Why Is Everything So Expensive?

My son can have the best conversations ever. There are times when he says something or asks a question that feels so much older than he is — conversations worthy of a grown-up. And this week’s question was just that.

I’d just bought him some new clothes, and he’d tried them on. I’d left the price tags on in case he didn’t accept them and I needed to return them, and so he saw how much everything cost. After declaring in shock at the prices (which actually weren’t that bad), he looked at me, completely serious, and asked in disbelief…

“Why is everything so expensive?”

And I laughed.

Now, if you’ve read the above and thought this was just a lovely little story — you’d be wrong. Those few sentences barely touch the reality of what actually happened. And that’s what this week’s blog is about.

If you’ve read Why Have You Bought Me Vitamins? Understanding PDA in Kids you’ll know that anything new for my son creates anxiety. There have been plenty of times when items bought for him have ended up in the bin, only to be retrieved later once he’s come to terms with them. And if you’ve read more of this blog you’ll also know that clothes are a big issue for him. Textures, smells, tags, seams — they can all irritate him. So, as you can imagine, buying new clothes is not simple. I mean to be fair absolutely nothing about life is simple for him.

Over the past year, we’d found clothes that worked for him — mainly Nike. The same Nike t-shirts (four, in different colours), the same Nike tracksuit bottoms (three pairs), two Nike hoodies, and Nike socks. All the same styles, just different colours. He wore them every day, everywhere. But eventually, they have become worn, and full of holes. And he needed the next size up.

Of course, that transition from “child” to “junior” sizes in Nike meant a jump not only in style but in price. A hoodie that once cost £15 now cost £30–£40. I’m willing to spend more if it makes his life easier — but I also only have so much money and life with my son is expensive.

The food that gets wasted alone is unbelievable. If you’ve read Can I have pasta?, you’ll know I always cook too much, just in case. I buy extra of everything. Sometimes I make meals he never eats. I currently buy 18 custards a week — £15 a week just on custard.

He can have food that he loves then one day it’s gone just like that never to be eaten again…take Oreos for example. He ate these every day for ages and so every time I went shopping I would stock up, particularly as Aldi didn’t always have them in (and these aren’t real Oreos they are Aldi’s version) but then one day I offered them as a snack and he said no and that was that. Gone. Never to be eaten again. So I have 5 boxes of Oreos in the cupboard uneaten. And this happens a lot.

Then there are the special interests. When he develops one, like crystals, I buy them because it makes him happy — and for a child who doesn’t always seem happy, those moments mean everything. There’s also the sensory equipment: gym balls, press-up bars, weighted blankets, fidget toys, bath products to make baths more bearable. Individually they’re small things, but together they add up.

So when it came to new clothes, I couldn’t justify the full Nike prices, and the styles were not the same as the Nike clothes he was used to wearing so I didn’t dare risk the expense for it not to be worn.

I decided to try Sports Direct instead. I ordered…

• 2 pairs of Nike tracksuit bottoms (a lot cheaper from here)
• 1 Under Armour training top
• 1 Adidas training top
• 1 Adidas hoodie
• 1 pair of Nike trainers

When they arrived, I quietly put the clothes in his wardrobe and left the shoebox in the hall. The plan was to let him find them himself — that tends to work best. But that also depends on him actually finding them, and the return window was ticking. If they weren’t found soon then I would not be able to return them if he didn’t accept them.

Days passed. The Nike box sat unopened. The wardrobe, untouched.

After a week, I had to intervene. One day I “accidentally” kicked the box. He looked up. “What’s in that?” he asked. I showed him and never said a word, and he replied…

“Those are wrong. I wanted laces. Send them back.”

So I said okay. And that was that — or so I thought. I put them aside and carried on with the day, secretly relieved they hadn’t been thrown in the bin. I would give it a few more days then return them. Three days later, my stepdaughter was here wearing new trainers. My son noticed immediately.

“You’ve got new trainers?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.

And then — as if a switch flipped — he lit up.

“Oh, I’ve got some new trainers too!”

He ran to the hall absolutely excited, got the box, put them on, and came back into the living room beaming. He wore them all night, and all the next day. And that was the trainers accepted.

The clothes in the wardrobe took longer. One day, I faked a reason to open it, and he spotted them. The hoodie was an immediate “no.” He wouldn’t even try it. The others he agreed to try — but only once I’d cut the tags out. So I had to take all the price tags off and cut out all the tags from inside the clothes. There would be absolute no way he would try those clothes on with those tags inside but once those tags are out I cant return them but I did it anyway.

He tried the Under Armour top first — loved it. Then the Adidas one — got it halfway on before pulling it off and saying the famous three stripes down the sleeves felt funny. And when I felt them, I understood. The seams were raised. I was frustrated with myself — why hadn’t I realised? I could have sent it back straight away. He put the Under Armour top back on and kept it on all night. Even slept in it. So that one was accepted. But the Adidas hoodie and training top still hang in the wardrobe, untouched. Not worn, not returned. And we haven’t even attempted the tracksuit bottoms yet…

So when my son asks me, completely serious…

“Why is everything so expensive?”

all I can do is smile.

Because he’s right — everything is expensive.

And the truth is, it’s a question I ask myself every single day.
When I’m buying him new clothes that he may never wear.
When I’m buying him new trainers that take two weeks to get accepted.
When I’m ordering yet another item linked to his latest special interest, just to see that spark of happiness.
When I’m putting petrol in the car to drive to meetings or appointments about him.
When I’m racing around every supermarket trying to find the one item of food he might eat.
When I’m cooking enough pasta for every possible scenario of what he may or may not want.

Yes — I ask myself the very same thing.

Because life with him means spending — money, time, energy — on things that might never work, just for the chance that one might.