I couldn’t help but wonder: when did parenting become less about nurture and more about, well, merchandising?
Here in Malaysia, with Vivy Yusof’s luxury handbags making waves online, a bigger picture started to take shape.
It’s not just designer handbags we’re obsessed with, it’s the whole concept of showing we’ve ‘made it’.
And if handbags are a status symbol, what happens when we start seeing our own children as the ultimate ‘designer item’?
Imagine this: one day, we’re not just choosing schools or enrichment classes for our kids.
We’re flipping through catalogs of genetic traits, ordering kids like they’re the latest item at your favourite designer store.
Athletic? Check.
LSE-bound IQ? Check.
Charisma and photogenic dimples? Definitely.
The price tag on this perfect child?
Let’s just say it’ll take more than a few handbags to foot the bill.
Parenting as an Adventure, Not a Checklist
In Malaysia, most of us know parenting is an unpredictable adventure.
It’s like ordering rojak—it is what it means, you never quite know what you’re gonna get.
You might have a kid who’s wildly creative, drawing dinosaurs on every surface they find, unfortunately including your newly painted walls.
Or maybe you end up with a picky eater who will eat only nasi lemak (they exist, one of them currently lives with me), refusing anything remotely green (or healthy).
These quirks aren’t features we’d have picked, but they make our kids who they are, and they make our parenting journey richer, funnier, and more memorable.
When I think about the idea of ‘designing’ children, I think: where’s the joy in parenting if you’re always ticking boxes off a list?
Isn’t half the fun in the moments you didn’t see coming?
The kind that make you burst out laughing at 2 a.m. when you finally find a breather to catch up on work to find your kid ‘styling’ your work laptop with their dino stickers?
Or that instant pride you feel when they proudly present their fifth drawing of an indistinguishable image, asking if it looks like their favorite transformer?
Designer Children Vs The Real Deal
Here’s where it gets tricky.
While a select few may be able to afford these ‘perfect children’, most of us won’t even be on the guest list for this exclusive parenting party.
This technology isn’t going to be covered by insurance or be part of some government subsidy, it’s a privilege.
The same parents who buy designer bags might be first in line for designer babies, and suddenly, a whole new divide opens up between the ‘elites’ and the rest of us, still working through the ups and downs of unfiltered parenthood.
Imagine during Hari Kecemerlangan, the designer kids standing there with their flawless smiles, perfectly on point behaviour, while the ‘natural’ kids are off in the corner, maybe missing a front tooth or three, blissfully oblivious to the concept of ‘genetic enhancement’.
For middle income parents raising these naturally conceived kids, the pressure to keep up will be real.
Will our kids be expected to ‘compete’ with designer children who are taller, faster, ‘smarter’?
In a society already pressured to compete, will we be looking at genetic enhancements as the next way to level up?
When Every Quirk Becomes a Treasure
It’s impossible not to think about all the quirks that come with raising children.
Quirks that we might not have ‘selected’ but that end up being the stories we tell for years.
Think about it: the kid who insists dipping every strand of his noodles into a cup of water before eating them.
The shy daughter who surprises everyone by taking over the karaoke mic at family gatherings and singing their heart out to Siti Nurhaliza.
Or the little boy who insists on carrying his monster trucks everywhere, even the washrooms.
These little quirks, these imperfect, wonderful moments, are what make our children ours.
When you’re parenting a ‘normal kid’, you’re reminded every day that they’re more than the sum of their traits.
They’re a mix of memories, habits, and surprises that no genetic catalog could predict.
And as they grow, they might surprise us in ways we never expected.
Maybe they’ll become an artist when we thought they’d be an engineer?
We never know.
Parenting in the Age of Curated Perfection
It’s easy to see how tempting it might be for parents to choose designer traits, especially when society is always telling us to be more.
We want our kids to be set up for success, and in a world where every milestone is scrutinised, the idea of ‘perfect’ kids becomes just another way to ‘keep up’.
But maybe that’s why we’re losing sight of what makes parenting truly rewarding.
When I think about what my parents would’ve chosen for me if they’d had that genetic catalog, I realise there are things they couldn’t have known to pick.
They couldn’t have predicted my knack for writing (self praise is praise), my sarcasm, or my love for iced coffee in winter.
Those things emerged because life surprised them, and I turned out to be someone they didn’t designed but learned to love anyway.
The Ultimate Luxury: Letting Children Just Be Children
So, as Malaysia edges closer to conversations around designer children, perhaps the best thing to do is to let kids be their authentic, messy, unpredictable selves.
In a world filled with curated feeds, and designer everything, maybe what our children, and we as parents need most is the freedom to grow and discover.
At the end of the day, parenting isn’t about creating perfect trophies to display.
It’s about creating a safe space where our children can thrive, quirks and all.
They know they’re loved not for some preset potential, but for exactly who they are.
And potentially, the ultimate ‘designer’ choice isn’t in crafting perfection but in loving the beautifully imperfect surprises life brings our way.
What about you, parents?
Would you choose to design your future children?
Disclaimer: The information provided in this article is for informational purposes only and should not be considered as medical advice from Motherhood. For any health-related concerns, it is advisable to consult with a qualified healthcare professional or medical practitioner.
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