Lifestyle
In pursuit of radical honesty, 'Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show' delivers ambiguity
Jerrod Carmichael in Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show.
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Jerrod Carmichael in Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show.
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Peruse any online thread discussing Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show, the disquieting HBO series created by and starring the titular comedian and filmmaker, and colorful descriptors like “pretentious,” “mega narcissist,” and “self-righteous piece of [redacted]” are bound to appear.
“This show seems kinda invasive,” one observer noted on Reddit. “… I’m not sure what the obsession is with public humiliation … About a year ago, I was very much a fan of his honesty and what seemed to be [a] down to earth personality but it looks like it’s morphed into the narcissistic cry for help.”
Carmichael earned a lot of good will from his 2022 breakout standup special Rothaniel, in which he — among other things — came out publicly as gay and processed his mom Cynthia’s devout homophobia. It launched him into the “mainstream”; that is, a stratosphere where one wins prestigious awards, guest hosts Saturday Night Live, and makes headlines for easily agitating the ever-crotchety elder statesman Dave Chappelle.

He was easy to root for because he treated the performance like a therapist’s couch, a safe space where he could break through the silence that encourages shame and deceit. It was different from, but in the lineage of, Richard Pryor’s recounting of his own drug addiction in Live on the Sunset Strip – confessional, blunt, and refreshingly relatable to those who’ve shared a similar experience, delivered in the way only a gifted and self-aware comedian can.
But Reality Show practices an entirely different mode of candor. On camera, Carmichael cheats on his boyfriend Mike and later lies about it during their couples therapy session. He misses a friend’s wedding because he makes a pit stop to get a hot dog along the way. (He was supposed to be the best man.) He goads his parents Joe and Cynthia into having raw, painful discussions about their once-private lives and tightly held beliefs.
All of this is done in service of what he sees as a greater good: radical honesty, which he in turn hopes will lead to stronger bonds with his loved ones. Yet for some, the show has morphed the perception of him from that of an artist valiantly speaking the truth to an exhaustingly selfish crusader for a very specific truth — his own. And whether or not he succeeds at repairing his fractured relationships is only partially answered by Reality Show‘s finale, which aired Friday.
Carmichael in Rothaniel, his 2022 special.
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Carmichael in Rothaniel, his 2022 special.
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Reality Show stands apart
If Rothaniel was presented as catharsis, Reality Show arguably functions as exploitation. It’s one thing to process grief, pain, and pathos through your art; it’s utterly baffling to directly involve the sources of that pathos in your artistic process, particularly when they seem formidably resistant to even acknowledging themselves as the source.
This isn’t the first time. In 2019, Carmichael released two HBO documentary specials that also featured him in conversation with his family, Home Videos and Sermon on the Mount. Home Videos is where he first tested the waters to see how his mom would react to him coming out to her. On camera, he offhandedly dropped in an admission that he’s hooked up with men but stopped short at identifying as gay. Cynthia barely acknowledged the unexpected disclosure.
As Carmichael told Dave Holmes for Esquire, the silence from his parents after coming out is what pushed him to create Reality Show in the first place: “The lack of acknowledgment is what made me go, ‘Okay, I’ll turn the volume up.’ How do I make it as extreme as possible? It’s testing the limits of their cognitive dissonance.”
The extremities make up a strange gumbo: One-part old-school docu-style reality TV (in a different era, this could’ve been True Life: “My Mom’s a Homophobe”); a dash of trashy celeb-reality (think Being Bobby Brown or Britney & Kevin: Chaotic); and another part self-referential prestige experiment (Sarah Polley’s Stories We Tell or How To with John Wilson).
For all its cross-cultural parallels, though, Reality Show stands apart. To his credit, while he has near-total creative control as the creator, co-executive producer, and star, he’s willing to show himself being challenged by his own cognitive dissonance. Within the first few minutes of Reality Show, he makes his MO plain: “Cameras make me feel more comfortable, I like this — it seems permanent, and it feels really dumb to lie.” And yet, we later watch him lie on camera about being monogamous during a couples therapy session with Mike, proving he struggles to adhere to his own ethos, at least at first. (As the season carries on, he and Mike try out non-monogamy together, and seem to find that it works for them.)
The reality TV genre feeds heartily upon the judgmental instincts of its viewers. It needs audiences to engage with it as gossip fodder and opinion-generator, encouraging those who tune in for the “real”-ish drama to scoff at the foolish personalities, cheer on the likable heroes, and boo the flamboyant antagonists. Carmichael clearly understands the format – unscripted in theory, though manipulated and edited to make the “real” fit more neatly into a dramatic arc – and bends it to his will. And while the crudest entries in the reality genre tend to bring up social issues and prejudices either unintentionally or superficially, with Reality Show, Carmichael chooses to purposefully expose the issues in the name of raw, unfiltered honesty.
“I think this will be good for you”
In the mid-2010s, he co-created and starred in the loosely autobiographical network sitcom The Carmichael Show. Far more subversive than its multi-camera, live studio audience format let on, it positioned him as a nihilistic provocateur who revels in frank, multi-generational conversations on an assortment of hot-button issues with his fictional family: abortion, assisted suicide, mass shootings, depression. (It’s frequently, and aptly, been referred to as a modern-day All in the Family.)
A Season 2 episode focuses on Jerrod’s dad Joe (David Alan Grier) as he prepares to deliver a eulogy for his own father, who was abusive and abandoned the family long ago. Jerrod doesn’t understand why Joe would want to honor him – “Am I the only one who remembers what a deadbeat that man was?” – but Joe feels bound by the tradition of never speaking ill of the dead. Jerrod counters that if Joe is going to give the eulogy, he should at least tell the truth about who the man was: “I think it will be good for you.”
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That line could’ve been the tagline for Reality Show, which finds Carmichael butting up against the people in his life — many of them older — who bristle at his desire to revisit painful memories from the past. In the fourth episode, Jerrod attempts to have a straightforward conversation with his real dad Joe, and pelts him with a rapid-fire series of questions about the double life Joe led for years, which included having a secret second family with another woman.
“Would you say you loved [the other woman]? Or was it just like, sexual, or was it — ’cause it was a long time, what – like, 40 years of a relationship? Was it hard every time? Did you feel like a bad person?”
Joe, clearly uncomfortable, begins to shut down and insist that the past is the past, but Jerrod keeps pressing him. Joe snaps back: “Why are you digging into this so deep, son?”
I think it will be good for you.
“Is this gonna be on your special?” Joe wearily asks. “This is hard for me to discuss on cameras.”
Doing this in front of cameras is the only way Carmichael, a late-30s millennial who came of age in the early years of oversharing – The Real World, blogging, Facebook – knows how to have (or force, really) these conversations. It’s telling that, spliced throughout some of the episodes, Reality Show includes footage from the Carmichael family’s home videos going back decades, some of which Jerrod himself shot as a kid with a camcorder. The grainy images root the present-day points of conflict firmly in an “authentic” past, suggesting that this project was predestined, something this artist has unintentionally been working toward for decades.
“Your option is no option,” Jerrod snaps back at Joe around that campfire, “so don’t criticize the way I do it. If the cameras help me, then they f—— help. But your way is nothing, your way is silence, your way is death.”
Eventually, Joe is tapped out. “You’ve expressed yourself … can I go home?”
The camera gives Jerrod courage, a security blanket to wear while attempting to address the distance between him and Joe, yet it’s not yielding the results he’s looking for. It’s hard not to wonder if the cameras are actually hindering him in the long run, keeping him stuck on the false hope that others around him – who have thus far only proven rigid in their stances – might open up to him the way he wants them to.
Bending his truth for his mom
At the core of Reality Show, nestled beneath the layer of a mission for radical truth, is Carmichael’s determination to radically alter worldviews. “Could my mom change?” he ponders at one point. He surmises, “It’s reason to keep fighting.”
“I’m not going to sit here and lie to you,” his uber-Christian mom Cynthia insists in the finale, while repeating yet again that she’d “prefer” that he isn’t gay. (In an earlier episode, she likened homosexuality to being a murderer.) Cynthia might be the most authentic of all the figures in Reality Show, unapologetically herself. His impasse with her has less to do with avoiding the truth than it does the fact that her truth stands in direct opposition to his.
She visits Jerrod and Mike in New York City for Mother’s Day weekend, and he takes her to a queer-friendly Harlem church, where the pastor pushes back against her insistence that the Bible condemns homosexuality. Later they meet with a queer therapist for joint counseling. Neither of these experiences sees her budging from her stance: “I’d like for him not to be gay,” she tells the therapist during one-on-one time, adding matter-of-factly, “I can go further [with my acceptance], I just choose right now not to … I don’t want to.”
Later, when she reiterates her desire for him to find a woman to settle down with, he tries meeting her on her terms: He consents to letting her attempt to pray away the gay in front of him. She’s truly giddy; it might be the happiest she appears in the entire show. “I love you. That blessed my heart,” she says, satisfied. She’s completely unaware (or unbothered?) by how her son’s body seems to recoil out of deep discomfort.
In an effective bit of dramatic editing, the prayer immediately cuts to Carmichael remarking on the moment during a standup performance. “She was so happy that I let her do it. I immediately regretted it.”
Jerrod Carmichael in Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show.
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Jerrod Carmichael in Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show.
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Throughout Reality Show, Carmichael imagines standup snippets as if they were a more elevated version of a confessional booth, that reality TV convention where the cast members get to narrate their perspective of the story unfolding. It’s devastating watching him concede to her, to allow her this delusion. But there’s life as-it-happens and life as reflected upon later. And it’s important to note this doesn’t come out of nowhere; this has been years in the making, with long periods of absence and occasional heated exchanges, some of which were captured on camera. Through his extravagant attempts at familial reconciliation, Jerrod’s ultimately realized he has to bend his truth a little to maintain some sort of relationship with Cynthia.
I think it will be good for you.
“You know what I realized I need is a reason to believe everything will be OK,” he adds. “I’m always looking for that. When I was young, I found it in my mother. And now, I’m finding a lot of that in [Mike].” As he says this, a montage of images flurry by: Cynthia packing her bags in her hotel room to go back home to North Carolina; a younger Cynthia smiling for the camera in a home video; Mike teaching Jerrod how to swim in a pool.
A revelatory viewing experience
And yet the finale also suggests a small but perceptible shift in Jerrod’s relationship with Cynthia, and proves the show is more than a masochistic, navel-gazey affair (though it’s certainly that, too). This is soap opera verité in its most anarchic state — almost certainly a terrible idea for everyone involved, but quite possibly a learning experience for those observing from the outside looking in.
The post-credits sequence is jarringly optimistic. The final image is of Mike and Cynthia laughing together in her kitchen in North Carolina a few months later; she even places her hand affectionately on his back for a quick moment. We have no idea if Cynthia still believes Jerrod and Mike are on equally sinful footing with murderers, though the scene implies something within her has softened.
It’s unclear what we’re supposed to make of this – that maybe Jerrod’s persistence has actually helped him reconnect with his family? If so, it’s worth considering Reality Show a success for what he’s said he wanted out of this project, even if there’s reason to be disappointed in the concessions he may have had to make to get there.
The impulse to question why any of this needed to happen in such a public manner doesn’t completely recede with this conclusion, though maybe it makes the show’s existence easier to digest. In any case, the ending is hardly pat — real life plays out on its own terms away from the cameras — and Reality Show‘s frank depiction of a Black queer man attempting to push back against his family’s culture of silence moves the needle even further than Rothaniel did. He’s provided viewers with an imperfect guide for how to have difficult but necessary conversations with the people they care about (preferably without dropping a camera crew in the mix).
Clay and his mom Margarita on Love is Blind.
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Clay and his mom Margarita on Love is Blind.
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Oddly enough, Reality Show shares a bit in common with the most recent season of the absurdist Netflix dating series Love Is Blind, which featured Clay, a young Black man who also dealt with unresolved trauma stemming from his own dad’s infidelities in a very public manner. The show’s silly “social experiment” — above all designed for maximum gawking and entertainment — inadvertently stumbled into a candid and relatively honest discussion about Black masculinity and generational trauma.
At Clay’s doomed wedding ceremony to AD, his mom Margarita, no longer married to his dad Trevor, gave the series its truest moment thus far, when she explained to Trevor how his actions were affecting their son all these years later. “Your past and things that you witness, it’s part of your DNA. It’s part of your inside. And if you don’t get freakin’ help, you bring that s— into the next thing.”
Clay brought his baggage into Love Is Blind and Jerrod brought his into Reality Show. Disarray ensued and feelings were hurt. There’s a silver lining though: In making highly questionable decisions for all the world to see, they forced conversations that need to be had but often aren’t, and perhaps some viewers may come away feeling inspired to confront similar issues in their own lives. Even amid all the mess, some honesty managed to break through the silence.
Lifestyle
Firings at CBS’ ’60 Minutes’ reflect the fight for media control in the age of Trump
Correspondents of CBS’ 60 Minutes pose for a portrait in 2023. From left to right, they are Sharyn Alfonsi, L. Jon Wertheim, Bill Whitaker, Lesley Stahl, Scott Pelley, Cecilia Vega, and Anderson Cooper. Former Executive Producer Bill Owens sits on the far right. Only Wertheim, Whitaker and Stahl remain at the program.
CBS Photo Archive/CBS via Getty Images/CBS
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When CBS fired Scott Pelley on Tuesday night, the new 60 Minutes executive producer, Nick Bilton, told Pelley it was for insubordination at a staff meeting the day before.
The veteran correspondent argues he was defending the DNA of 60 Minutes and the integrity of its journalism.
The battle royale over the network’s most prestigious and profitable news program is part of a broader fight over the direction of CBS News.
And given CBS’s acquisition by a billionaire family whose business interests have become intertwined with the political interests of President Trump, it reflects a larger war over control of the media in the current moment.

That father and son, Larry and David Ellison, bought CBS’ parent company, Paramount, last summer. In January, they became co-owners of TikTok’s U.S. operations. Now they’re seeking approval from Trump’s regulators to buy Warner Bros. Discovery, the parent company of CNN.
A glamorous show shorn, for now, of most its stars
CBS fired Cecilia Vega, a correspondent, and Tanya Simon, the executive producer, from 60 Minutes last week. They are shown in this photo at the 2026 White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner on April 25, 2026 in Washington, D.C.
Kristina Bumphrey/Variety via Getty Images/Variety
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Kristina Bumphrey/Variety via Getty Images/Variety
But the specifics of this individual episode matter — for 60 Minutes, CBS, its audience of millions, and even the news business itself.
The program has been the most glamorous post in broadcast news. The correspondents are the stars of the show. And now, there are just three of them.
Anderson Cooper left last month, concerned over the direction of the network’s coverage. Last week was a virtual bloodbath: correspondents Cecilia Vega and Sharyn Alfonsi were fired. So were a producer and two show executives — including Tanya Simon, a longtime staffer who had stepped up as executive producer when her predecessor resigned in protest before the Ellisons’ takeover.

With Pelley’s ouster, only correspondents Lesley Stahl, Bill Whitaker, and Jon Wertheim remain. Now they are considering whether to resign, according to two associates with knowledge.
Their brand-new boss, Bilton, was previously a tech reporter for The New York Times and an investigative reporter for Vanity Fair. He executive-produced a documentary for Netflix about a couple accused of laundering Bitcoin and has been a producer on several other films.
Notably, he has no experience in television news.
Neither does Bari Weiss, whom David Ellison installed as the network’s editor in chief last October. The Ellisons also bought her center-right views-and-news site, The Free Press.
She has maintained that the network of Walter Cronkite needs a makeover for the digital moment. She has also contended for years that CBS, along with the rest of mainstream media, is too reflexively anti-Trump, anti-Israel, and too woke.
A rejection of CBS News executives’ overtures
The new executive producer of 60 Minutes, Nick Bilton, has been a tech journalist and documentary filmmaker, but lacks experience in broadcast news.
Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images/Getty Images North America
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Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images/Getty Images North America
Bilton attempted to set a conciliatory tone at Monday’s meeting — his first with the show. Pelley, a formidable veteran correspondent and former CBS Evening News anchor, wasn’t having it.
Pelley called Bilton unwelcome and unqualified. And Pelley said that Weiss was attempting to “murder” the program.
In firing Pelley on Tuesday, Bilton said the journalist had hijacked the meeting and rejected overtures to work constructively through their differences. (NPR obtained a copy of the firing notice.) Bilton wrote that Pelley’s “antipathy to the future of the show came through loud and clear.”
In his own statement late Tuesday evening, shared with NPR, Pelley accused CBS’s new news leadership of killing 60 Minutes‘ DNA and pushing him “to inject falsehoods and bias into a politically sensitive story” and “to include assertions that are unverified.”
The accusations, to which CBS has not yet responded, echo those made by Alfonsi and Vega, the two correspondents fired last week.
Earlier this year, Alfonsi publicly complained after Weiss held one of her stories at the last minute, and kept it frozen for weeks, demanding an on-camera interview with a Trump White House official that never played out. It ran, unchanged from the intended version, with additional statements from the administration tacked on to the end.
After being fired, Vega said in a statement obtained by NPR that her team had “experienced efforts to insert political bias into our stories.”
“Let’s call this what it is: censorship, both censorship and self-driven” Vega continued. “It is dangerous for the show and dangerous for democracy.”
Weiss previously rejected Alfonsi’s and Vega’s allegations. (CBS said Vega’s claims, for example, were “not based in reality” while expressing appreciation for her work.)
Weiss and Bilton say digital threat requires a 60 Minutes overhaul now
In a meeting this morning, Weiss said that Pelley chose his own path — that is, to be fired rather than to find a way to work through his concerns, according to attendees. The network and Weiss have not yet publicly addressed Pelley’s accusations of interference.
Bilton and Weiss say they respect the show’s traditions, its accomplishments and its legacy of enterprise reporting, extended interviews and visual storytelling. It rose in the ratings 9% over the past season under Simon.
The two news leaders say, however, 60 Minutes needs to be overhauled before it becomes increasingly irrelevant in the era of streamers and other sources of news, information and entertainment in the digital age.
Interviews with 12 current and former CBS News staffers, from producers to executives, suggest great reservations and suspicions remain about Weiss’ judgment and her ability to handle the prominent and even famous journalists on whom her division relies.
Weiss had initially sought to reinvent the CBS Evening News, dropping a two-anchor format that had sagged in the ratings. Cooper turned down Weiss’ overtures to anchor it and left the network altogether, concerned about her approach, according to associates. (They spoke on condition of anonymity because Cooper has not chosen to speak publicly on the matter.)
David Ellison became chairman and CEO of CBS’ parent company, Paramount, after buying it last year.
Noam Galai/Getty Images for Paramount/Getty Images North America
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Noam Galai/Getty Images for Paramount/Getty Images North America
The ratings have continued to sag under new anchor Tony Dokoupil. And some CBS journalists, including producers who have left the Evening News, have publicly accused Weiss of making editorial decisions driven by politics. She has rejected those claims.
The decision to take on overhauling two key shows — one listing, one highly profitable, both high profile — carries significant risks for Weiss and the network, even apart from other considerations.
But the Ellisons’ presence cannot be ignored.

When Shari Redstone was negotiating the sale of CBS’s parent company, Paramount, to the Ellisons’ Skydance Media last year, the network announced the end of Stephen Colbert’s late night show. He had been one of the president’s most biting and acerbic critics.
David Ellison also made a series of concessions directly to Trump’s chief broadcast regulator, Federal Communications Commission Chair Brendan Carr, gutting CBS’s diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives and appointing a conservative ombudsman to field complaints of bias against its news reporting.
Carr and other regulators approved the Paramount deal last summer.
The accommodations echo those made by other media titans.
Amazon and Blue Origin founder Jeff Bezos remade the editorial pages of the Washington Post, which he owns, into a far more hospitable zone for Trump at the outset of his second term. So did Los Angeles Times owner Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong, a noted medical device inventor. Amazon and Blue Origin have multi-billion dollar contracts with the federal government. Soon-Shiong’s medical research firm routinely has patent applications up for review with federal regulators. One was approved Tuesday.
The Ellisons are hoping to win approval from federal regulators next month for their purchase of Warner Bros. Discovery in a deal valued at more than $110 billion. It would include Warner Bros. Studio, HBO and CNN, among other properties.
As Weiss routs CBS News’ old guard, the question of what role she might play at CNN — and what changes that portends at CBS — hangs over journalists at the two networks. The fate of 60 Minutes serves as a high-stakes case study for both.
Lifestyle
We’re having a main character summer. Are you? : It’s Been a Minute
Lifestyle
Vintage-obsessed millennial parents are driving L.A.’s booming kids’ clothing resale market
Kids’ vintage clothing sales are experiencing a remarkable boom at in-person markets and online, where prices for clothes for little ones have shot up on websites including Depop and Poshmark. Millennial parents are looking to outfit their kids in the clothes and TV and film characters they loved (or coveted) when they were kids.
The result? There’s a new generation of kiddos hitting the playground looking incredibly cool. Take Amari Case, a SoCal toddler who spent a Sunday afternoon this spring ambling around a vintage market in a West Hollywood warehouse clad in baggy jeans and a ’90s-era tee emblazoned with the “Dragon Ball Z” character Son Goku.
When she wasn’t scribbling on a Lorax coloring sheet, she’d been cruising around the market with her dad, Aaron Munoz Case, snapping up new pieces destined to make her the flyest kid at the preschool playground.
Neil Wright, from left, Kristine Nite Scalzo and Brandon Rosenblatt, co-founders of Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.
Showing off Amari’s new vintage satin L.A. Raiders jacket and tiny teal Grant Hill Detroit Pistons jersey, Munoz Case, who was also impeccably dressed, noted that while Amari went through a phase at about 18 months where she wanted to dress herself, eventually she gave up and went back to letting her dripped-out dad dictate her wardrobe.
Munoz Case found Amari’s first vintage piece at the Rose Bowl Flea Market and got the bug, going back every month to pick up something to add to his little’s wardrobe.
Trendspotters and researchers say Munoz Case isn’t alone in his quest. The market for kids’ vintage clothing has heated up precipitously over the last few years, perhaps hitting a boiling point in January when an Eeyore romper from the ’90s sold for over $3,000 on EBay. (It was new with tags, but one without tags still went for almost a grand about a month later.)
The thirst for tiny throwbacks is so popular that first-ever, all-kids market Elemeno — named after the “L-M-N-O” bit of “The Alphabet Song” and where Amari was toddling and shopping — drew 17 vendors and over 2,000 attendees over a single weekend in March. (There are plans for another Elemeno Kids Vintage Market pop-up later this year in New York, as well as plans to bring the event back to L.A. sometime next year.)
1. Cameron Scalzo, wearing a vintage McDonald’s T-shirt from the ‘90s, and mom Kristine Nite Scalzo. 2. Cameron Scalzo rocks an Avirex jacket from the ‘90s.
Eye Speak Vintage’s Kristine Nite Scalzo, who co-organized the event and is opening an all-kids vintage store in Pasadena this month, says she fell under the kids vintage spell in 2020 when she was pregnant with her son. She’d always been a vintage shopper for herself, so she knew she wanted to pass the passion down to the next generation. She started filling up her son’s closet, and soon enough, she found herself selling her other finds out of a bodega in her garage.
She has a by-appointment space in Pasadena now, where she draws everyone from Rihanna’s stylist to out-of-town moms who make a point to stop by on their way to Disneyland. “The community around kids vintage has really skyrocketed on Instagram over the past six years,” Scalzo says. “We want to know who we’re buying from. We want to know that we’re doing good with buying secondhand. And it’s a hobby for people that can turn into a possible business on the side. Because knowing there’s a big group that’s interested in vintage kids clothes, you can always pass an item [your kid outgrows] to someone else or resell it.”
Scalzo says some parents are out digging through bins at the Goodwill Outlet looking for the perfect piece, while others are content to pay up for, say, a ’90s Simpsons T-shirt or a mini-size Harley-Davidson jacket. Scouring the racks at the Elemeno market, most pieces cost $15 to $40, though there were special pieces pulled to the side in some booths with price tags that could make a parent’s eyes pop. (Think $275 for a set of well-worn Spider-Man overalls from the ’00s or $150 for a pair of Cross Colours denim shorts from the ’90s.)
In kids and adult vintage alike, mint condition is highly valued. No matter the era in which they were raised, kids tend to be messy. They get strawberry juice on their shirts or scuff up the knees on their Bugle Boy jeans. Vintage kids clothes that look pristine are more expensive, and while plain kids clothes do sell, items with characters on them or cool prints tend to draw more attention and dollars.
Brandon Rosenblatt, another of the Elemeno organizers, says he’s had his eye on a specific kids “Back to the Future” shirt for some time, but notes that it typically sells for about $1,000. He’s partial to McKids clothes for his daughter, from McDonald’s short-lived kids clothing brand, noting that he’s even snagged her a vintage official McDonald’s-themed aloha shirt from Hawaii, something he says he’s never seen anywhere else.
1. Siblings Amora and Milo Castilo wear vintage cowboy hats, jackets and chaps. 2. Thalia Castilo and her kids Amora and Milo.
Other collectors, he says, might be a little less obscure, leaning into mainstream characters such as Strawberry Shortcake or from ’80s and ’90s properties including “The Land Before Time” and “Rugrats.”
“A lot of millennials are having kids — like everyone who’s in their 30s and 40s — and they all want to put their kids in the same IP they grew up in,” Rosenblatt says.
“It’s the thrill of the hunt that gets everyone so excited,” Scalzo says. “Once you find that perfect nostalgic piece, you’re like ‘Holy s—,’ and you just want to chase that feeling again and again.”
Mia De La Rosa, a reseller who was at the Elemeno market, says that like Scalzo, she started buying kids vintage clothes when she was pregnant with her daughter, Liv, who’s 6 now, very into everything on PBS Kids and has a closet full of thrifted vintage garb covered in characters such as D.W., the annoying little sister from the ’90s show “Arthur.”
Everything Liv wears is “completely her style,” De La Rosa says. “She dresses herself every day and she gets compliments on what she’s wearing at school all the time.”
Other vintage-wearing kids — and in particular younger ones — might simply be sporting what their parents like or might just like the look of the shirt even if they don’t know what it’s advertising. (An 8-year-old boy at the Elemeno market, for instance, chose to wear a pristine T-shirt highlighting the ’90s Jim Carrey movie “The Mask” because it featured his favorite color: green.)
Derrick Broaster, a vintage enthusiast turned full-time reseller, says that while he chooses to put himself in clothes from the ’60s and ’70s, he outfits his two sons in clothes from the 2000s. (“How Bow Wow used to dress when he was a kid,” he says.)
Although his younger son tends to rebel against Broaster’s vintage picks, opting for whatever Spider-Man shoes happen to be in his eyeline, his older son has leaned in, letting his dad advise him on what vintage pieces could work and what would be the most stylish.
1. Julian, left, and Javier Gutierrez show off their vintage clothing. Javier says his mom always tells him to keep his vintage outfits clean. 2. Mom Priscilla Guzman, clockwise, Dad Javier Gutierrez and sons Julian and Javier Gutierrez enjoy the vibe of vintage clothing. Guzman says she’s been buying and selling kids’ vintage since her oldest son was born eight years ago.
Rosenblatt says a good portion of what vintage finds he sees in the market now has returned to the U.S. from places in Central America and South America or Asia where those pieces were likely sent decades ago after they were donated or given away.
“There’s a real underbelly of this vintage game with rag houses getting access to bulk product overseas and letting people sort through it,” he says. “There are companies now that rip through 20, 30 or 40,000 pieces of vintage clothing a week. It’s a really interesting ecosystem.”
For many kids vintage sellers, finding their stock is just as fun and interesting as getting it back into consumers’ hands. “Anywhere we can find clothes, we’re there,” says Matthew Carlos, owner of Long Gone Youth. He started selling vintage clothes 11 years ago, when he was 15, switched to kids vintage at 20 and has spent the last six years scouring flea markets, websites and swap meets.
“The kids market is definitely growing,” he says, “but I still feel like we haven’t even gotten close to where we can go. It’s just getting popular now, but the more events [like Elemeno] we can do, the more it’ll go mainstream.” Even now, some major brands like Gap and OshKosh B’gosh have recognized the interest in some of their styles from the ’80s and ’90s, moving to re-release the looks in limited runs.
Jackie and Frank Oropeza with daughter Rumi Mae shop at Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.
Kids resale is also leaning into streetwear culture. Rosenblatt, who worked in the streetwear industry, says that he’s noticed that a good portion of those interested in kids vintage — particularly, male shoppers — tend to be fans of streetwear brands like Supreme, Fear of God Essentials and Bape. At Elemeno, for instance, a good portion of the parents we saw pushing strollers were well-dressed dads seemingly on solo missions, something you don’t always see at kid-centric events.
“I just want my son to feel like I did as a kid,” said Justin Nguyen, while watching his toddler, Jayden, play with bubbles. “I want him to be happy, carefree and joyful, and I want to be able to spend time with him. My mom and dad were always working, even on the weekends. Now that I’m a dad, taking my son out on weekends to do stuff like this just seems like a blessing.”
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