'Mommy, Can We Go to Paris?

You try explaining to my kid why he can't do the wildly expensive things some of his Brownstone Brooklyn classmates take for granted.

- Emily Gould

My friend alice’s daughter recently celebrated turning 5 with a party at home in Clinton Hill with a few of her closest friends. Not too long after, she was invited to a classmate’s 6thbirthday party that had a decidedly different flavor. The hostess’s entire brownstone had been transformed into a lavish Barbie Dreamhouse, bedecked with a pink balloon arch at the entryway leading to a life-size Barbie box in which the guests could be professionally photographed. In the living room, a singer performed songs from the Barbie movie. (“The first one was the Billie Eilish song, which made my daughter cry when she watched the movie because it’s really sad,” said Alice—who, like everyone else in this story, requested anonymity.) At a makeup station upstairs, another pro stood at the ready to do makeovers. Several nannies employed by the host family managed the kids.

On the way home, Alice’s daughter stated the obvious: “Her party was better than mine.”

Alice didn’t know how to respond; the Barbie party’s superiority was undeniable. After a beat, she eked out a response about her daughter’s own celebration and how fun it was. “I don’t know if it was effective or not, but she hasn’t brought it up since, so maybe it’s okay,” she told me, the doubt still present in her voice. Alice didn’t say it, but the source of her problem lingered in the air: She can’t afford lavish birthday parties, and some of the kids in her daughter’s social circle can. It’s largely an urban-parenting conundrum, but a stressor nonetheless. I relate to it deeply.