(Hey, Scenesters!) Leave ‘Em Kids Alone.

This season, fashion experts, as greatly dictated on by the almighty “Ms. Haughty Couture,” Anna Wintour herself (perfectly epitomized by the unforgettable Miranda Priestly, the devil that wore Prada which nearly got Meryl Streep her second—if I’m not mistaken—Oscar), have been forecasting guh-rooo-vee trends. From mod to preppie to mod/preppie to mismatched Jap streetwear to more eye-poppers such as Pucci-esque graphic and LSD-induced kaleidoscopic prints (oooohh, I lurhv this season…very hippie)…the runways are anything BUT blah. I can only wonder when those skinny jeans will have to spend another dormant decade in the closet (I dunno, I guess I just love the flared bottoms too much).

Oh, but wait, there’s more. Apparently, Angie hasn’t only been caught toting a Valentino Histoire bag. Her arms were also cradling a beautiful 2-year old Somalian (hope I got that right) who owned her mini-version of the handbag. Not far away, Maddox with his rockin’ mohawk would be glaring at the paparazzi (he’s got to be my favorite Brangelina kid) while the only biological child, Shiloh, drooled her way into people’s hearts (the girl’s got her momma’s million dollar-lips, man). Now, that’s cute…pft, even cuter than their daddy, that Pitt guy. And the most famous Scientologist tyke, Suri, would happily hop along somewhere else in her classy Burberry dress with her equally classy motha beside her, Katie, herself recently sporting wide trousers and mod ensembles that just scream Jackie O. Even cuter. Hold on, though. The Maverick/Material Girl/Former-Like-A-Virgin’s also jumped into the bandwagon. No, she wasn’t seen in mini-dresses and opaque tights with ankle boots (that was Sienna Miller…great chick). She’s also got herself her own diapers to change and milk to feed…not from Guy Richie, apparently…but straight from Malawi. And just when you think it stops there, you also hear about Britney crying over losing custody of her “boo-boos” (well, aside from the “live” Gimme More performance, I mean, LETDOWN, which was her other major boo-boo) and whoa! JLo’s got another bump and this time, it’s at the front…and so has Christina...and my word, Nicole Richie?? I was actually happy to see her growing into a more normal-looking body and I thought that she just stopped all that throwing up but it turns out that the girl only got knocked up. What the eff is going on?? I’m sorry, Ms. Wintour…but it seems to me like the only reigning trend nowadays is a…cute, little baby! Lord, oh Lord. The situation’s just not getting cuter anymore. From pink poodles to bulldogs to chihuahuas, from toy dogs to what, now, CHILDREN?? Ugh, Hollywood’s a worsening freak show. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for love and peace. Make love, not war, hell yeah. BUT when you already think that having kids is another way to keep up with the Joneses, to the extent that you actually adopt clueless, homeless kids from Third World countries, or get yourself impregnated during a most serious health crisis that makes you pass for the Cryptkeeper’s long-lost sister…then…that’s just not so cool anymore, man…far out…gone…out of sight. I’m nobody’s mom but I know that having children is a colossal responsibility, a commitment that should outlive even your Gran’s “I do’s.” Gawd, it’s fun to pick out lovely dresses and toys for your small ‘uns but it’s just no f**king joke. I’ve only experienced babysitting my cousins for a day or so and I know this much: it’s not about playing house or dress-up. There’s nothing wrong with giving unfortunate children a crack at having a loving Tinseltown home. The catch? IF it were only loving. Heck, I remember reading this quote (I forgot who said it): “It’s a miracle if a marriage in Hollywood lasts as long as millk in the fridge” (I think that’s a year, more or less). And these couples aren’t even heading to the altar anymore. No, they just go off to Malibu and come back with a hump (I believe Malibu is THAT beautiful)…and they grin at us, telling us how happy they are and how they’re already as good as married and how they’ll build a home for the poor life growing in regularly measured tummies. Before you know it, the vase flies, things get broken, the big shots troop to the court and they don their darkest threads and biggest shades and use their most heavily tinted cars and justify to the public why “I oughta have the kids!” Poor children, right? Maybe not as poor as those selling sampaguitas back here but…poor all the same.

See, you don’t get yourself children because you want kids. No…you have them because you’re ready for them. There’s a huge difference. You have ‘em because you know that you can love them and genuinely care for them, no matter what. You don’t go toting them around like flashing the newest Vuitton monogram design or the trendiest black-and-white Louboutin wedges. You don’t spend nine months of total labor just for kicks, or sign piles and piles of adoption papers and get yourself your own little United Nations to just haul in more publicity for yourself. You can’t barf all your food out and possibly think that you can actually have another life to feed. If at all you’re sane, you just don’t do this stuff. It’s total bad scene…it’s just sick, man…SICK. Then again, it’s Hollywood. I’m telling you, Somebody’s got to give these freakazoids a Divine Spanking if only to spare the children of their, their…freakazoidness. God bless the children. Mercy…God bless the children, indeed.