My daughter just turned ten. Ten. Overnight, she went from being a kid who loved stickers and Squishmallows to someone who acts like she’s on the cast of Real Housewives of the Fourth Grade.
Tweendom is a special time. They’re not kids anymore (they’ll remind you of this daily), but they’re also not teenagers. They just…exist in this strange in-between where they think they’re grown but still cry when they spill their water bottle.
The hardest part of this age—aside from the sighing, the eye-rolling, and the general air of superiority—is buying them gifts. My daughter actually starts sentences with “When I was a kid,” as if she’s reminiscing about a war. She calls her brothers “the kids,” like she’s their cool aunt who visits on weekends.
Example: we’re walking into FiveBelow for birthday party supplies when she stops dead in her tracks, gives me a look usually reserved for people who forget to mute on Zoom, and says, “But like afterwards, can we go to Sephora afterwards because I really need skincare, you know?”
No. No, I do not know. You still use watermelon shampoo and forget to brush your teeth.
If you, too, are parenting a preteen who wants to be an influencer but still needs help opening string cheese, this is for you. A survival guide, if you will. Straight from the source. (Bribed with Starbies. Obvi.)
What Tweens Actually Want (a.k.a. How to Avoid the “Ugh, Mom” Face)
Anything from Sephora – If it’s from Sephora, it’s perfect. If it’s a dupe, it’s an insult.
Mini Fridge: For snacks, “privacy,” and the illusion of adulthood. Also, to keep her brothers from eating her food.
Starface Hydro-Star Pimple Patches: She doesn’t have acne. She has a personal brand.
Lululemon Everywhere Belt Bag: It’s from LuLu. That’s the entire argument.
Heatless Curling Headband: Heatless curls are in, curling irons are for the olds.
Baublebar Jewelry: Shiny. Overpriced. Destined to disappear in 24 hours.
Fairy Lights: Because if her bedroom doesn’t glow like a Pinterest board, does she even exist?
Yonanas Soft-Serve Dessert Maker: She’ll “make it herself.” You’ll clean it up.
Press-On Nails: The salon is for amateurs. She prefers to leave half a set on the kitchen floor.
Wonder Loom: She has 15,000 best friends, and they all need matching bracelets. You’ll find stray bands in the vacuum for the next six months.
Waterproof Shower Speaker: Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo deserve to be belted out dramatically in the shower.
Touchland Hand Sanitizer: The world is disgusting. Her brothers are worse.
Mini Photo Printer or Instant Camera: Because nothing says “memory” like an aggressively filtered selfie.
iPad: For FaceTiming, watching YouTube, and ignoring you more efficiently.
Bluetooth Record Player: Taylor listens to vinyl now, so obviously, she needs a record player that she doesn’t know how to use.
What Tweens Absolutely Do Not Want (Unless They Beg)
Books.
Craft kits.
Clothes.
Socks.
Anything adorable, squishy, or innocent. Childhood is dead. Long live Sephora.
Final Words from the Tween Trenches
This age is a fever dream. One minute she’s stomping down the hallway because a press-on nail fell off mid-GRWM video, and the next she’s curled up in bed with Bunny, her stuffed rabbit, whispering secrets into its ear like it’s a therapist.
There’s no logic. There’s no consistency. There’s only Sephora.
If you’re here too, deep in the hormonal wilderness, just remember: the perfect gift won’t make them grateful. It’ll just buy you five minutes before the next sigh. Godspeed.
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