Why Kids Ask ‘Will I Get Made Fun Of For Wearing This?’ And How To Respond
The toaster was still popping behind me when I found my 7th grader standing halfway into her closet, one sock on, holding the cream wool sweater my mom had knit her for her birthday. Her thumb rubbed the little stitched sheep on the cuff, and she didn’t look up when she asked, quiet enough I almost missed it: “Mom, will I get made fun of for wearing this?”
It was the second week of October, our school’s heat still wasn’t turned on for the season, and the classroom windows were always cracked open for ventilation. She’d come home shivering three days in a row, so a sweater wasn’t even a question. But last month, she’d brought home a neon green fanny pack from our beach trip, I’d told her it was fun and no one would care, and she’d stuffed it in the back of her drawer after one girl in math made a comment about it being “for old people.” I’d leaned against the doorframe that morning, coffee in one hand, her half-eaten peanut butter toast in the other, and caught myself about to say the same thing I’d said last time: It’s cute, no one will tease you.
I paused. I teach 4th grade, and I hear this question every few weeks, one way or another. I’ve had a 10 year old refuse to pull his new orthopedic boots out of his backpack for PE because he was sure kids would call him “clown feet.” I’ve had a girl hide her new cat-eye glasses in her pencil pouch all day because she thought the frames made her look like a librarian. What most of us don’t remember is that between 8 and 14, the part of the brain that lights up when you feel social rejection is way more sensitive than it will be when you’re an adult. A throwaway comment from a classmate doesn’t just feel a little bad—it feels like the whole world is watching you and you’re doing it wrong. Dismissing the fear doesn’t make it go away; it just tells them you don’t get it, so they won’t ask you next time.
Instead, I said, “That makes total sense. Getting teased in front of everyone sucks. I’d be nervous too.” She looked up at that, and nodded, and told me the girl who’d made fun of the fanny pack had made a comment the week before that big chunky sweaters were “grandma clothes” for people who didn’t care what they looked like. She said she actually liked the sweater—wool was warmer than the cheap cotton ones she got at Target, and the sheep were her idea when my mom asked what she wanted on it. She just couldn’t shake the what-if.
That’s when I walked through the three small things that have worked for me, both with my own kids and my students, that don’t take any extra time or fancy tools. First, we name the worst case scenario, instead of letting it float around as a scary, vague what-if. I asked her, “What’s the absolute worst thing that could happen today if you wear it?” She thought for a minute, and said “That girl will say something about it being a grandma sweater in front of everyone.” I asked, “Okay, what could you say back?” We threw out a few options, landed on “Yeah my grandma made it, it’s way warmer than your cropped hoodie” as the one she liked. It took 90 seconds, tops. Then I asked, “After that, what happens?” She admitted that most kids would go back to what they were doing, because they’re too busy worrying about their own hair or their own shoes to care that much about her sweater.
Second, I give them a low-stakes out. I grabbed a plain gray hoodie she likes off the hook by the door and tossed it in her backpack. “If you hate it, if people bug you, if you just change your mind, you can put this on any time you want. No one has to know why, and I won’t say ‘I told you so’ no matter what happens.” That’s it. It doesn’t cost anything, it’s just an extra layer in a bag that’s already half full of old snacks and loose pencils anyway. It takes the pressure off, because they don’t have to commit to being brave all day.
She pulled the sweater on that morning, zipped her backpack, and went out to catch the bus. When she got home that afternoon, she dropped her bag on the floor and grinned. Mia did say the grandma sweater thing, just like she thought. She said her line back, and a couple of the other girls in her class crowded around after math to look at the sheep stitches, and one of them asked if her grandma did custom orders for her birthday. She wore the sweater three more times that week.
But it doesn’t always work out that neatly. Last year, I had a 5th grader who wanted to wear his dinosaur rain boots to school, even though it wasn’t even supposed to rain. He was scared kids would tease him, so we kept an extra pair of sneakers in his cubby, just like the hoodie. He wore the boots for first period, then changed into the sneakers after recess, and that was that. No big speech about confidence, no shame for changing his mind. He just made the choice that felt right for him that day.
A lot of parents I talk to think this question is about building confidence, that you need to force them to wear the thing to teach them not to care what other people think. Or the opposite, that you should just let them skip it to keep them from getting hurt. But the question isn’t really about the sweater, or the boots, or the fanny pack. It’s about them testing out what it feels like to carry a little fear and still make their own choice. You don’t have to fix the fear for them. You just have to not tell them it’s stupid, give them a safety net, and let them decide.
Last week, my daughter pulled a pair of ultra-baggy cargo pants out of the online shopping bag, and turned to me and asked, “Do you think anyone will make fun of these?” I didn’t tell her what I thought (that they look like they’re meant for someone twice her size, and I have no idea how they stay up on her hips). I just said, “That makes sense to be nervous. What do you think?” She said she liked them, so we folded them and put them in her drawer. I threw an extra pair of jeans in her backpack that night, just in case. Some days she wears them, some days she doesn’t. I don’t know if she’ll ever stop worrying what other people think. Most of us don’t, really. But she’s learning how to handle the worry on her own, and that’s enough for now.
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