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I have had it up to my eyeballs with designer labels and the prestige they carry.

My teenage stepson is completely and unabashedly a slave to fashion. He changes his style constantly and will sacrifice anything and everything to keep up with the latest trends.

His mother loves to indulge him in his addiction, which is lucky for him because his dad and I never would.

I realize it was no different when I was a teenager. I longed for that $70 pair of crushed velvet Jordache or Sassoon's (Ooh La La) so tight that I had to lie on the bed, take a deep breath and pull up the zipper with a pair of pliers. I remember spending all my money on a new Danskin outfit to wear to the dance clubs. I guess what goes around comes around, and like most of us, now I'm beginning to understand what drove my parents so crazy.

In his freshman year, he followed the pack with long shaggy hair over his eyes (yes, boys did the same thing in the '70s, but that doesn't mean it looked good then either), and like our parents before us, I was constantly after him to cut his hair. He had dozens of T-shirts, all with some sort of wildlife logo on it. After all, if your clothes don't have a bird or a moose, they're just not worth having, right?

He thought nothing of spending $70 on a pair of green and orange sneakers to match only one outfit. Admittedly, he always looked nice, though I thought the shaggy hair made him look a little "unkempt."

His sophomore year was my personal favorite, and, oh, how I long for those days. It started when I bribed him to cut his hair. I offered him $50&ellipses; $25 up front and $25 if he absolutely hated it and immediately wanted to grow it back. I cut it myself, and we weren't even out of the bathroom when he looked in the mirror and said, "I'm never getting that other $25." He loved it; mission accomplished.

That was just the beginning of his sophomore transformation. To go with his new, more mature look, he started to favor fitted polos and button-downs (only Hollister and Abercrombie, of course), slightly more fitted jeans, and neutral-colored sneakers. Of course, those new clothes come with a hefty price tag, but his mom was happy to oblige. He always looked sharp and clean cut.

That brings us to this year's look, which seems to have digressed. It's like his freshman year, only with better hair.

Gone are the polos and jeans that "fit," all of which he sold for a whopping $55 to a consignment store that caters to teens with a lust for designer duds. Heaven forbid he would then shop there. He wouldn't waste his time searching for a bargain even if it meant he could have twice the clothes for half the price.

Nope, he needs the retail high, the thrill of walking into a trendy store with all the beautiful people and perfectly displayed clothes. He raked in the cash at Christmas to the tune of about $450 and couldn't wait to get to the mall. It was burning a hole in his pocket.

Knowing the money would be gone in the blink of an eye, I moved in quickly and bullied him into putting $125 in the bank (he'll thank me for it someday). And then, with just over $300, off he went. He came home a few hours later with several shopping bags and $7.

But what was in those bags was a shock! Did the dressing rooms have mirrors? Back were the T-shirts, only much louder in their geometric graphics and bright colors. As if that were not enough, he paired them with equally obnoxious print sweatshirts in coordinating colors. It looks like a clown threw up on him.

I'm pretty sure his new ski jacket could cause seizures. And the pants, oh, the pants -- maybe all the loud patterns have impaired his ability to determine where his waist is, making him believe it is halfway down his behind.

Well, at least his hair looks good, but, oh, how I wish he'd pull up those pants!

Don't get me wrong; I realize it could be worse -- a lot worse. He is good-looking, smart, athletic (varsity football), charming and has a great sense of humor -- which is a good thing because we don't hold back our critiques in our house.

He certainly doesn't need the designer labels to complete the package; he is the package. Then, I think about the old adage that clothes make the man -- but at what price? Those name brands aren't cheap.

My biggest fear is that, as a slave to fashion, his quest for designer labels will someday land him in a mountain of debt.

Right now, he's a 17-year-old junior, and the clothes are either a gift or his own cash and carry. But what about when he gets to college and he's bombarded with credit cards from companies chomping at the bit to have naive new victims fall prey to the notion of having something now and paying for it later?

I can explain the pitfalls of credit, interest and minimum payments a thousand times, but I fear it will all fall on deaf ears the first time he's in the mall. Which voice in his head will be louder -- mine, warning to be careful what he spends and to live within his means or that Hollister shirt screaming "buy me, buy me"?

Perhaps, when the money he's spending is money he's actually earning, he'll think twice about the high price of fashion -- or NOT.

In closing, I thought it would be fun to get your opinion on my son's many looks -- freshman, sophomore or junior, you decide. E-mail me at duffymom63@yahoo.com, and let me know what you think.

Nancy Duffy is a mother of two Stokesdale Elementary students and a Northwest High student.