, think this is a style that does not need to be revisited.

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And I’m not talking about the vintage suitcase, either. Just check out this gorgeous Mishka’n'Milka top – it’s so pretty and flattering that our good friends at Cedar Leaf tell us that hordes of non-pregnant women, too, are snapping these up like they’re going out of…erm, well, fashion.

But they’re not! These sorts of tops are so in at the mo’, we can imagine wearing one way before we’ve conceived, all through a pregnancy and long after we’ve dropped the sprog.

It’s called Bon Voyage Lilac (also available in black and sand) and is only $175.00. Click on www.cedarleaf.com.au and get one before they sell out!

At first it was cute. When my twin daughters were three, I didn’t flinch at the thought of prancing down the street with one child clad in rainbow tights, a fuchsia tutu, a floppy blue sun hat, and yellow rubber boots. It was the perfect compliment to her sister’s look: orange shorts layered over purple floral pants, multi-coloured striped shirt beneath a shiny cartoon-cat patterned vest, and a red fleece Elmer Fudd-ish hat perched on her head. Like the cherry on top of a very nutty sundae. People on the street would smile, chuckle, and comment as our cute, kaleidoscopic spectacle paraded by. To be honest, I kinda got off on the attention. I was proud of my little girls for picking out those outlandish get-ups all by themselves, so I did nothing to discourage it. I may have even made suggestions from time to time. Hey, you know what would go great with that tiger costume and those ballet slippers? The red Elmer Fudd hat!

But now, my daughters are almost six. They go to a nice little public school in a nice little neighbourhood in our nice little city. And they stick out like a pair of kooky, sparkly, technicolor thumbs. Which has me seriously questioning my decision to give them free rein in their closets, and worrying that their clothing choices reflect badly on me. Now, as I dart down the street with my colorfully clashtastic kids looking like a posse of insane clowns, I worry what other mothers think. I worry that they are judging me, whispering that only an LSD-dropping social maladjust would allow her children to go out in public dressed like that. But I am not an LSD-dropping social maladjust. Haven’t been for quite some time. In fact, I spent the last six years cultivating the attitude that I was a far better parent than those whose murmurs I’m now suddenly paranoid about: those who forbade the public wearing of tutus with rubber boots. Those who confined their kids’ clothes to classic shades of tasteful, sophisticated and dull. Those whose children’s outfits failed to inspire seizures in epileptic bystanders. I didn’t shackle my children with the notion that clothing had to match. I didn’t push my kids to blend in with the sheepish crowd. I was too busy teaching them to be creative and carefree. To be individuals. And I was pretty damn smug about it.

See, I’m no clothes horse. I’m more like a clothes donkey. And ever since the thorough heckling I endured for the trendy red crushed velvet corset/coffin-lining/pirate shirt hybrid I wore in grade ten, I’ve avoided taking risks with my wardrobe. My outfit options fall into three categories: black hanging-around-the-house clothes, black going-out-in-public clothes, and crazy-things-I-bought-on-impulse-but-don’t-have-the-guts-to-actually-wear clothes. But I always wanted to be the girl who could pull off the tartan-mini-skirt-over- ripped-jeans look. Maybe with a purple cashmere sweater, a stripey knit scarf, peacock feather earrings, and a blue fedora. So, maybe by letting my kids continue to dress like the rainbow riot squad, I’ve been doing a little vicarious living. And maybe it’s time I stopped. Maybe I should put the tutus and wacky hats back in the dress-up trunk where they belong. Maybe I should sit my girls down and explain the importance of not wearing multi-colored horizontal and vertical stripes with polka-dots and jumbo floral prints. Maybe I should make some room in their closets for shades of tasteful, sophisticated — and yes, even dull — before my unsuspecting daughters and their fashion non-sense become targets of other kids’ cruelty and insecurity. But it might be too late for all that, as is evident by the conversations that ensue when I try to stage my little interventions.

Me: Here sweetheart, why don’t you try this sweater. It’s nice and soft and…

Neen: It’s brown.

Me: Yeah. Isn’t it pretty?

Neen: Brown is not in the rainbow.

Me: That’s okay. You can just try it…

Neen: No I can’t. Rainbows don’t wear brown.

Me: Okay. But it’s not like you have to wear every color of the rainbow all at once, right?

Neen: Yes I do. How can people know I’m a rainbow if I don’t wear all the colors?

Then she rolls her eyes at me like I’m crazy, and asks me where her red hat is. And instead of seizing this teachable moment to impress upon my daughter the value of dressing like a rational little human being, I’m the one who learns a lesson: you just can’t argue with a rainbow. So I try her twin sister. She’s a little less abstract. Less likely to turn this into a debate. Less prone to envisioning herself as an awe-inspiring, sky-spanning natural phenomenon.

Me: Hey, let’s just put these jeans on so we can—

Roo: No.

Me: But it’s time for school, so let’s just take off the tutu and put on some—

Roo: NO!

Me: But hon, tutus are for dress up, so it’s time to take the tutu off—

Roo: THEN I’LL JUST GO TO SCHOOL NUDIE! WITH MY BOOTS ON!

The tutu it is, then.

As it turns out, the “expert” advice was right on the money. Letting my kids pick their own clothes has given them control over their identities, and their choices are expressions of their budding personalities. They are boisterous, wacky, unpredictable, and colorful. The seeds of independence have been planted, and my daughters’ decision-making skills have flourished. They’ve drunk from the cup of freedom, the chalice of choice, and decided that it would make a great hat. Who am I to take that away from them because of my own ego?

Short of pinning them down and dressing them myself every day, or gutting their closets and replacing their wardrobes with nice neutral mix-and-match collections, there’s not much I can do. And I suppose there are worse things than going to school dressed like a rainbow, or a rubber-booted ballerina. Like going to school nudie. But while I’m busy rationalising my defeat, and rehearsing the humiliated smile I’ll need to flash at other mothers to convince them I am not a bad parent, my husband plays the glad game. “Maybe it’s for the best,” he says. “You know, like in nature. How bright colors warn other animals to stay away.” Because nothing screams, “Don’t mess with me! I’m dangerous and/or crazy!” like wearing an electric blue faux fur vest and pink leg warmers. Or maybe, like in nature, the vibrancy of my kids’ clothes and personalities will attract others of their own colorful kind.

Slate headed over to L.A.’s Baby and Tween Celebration, which offers a cornucopia of costly, unnecessary, and potentially soul-destroying
gear for your baby or toddler. As far as I could tell from the video, the only reason “Tween” is in the title is because the convention aims to get kids started on tweendom well before they can walk.

My favorite character—I mean, presenter—at the convention is a fashion designer who was sick of dressing her toddler in clothes that “didn’t
match hers.” So she started a kids’ clothes line that would make her daughter
look as “hip” as she does. Unfortunately for her daughter, this woman’s idea of hip is leopard print bell bottoms.

And don’t miss the founders of Heelarious (baby’s first high heels!) describing how the business came about—now, that’s hilarious.

Photo: New York Post

Oh, mon dieu. French Vogue has outdone themselves. The April issue features a faux pregnant Lilly Donaldson wearing six-inch heels and doing things with a doll and a baby bottle that, well, defy summary. You really have to check these photos out yourself.

Call me paranoid, but I think they may be making fun of les americains
in this one. All right, you got us, we Americans ARE totally uptight about not letting
our foetuses smoke in utero.

In the next one, it seems the model confused the instruction, “Check the temperature of the milk on your wrist,” with, “Use the milk to shoot up.”

Judging from Jezebel’s take on the spread, I’m more uptight than I thought. Both the writers and commenters seemed united in their appreciation of the, ah, unusual take on motherhood. Tatiana writes, “French Vogue found the tenderness in mothering, but also the humour, the wackiness, the suggestion that it isn’t perhaps natural to all women, and the surprise.”

As in, “Surprise! Motherhood turned me into a heroin addict?” I guess I don’t like to be quite that surprised.

I agree with Jezebel that it’s nice to see taboos busted, but this spread perpetrates just as many myths about femininity as it knocks down. Donaldson couldn’t look more childish and helpless in many of these photos.

I like the idea that motherhood does not equal self-sacrificing sainthood, but is a pregnant supermodel smoking two cigarettes at the same time necessarily the best way to demonstrate that?

Photos: Jezebel

I don’t know about your kid, but mine has a penchant to dictate to me what I should be wearing at all times. And generally it’s something completely inappropriate, such as a party dress for a trip to the supermarket or heels and a tank top when it’s raining. In her eyes I “dress like a boy”. See, boys wear pants. Girls i.e. “princesses” wear skirts and dresses. Her fashion constraints are pretty damn concise and she tries to sell them to me with oodles of conviction. Apparently I am in good company. As reported in The Times Online piece “Should Mums Take Style Tips from Their Daughters?”, Kate Winslet takes her eight-year-old daughter’s opinion of her clothing seriously. She recently stated that her “mum” wears too much black, a city dwelling sin that I am also guilty of.

The Times fashion editor, Lisa Armstrong, explored the daughter/mother clothing dilemma saying “When it comes to their mother’s appearance, all daughters have views, ranging in ferocity from mildly scathing to fathomless reservoirs of scorn.” To avoid the scorn and the scathing, contributor Carol Midgley allowed her five-year-old daughter to dress her in, among other things, a salmon pink evening gown that made her looks like a “thick-waisted prawn”. Which just begs the conclusion that Armstrong came to that ,“I don’t mean we should heed the stuff from five-year-olds about how they’d want us to dress like Barbie…” Yes, that is why I try never to let my own little fashionista near my closet.

If your daughter had her own way, what would she dress you in?

Mine, a hot pink party dress with oodles of tulle (see her fantasy mummy dress above). Classy? Or maybe just Barbie.