A Letter to Myself About the Absurdity of Smocked Baby Clothes

Tom
2026-03-17T00:32:36+01:00

Dear Tom of six months ago.

I know exactly where you're right now. You're standing in the upstairs bathroom at your mother-in-law's house, holding Maya at arm's length over the porcelain sink. You're staring at a £75 hand-smocked, pale blue bishop dress that's currently wearing a spectacular layer of pureed butternut squash and what I can only legally describe as a severe nappy malfunction. You're frantically dabbing at the complex, medieval embroidery with a single, rapidly drying water wipe, praying to a god you haven't spoken to since your university finals that the yellow stain won't set into the natural fibres.

I'm writing this from the future to tell you to put the wet wipe down, mate. It's over. The dress is ruined, your dignity is currently floating somewhere over the M25, and you're about to learn a very hard lesson about dressing twin toddlers as if they're Victorian aristocrats taking a summer holiday in the Hamptons.

You bought into the aesthetic. I get it. We all want our kids to look like those serene babies on Instagram who somehow sit quietly on a tartan picnic blanket without immediately attempting to consume a handful of damp soil. But since we're now older, wiser, and significantly poorer, let's have a totally honest chat about baby clothes.

The romantic illusion of traditional embroidery

You did your research before you bought those outfits, didn't you? You read that smocking was invented in the Middle Ages because elastic hadn't been invented yet, and gathering fabric into tiny, hand-stitched pleats allowed the garments to stretch over growing peasant bellies. That sounded brilliant at 2 am when you were stress-scrolling on your phone, desperately trying to find an outfit that would magically accommodate Lily's sudden, explosive growth spurt without looking like a potato sack.

At one point during a particularly bad sleep regression, I remember you actually Googling wholesale smocked baby clothes because you thought, in your infinite, sleep-deprived wisdom, that buying them in bulk would somehow solve the fact that our daughters go through four outfit changes before breakfast. This was, frankly, a cry for help.

Here's the reality of that beautiful, stretchy embroidery: it's essentially a highly engineered crumb trap. Those tiny little pleats that look so darling in family photos? They're structurally designed to catch and retain every drop of drool, every rogue Cheerio, and every smear of Calpol that your child aggressively spits back at you. When a baby sick-ups on a normal cotton t-shirt, you can wipe it off. When they sick-up on smocking, it gets absorbed into the complex geometric valleys of the thread, baking into a crust that requires archaeological tools to remove.

If you genuinely want beautiful, sustainable things that don't make you want to cry when they get dirty, just look at a proper organic baby clothes collection that you can actually throw in the washing machine.

The terrifying thing inside the shirt nobody mentions

Our GP is this lovely, perpetually exhausted woman who always looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but listening to me panic about the twins. At our 12-month check-up, she muttered something offhandedly about checking the inside of garments for loose threads because of something called "hair tourniquet syndrome." I didn't entirely understand the physics of it—something about a rogue piece of thread wrapping so tightly around a baby's toe or finger that it cuts off circulation—but it sounded like something out of a medieval torture manual.

Have you looked at the inside of a cheap smocked outfit? I turned one inside out last week, and it looked like a spider had spun a web out of fishing line and spite. There were just loops of loose polyester thread everywhere, lying in wait for a tiny, flailing finger to get caught in. If you're going to buy these things, you've to practically perform a surgical inspection of the interior stitching every single time you put it on them, which is a brilliant activity to try when you've a squirming toddler who's actively attempting to hurl herself off the changing table.

And that's why we eventually just gave up on the heavy embroidery and switched entirely to natural, breathable basics that don't have hidden booby traps sewn into the chest cavity.

Finding a middle ground so you don't lose your mind

I know you're stubborn. I know you're going to keep a couple of those smocked bubble rompers for when the grandparents come over, just to prove you haven't entirely given up on maintaining societal standards. But for the remaining 364 days of the year, you need to find everyday clothes that mimic that comfortable stretch without the nightmare maintenance.

Let me tell you a story about my actual favourite piece of clothing the girls own right now. It's the Organic Baby Romper Long Sleeve Henley Winter Bodysuit from Kianao. I know, it sounds ridiculously specific, but hear me out.

Last Tuesday, Maya decided she was completely allergic to having her arms manipulated into sleeves. Full starfish pose, rigid limbs, screaming loud enough to worry the neighbours. I grabbed this Henley romper. Because it has those three little buttons at the front, I could actually open the neckline wide enough to drop it over her head without grazing her nose, and the 5% elastane meant I could gently coax her rigid little arms into the sleeves without feeling like I was wrestling a tiny, angry mannequin. It's 95% organic cotton, so it's incredibly soft, and I don't have to worry about weird chemical dyes irritating the eczema patches she gets on her elbows. It looks smart, it keeps her warm, and most importantly, when she invariably covers it in whatever sticky substance she's currently secreting, I just lob it in the washing machine at 40 degrees. It's an absolute lifesaver.

On the flip side, we also have the Short Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Ribbed Infant Onesie. It's... fine. Honestly, it's just okay. The ribbed texture kind of mimics that stretchy smocked feel, which is why I bought it, and the organic cotton is lovely, but it's just a bit basic. It does the job perfectly well under a jumper, but it's not going to win any design awards. Still, I'd rather have ten of these than one high-maintenance heirloom dress.

If you still desperately want that vintage, dressy aesthetic without the medieval embroidery, get the Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Ruffled Infant Romper. Lily wore this to a disastrous family picnic last month. The flutter sleeves give it that classic, timeless silhouette that looks great in the photos you send to your mum, but it's still just a stretchy organic cotton bodysuit at heart. When she inevitably face-planted into a Victoria sponge cake, I didn't have a panic attack. I just took it off her, wiped her down, and let her run around in her nappy like a feral woodland creature.

The great sizing deception

One of the main selling points of smocking is that it supposedly lasts forever because the chest expands. You'll read blogs claiming you can buy a size up and your child will wear it for three years. This is a massive, hilarious lie.

Yeah, the chest stretches. But if you put an 18-month-old in a size 3T smocked dress, the chest might fit snugly, but the armholes will hang down to their waist, exposing their nappy to the world, and the hem will drag on the floor, turning the garment into a highly efficient mop for your kitchen tiles. You're basically dressing them in a parachute. By the time they really grow tall enough for the hem to sit properly at the knee, they'll have inevitably stained the front so badly that you wouldn't let them wear it in public anyway. Buy clothes that fit the baby you currently have, not the giant you anticipate having next year.

Please, for my sake, learn how to use the washing machine

I'm begging you to stop putting everything on a 60-degree wash and hoping for the best. Smocking and high heat are mortal enemies. If you wash those heavily embroidered cotton pieces on hot, the threads contract, the cotton warps, and the whole chest piece bunches up into a solid, unyielding mass that looks like a crumpled up piece of paper. You then have to spend 45 minutes trying to iron a baby's dress inside out on a low setting, which is an activity so mind-numbing it should be prescribed as a sedative.

Wash their cotton things on cold. Lay them flat to dry on that massive drying rack taking up half the living room. Or better yet, just stop buying things that require special instructions and stick to sensible basics. And don't even get me started on hard-soled baby shoes—they don't walk, why do they need tiny leather brogues? Just put them in socks and be done with it.

You're going to survive this phase, mate. Just stop trying to dress them like royalty. They're essentially small, highly destructive drunk people. Dress them accordingly.

If you're ready to give up the fight with complicated fashion, you should probably just stock up on sensible things and maybe grab a baby blanket while you're at it. You're going to need something to cover up the stains on the sofa anyway.

The messy realities you're probably wondering about

Are those traditional smocked outfits honestly comfortable for babies?
Honestly, it's a mixed bag. The chest part is quite stretchy and non-restrictive, which is great for their little bellies after they've inhaled a massive bowl of porridge. But the real issue is the fabric around the embroidery. If it's a cheap brand, the thread on the inside can be scratchy against their bare skin. Our girls always seemed a bit agitated wearing the heavily stitched ones unless they had a vest on underneath, which entirely defeats the point of a breezy summer dress. The organic cotton basics we switched to are infinitely softer on their skin.

How on earth do you get stains out of the pleats?
With great difficulty and a lot of swearing. Because the fabric is folded over itself, stains seep into the crevices. You can't scrub it too hard or you'll snap the decorative thread. Your best bet is to gently work a bit of gentle stain remover into the area with a soft toothbrush, let it sit, and then wash it on a cold, gentle cycle. But honestly? Once tomato sauce hits that light blue or pink embroidery, you just have to accept that your child now owns a "playtime only" dress.

Is organic cotton seriously worth the extra money?
Look, I'm not a scientist, but our GP suggested we try it when Lily was getting those weird red contact rashes on her tummy. As I understand it, conventional cotton is blasted with pesticides, and some of those chemical residues stick around in the fabric. Organic cotton isn't, so it's just inherently gentler. All I know is that since we switched most of their everyday wear to organic pieces, the mysterious red bumps vanished. It's softer, it washes well, and it gives me one less thing to obsess over at 3 am.

Can I put these clothes in the tumble dryer?
If you want them to fit a doll tomorrow, absolutely. No, seriously, keep the smocked stuff and the organic cotton far away from the dryer if you can help it. The heat ruins the elasticity of the smocking thread and shrinks the cotton. Hang them on a rack. It's annoying, it takes up space, but it's the only way they survive.