Crazy for cute: why adults love to act like children

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Christian Koch10 April 2012

It's become a global youth phenomenon as teenagers and adults regress to childhood. Christian Koch reports...

In retina-scorching neon T-shirts emblazoned with net-speak slogans, the Babycakes "scene kids" cram into Islington Academy and screech. It's the second London party for Babycakes' clothing label, and over the next few hours, these 15- to 16-year-olds, with their Skins-hairdos, hotpants and faces painted like cats, run riot. They'll play with the bubble machine and suck Chupa Chup lollies. They'll pogo and stage-dive away to the additive-laden sound of the "chiptune" bands playing live. And they'll suffocate every last remaining gasp of air from the venue with their prodigious use of hairspray.

"DO NOT TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT BABYCAKES," warns their MySpace page. But with the company rapidly turning into a global youth phenomenon, it'd be pretty hard not to.

For all their dayglo posturing, it's clear that Babycakes' penchant for infantilism is part of a wider trend towards all things cute. Across London, adults are nurturing their inner child by watching YouTube footage of pandas falling over, eating cupcakes and crying over films like Up.

If anyone's to blame, it's the Japanese. Since the Seventies, kawaii ("cute") has permeated every aspect of Japanese culture, from handwriting to mascots such as Hello Kitty and Pikachu, which adorn everything from airliner jets to credit cards. In Britain, nobody has appropriated kawaii more acutely than the fashion company Babycakes.

The svengali behind it is 22-year-old Paul Griffiths. Three years ago, stuck in a telesales job, he started the business from his bedroom in Nelson, Lancashire. "I saved up my wages and invested in a batch of T-shirts. The response from my MySpace friends was mad. I had to produce more to satisfy demand."

His savvy attitude towards viral marketing on social networking sites (Griffiths's MySpace profile currently has 119,617 friends) is responsible for Babycakes' position today — a multi-brand franchise with a Manchester shop (a pop-up shop appeared in London's Kingly Court over Christmas), dance parties and a fervent teen following. Even America is taking note — when Babycakes Eyewear launched in Los Angeles last April, 2,000 youngsters turned up. As for Griffiths himself, he's earned enough to employ seven people, pay off his parents' mortgage and buy a double-decker bus.

But why is Babycakes so appealing? Let 16-year-old Johnny Beckett explain: "I stumbled across Babycakes on MySpace, ordered some T-shirts and got into it from there. It's more than a clothing range — there's the music scene as well. Plus, I've met some cool people at their London events." Griffiths describes Babycakes' appeal thus: "Before Babycakes there was emo. I guess kids couldn't keep on slitting their wrists for ever. Babycakes is the chirpier option."

And chirpy it is. Babycakes' followers revel in their acronym-heavy argot ("OMFGZ!"), smothering every uttering in exclamation marks ("CUTECORE!"). Plus they've even got their own closely affiliated music genre — chiptune. Created from eight-bit consoles such as Atari and Sega, chiptune (sample act: Henry Homesweet) is gurgling electro-pop that may sound like a GameBoy malfunctioning but is loved by Babycakes' adherents, possibly because it's impenetrable to anyone over the age of 19.

It's fitting that Babycakes currently resonates with Generation Y, as their older relatives are also succumbing to this fetish for "cute". Take the emoticon-ridden net (smiley faces are very kawaii). The most popular YouTube video in the UK during 2009 was the Evian commercial of roller-skating babies, which racked up 13.7 million views. Elsewhere, website Cute Overload (saturation pics of puppies, kittens and skateboarding budgies) gets 100,000 visits a day, while 44 million YouTube viewers watched the 1970s footage of Christian the Lion being reunited with its owners.

In fashion, Mac cosmetics has a Hello Kitty range, while Chanel is launching primary-school-style fake tattoos in March. Then there's Lily Allen (who regularly dolls up in furry animal suits), the kawaii-ness of Pixie Lott, and mawkish films such as Up sweeping up at the box office.

Cuteness is also insidiously creeping its way into Londoners' eating habits — cupcake enterprises such as Betty Blythe and Hummingbird are doing a roaring trade, while Farley's Rusks and Dairylea appear on Soho menus.

So why is this treacly trend happening now? After all, the Noughties has hardly been a "cute" decade

"There's an underlying anxiety and melancholia in the UK, induced by how much misery and danger there is around us," says Max Farrar, a cultural sociologist at Leeds Metropolitan University. "Young people are trying to block this out, which is why they're indulging in frivolities such as animal pics and Babycakes. It's a retreat to the happy, innocent days before you became aware of such horrors."

Furthermore, in an age dominated by yummy mummies and silver foxes, the infantilism invasion could also stem from the older generation's refusal to get old. "Having seen their parent culture celebrate youth, it's no surprise that adolescents are reinventing themselves as younger than they are," says Farrar.

But a backlash is afoot. Last month witnessed the Facebook-mounted campaign to install Rage Against the Machine as Christmas number one over Joe McElderry's saccharine balladry. The vulgar greeting cards market ("Happy Birthday W*****!"), which formed as a reaction against schmaltzy hearts-and-flowers cards, is booming. Not even pandas themselves are immune — last year BBC presenter and naturalist Chris Packham urged us not to waste money saving Ol' Black Eyes (they've lumbered down an evolutionary dead-end, apparently), while environmentalists have formed groups to save "uncharismatic mega-fauna" such as spiders and lizards.

Still, our appetite for cute continues, aided in no small part by advertisers and product designers, who constantly update their merchandise to give it more "cute" appeal. Even Darth Vader is now available as a cuddly toy. All lucrative business, of course. Sitting atop his double-decker bus, with thousands of slavish, brightly-attired devotees following his every word, Paul Griffiths won't be complaining

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