It’s true, life is short. Any bogan you care to ask will thus tell you to ‘play hard’. There is certainly no time to spend at school learning, and no time to waste in establishing yourself at the top of the social tree. Social success via fierce conformity is crucial. The bogan likely grew up so unfairly disadvantaged as to attend an ‘independent’ school, yet not be given the designer duds that would grant them the social standing they so richly deserved. Hence the bogan today has a near-superhuman attentiveness to the similar hardships their own children may face.
Seeing as the bogan is such a couture-clad, semi-revivalist fashion maven, it makes complete sense to them that it is an utter imperative that their offspring receive the biggest sartorial leg-up they can. To wit, they dress their children in a manner as close to themselves as possible. Not for the bogan the notion that children be allowed a chance to develop their own style, based on the myriad factors that influence their developing brain. No, branding indoctrination is the hallmark of the modern-day bogan parent.
Thus, little Sharryd not only arrives at school clad in bitching new Cotton On Kids polo, establishing himself as the alpha boaglet, but is well on the way to a permanently entrenched lifestyle as a nouveau-bogue. Of course, though, in a school full of budding bogans, the competitive nature of the parents cannot stop at something so banal as Cotton On.
Then the juvenile bogan arms race picks up pace, moving from shopping centre basics to ‘couture’ labels; baby Armani, followed by Armani Junior, were popular, as, for the first time, genuine luxury brands moved to embrace bogan bucks. Like Happy Meals before them, junior designer labels appealed to kids’ desire for gifts with bogan parents’ desire to ensure their children did nothing (and were denied nothing) that would result in them standing out from the crowd, except for their impeccable taste in tastefully branded couture wear.
Meanwhile, back at school, little Sharryd’s getting the shit kicked out of him by slightly less little Jaxon, who despite his Ed Hardy hoodie, covets the cultural cachet that an Armani Junior provides.