A Letter To Myself Before Buying That Artipoppe Baby Carrier

Dear Tom of six months ago. You're currently hiding in the downstairs loo, aren't you? The twins are simultaneously screaming in the living room, there's a distinct smell of sour milk on your favourite jumper, and you're staring at your phone screen contemplating dropping the equivalent of a second-hand hatchback on a Dutch designer baby sling. I know exactly where your head is at. You're sleep-deprived, you're desperate to have both your hands free again, and you've somehow convinced yourself that buying a heavily embroidered piece of linen will magically transform you into one of those serene, earth-toned fathers from Instagram.

I'm writing to you from the future to tell you exactly what happens when that impossibly chic, incredibly expensive box finally arrives at our chaotic London terrace. Spoiler alert: it doesn't come with a nanny, and you're still going to be covered in bodily fluids, but at least your shoulders might hurt slightly less.

What the health visitor actually told us about hips

I know you've been doom-scrolling through forums at 3am, convinced that if you buy the wrong carrier, you'll permanently ruin the girls' posture. Dr. Evans at the NHS clinic tried to explain this to us last month, and while I was mostly distracted by Chloe trying to eat a discarded waiting room magazine, I think I grasped the basics. She mumbled something about hip dysplasia and how they need to sit in a squatting "M-shape" rather than just dangling there like frightened parachutists.

From what I can tell, the Artipoppe Zeitgeist sort of forces them into this correct frog-legged position automatically. You don't have to fiddle with complicated infant inserts or roll up towels under their bums like we did with that hand-me-down carrier your sister gave us. You just fold the neck cushion inward for the first couple of months, and it supposedly supports their wobbly little newborn heads perfectly well. I'm no medical expert, obviously, but they both seem perfectly content in there, assuming they aren't hungry, tired, or just generally annoyed at the concept of existence.

The magnetic buckles are basically witchcraft

Let me tell you about the one feature that actually justifies at least half the price tag. The buckles on this thing are magnetic. They just sort of snap themselves together when you get them near each other. This sounds like a minor detail until you find yourself standing in the rain, holding a thrashing toddler with one arm, trying to strap them in while the other twin tries to run into traffic.

With standard carriers, you've to reach around your own back between your shoulder blades and clip a plastic buckle together—a manoeuvre that requires the flexibility of a circus contortionist. The Artipoppe straps cross over your back instead, meaning you clip them at your waist. I can now successfully attach Lily to my chest with one hand while holding my phone in the other, a skill I plan to add to my LinkedIn profile.

A quick warning about outfits, though. We bought the Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit a while back because, frankly, it looked adorable. It's a lovely piece of clothing, but trying to squash those delicate ruffled shoulders under the heavy-duty luxury straps of the sling is incredibly annoying. The ruffles just bunch up near their ears and make them look permanently startled. Save the fancy sleeves for days when they're allowed to actually crawl around freely, and stick to basic, flat-shouldered outfits when you're strapping them in.

A very long rant about a missing piece of cloth

Alright, grab a cup of tea, because we need to talk about the hood. Or rather, the complete and total lack of one. You're about to spend an astronomical sum of money on a baby sling, and the Dutch designers who created it apparently decided that sun protection was aesthetically displeasing.

Almost every other carrier on the market comes with a little piece of fabric you can pull over the baby's head when they fall asleep. This prevents their tiny, heavy skull from flopping backwards like a drunken sailor every time you lean forward to pick up a dropped dummy. It also shields them from the harsh glare of the sun or the fluorescent lights in Tesco. But the Artipoppe? Nothing. Just a chic, minimalist void where a functional hood should be.

You will find yourself walking through the park on a surprisingly sunny Tuesday, desperately trying to shade Chloe's face with your own hand while your arm slowly goes numb. I ended up having to drape our Organic Cotton Baby Blanket with Polar Bear Print over her head like a tiny, highly breathable ghost costume. I genuinely love that blanket—it’s brilliant for twins because it’s so soft, it easily stuffs into my pocket, and it’s survived being dragged through puddles without falling apart. But I shouldn't have to construct a makeshift tent out of a premium organic blanket just because my ultra-luxury carrier couldn't be bothered to include a twenty-pence piece of fabric.

If you're also tired of making do with subpar baby gear, check out Kianao's full collection of organic baby blankets. At least they really do what they're supposed to do.

Facing the wrong way

You probably think it's important that the baby can face outwards to see the world. It isn't. The carrier comes with a little insert to make the seat narrower so they can face forward, but it presses awkwardly into their tummy and makes them look like they're being suspended from a harness in a spy film. Plus, they get overstimulated after about twelve minutes anyway and start screaming at a bus. Just keep them facing your chest. It's easier for everyone.

The reality of washing luxury fabrics

Here's a mental image for you. It's Tuesday afternoon. You're in the supermarket car park. You've just managed to wrestle a highly resistant toddler into the baby car seat. You look down at your beautiful, expensive, woven-hemp carrier, and realise it's covered in a substance that could be mashed banana, could be sick, or could be something significantly worse.

The label says "spot clean only." Spot clean. I don't know who these people are who have babies that produce perfectly contained, spot-cleanable messes, but they don't live in our house. Don't, under any circumstances, buy the cashmere version. We got the hemp-cotton blend, and I've absolutely thrown it in the washing machine on a cold delicate cycle out of sheer desperation. It survived, but the anxiety of waiting for it to dry took a year off my life.

Also, babies chew on things. When Lily hits the teething phase, she will treat those expensive woven shoulder straps like a chew toy, leaving them permanently soggy. You'll quickly learn to shove the Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy directly into her mouth the second she goes for the fabric. That little silicone panda has been an absolute lifesaver—it’s tough enough to withstand her aggressive gnawing, totally fine to chuck in the dishwasher, and saves your high-end Dutch textile from being digested.

Is it seriously worth the ridiculous price tag?

You read in some e baby newsletter that these things hold their value on the second-hand market, and surprisingly, that's really true. The resale market for these slings is utterly rabid. You can sell it on a Facebook group in about four minutes when you're done with it, which takes the sting out of the initial purchase.

If you wanted purely functional utility, you'd buy an Ergobaby. It has pockets, a hood, and looks like a piece of sensible camping equipment. But I know you, Tom. You want the one that doesn't make you feel like you're about to summit a mountain every time you go to the bakery. The Artipoppe is comfortable, it fits well, and it doesn't kill your lower back.

So buy the thing. Just temper your expectations, keep a cloth handy for the drool, and accept that no matter how nice your accessories are, you're still just a tired dad holding a very loud, very small human.

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Messy questions about luxury babywearing

Does it seriously hurt your back with heavier toddlers?

Honestly, yes, a bit. When they hit about 10kg, those minimalist straps stop feeling like a gentle embrace and start digging in slightly. It's brilliant for the first year, but if you're planning to carry a massive two-year-old up a steep hill for three hours, you're going to want something with padding that looks like it belongs on a tactical backpack, not a catwalk.

Can I wash it in the machine if there's a major blowout?

The official line is absolutely not, you must lovingly dab it with a damp cloth while whispering Dutch affirmations. The reality is that if you get a cotton or hemp blend, a cold hand-wash cycle in the machine with gentle detergent hasn't destroyed ours yet. If you buy the silk or cashmere ones though, you're on your own. May the odds be ever in your favour.

Do I really need to wait to use it with a newborn?

Our GP was fairly relaxed about it, provided they hit the 3.2kg mark. You don't need a bulky cushion insert like the older carriers used to have. You just sort of fold the back panel down so it supports their wobbly little neck. They'll mostly just sleep against your chest anyway.

Is the outward-facing position as bad as people say?

It's just awkward. You have to fiddle with a little flap of fabric to narrow the seat, and then the baby sort of hangs there looking slightly compressed. The manufacturer says keep it to 15 minutes max, and frankly, your lower back will demand you stop long before the baby does.

Why do people say it has a high resale value?

Because the parenting market is unhinged. Certain prints sell out immediately, and desperate parents will pay almost retail price for a used one just to get the specific leopard print they want. If you don't ruin it with irreversible stains, you can probably claw back a good 70% of what you paid for it.