A Blog For Mums
Before I became a mum, I had no idea how expensive prams were. I thought you could pop into Mothercare (back when it existed), pick something sturdy with wheels, and be done. Then I actually started shopping for one. That’s when I realised you apparently need a mortgage, a physics degree, and a thick skin just to buy something your baby can sleep in on the move.
You can get a basic pram for around £150 if you hunt for deals, but walk into most baby shops and you’ll be told that “decent” ones start around £700. Some even push you towards models over the £1,000 mark — and that’s before you add extras like the footmuff, rain cover, or the car seat attachment that’s “an absolute must”. Before long, you’re standing in front of a gleaming travel system that costs more than your first car, wondering how this became normal.
There’s something strange about the way prams have become a statement piece. It’s not just about functionality anymore — it’s about image. Some parents proudly parade their Bugaboos and iCandy Peach travel systems like they’re driving sports cars, while others whisper sheepishly that theirs came from Facebook Marketplace.
It’s easy to roll your eyes, but “pram snobbery” is real. A few years back, another mum blogger called Gylisa Jayne went viral after calling it out, saying she couldn’t believe how much judgement there was over something so ordinary. Her post struck a nerve because it’s not just the price tags — it’s the unspoken hierarchy. The idea that the pram you push somehow says something about the kind of parent you are.
The subtext is clear: expensive prams mean you care more, you’re more organised, you’re doing it “right”. Cheaper ones? Well, clearly you’re cutting corners. It’s nonsense, but it seeps in.
I’ve seen it on playgroup floors — mums comparing brands, quietly clocking who’s got the latest model. It’s the parenting equivalent of schoolyard status games, except now it’s about chassis design and fold mechanisms instead of trainers.
New parents are already juggling enough pressure. There’s pressure to breastfeed, pressure to bounce back, pressure to “soak up every moment” while simultaneously maintaining some semblance of your former self. Add pram politics into the mix, and it’s no wonder so many of us feel like we can’t win.
It’s not just about envy; it’s about fear. Fear of looking like you don’t care enough. Fear of someone making that tiny judgemental comment — “Oh, is that one second-hand?” — that lingers all day.
Social media doesn’t help. Scroll through Instagram and you’ll find picture-perfect parents pushing pristine prams across cobbled streets in matching coats and smiles. It’s aspirational, but it’s also alienating. What you don’t see are the credit card bills, the back pain from heaving the thing into the car, or the toddler who refuses to sit in it anyway.
There are, of course, practical reasons why some prams cost more.
High-end models often have smoother suspension, lighter frames, and adaptable seating. But when you strip it back, the basics are the same: every pram is designed to transport your baby safely from A to B.
A £1,200 travel system might glide beautifully through the park and be interchangeable with the car seat, but a £300 one will still get you there. Many parents who splurge later admit they didn’t use half the features they paid for — or switched to a lightweight stroller after a few months anyway.
It’s similar to cars, really. You can spend more for comfort and style, but that doesn’t mean the cheaper one can’t do the same job. The problem is when those price differences become moral ones — when the “best” pram becomes shorthand for being a “better” mum.
The baby industry thrives on insecurity.
It convinces us that our children deserve the best, and that the “best” is always the most expensive. According to recent UK data, first-time parents spend over £10,000 in the first year alone, much of it on baby gear that’s barely used. Prams are one of the biggest purchases, often justified as an “investment” — even though most are outgrown or replaced within two years.
And yet, we buy into it. Because from the moment you see that positive pregnancy test, you’re told that every choice matters. That one wrong decision could somehow make you a lesser parent. So, you reach for the top-shelf option, even if it means cutting corners elsewhere.
But what if we stopped playing the game? What if we stopped pretending that a logo or a folding mechanism defines our parenting?
Imagine a world where mums could say, “Yeah, mine’s second-hand,” or “I went with the cheap one because it does the job,” without anyone blinking. Where the conversation wasn’t about who spent what, but about how practical it is when you’re juggling a baby, a buggy, and a shopping bag.
Because here’s the truth: no one actually cares what you’re pushing — they’re too busy trying to stop their own baby from spitting out a dummy for the tenth time that hour.
When you strip away the marketing, most parents just want something reliable, safe, and comfortable for their baby. The pram that works best for you might not be the one with the biggest price tag. It might be the second-hand bargain that fits perfectly in your boot. Or the slightly scuffed one your sister passed down.
And there’s nothing shameful about that. If anything, it’s smart — financially and environmentally. Buying used keeps perfectly good gear out of landfill and saves hundreds of pounds. The same goes for borrowing or sharing with friends.
You don’t need a designer label to be a devoted parent. You just need a pram that doesn’t fall apart when you hit a curb — ideally one that folds with minimal swearing.
So let’s call pram snobbery what it is: another form of mum-shaming dressed up as taste. It’s an unnecessary pressure that feeds insecurity and debt, all for the sake of appearances.
No one should feel embarrassed for not owning a “premium” stroller. Parenthood is expensive enough without turning prams into a competitive sport. Babies don’t care what they’re being pushed in — they care that they’re warm, fed, and loved.
So, the next time you catch yourself eyeing up someone else’s wheels, remind yourself that none of it really matters. What matters is whether your baby naps long enough for you to drink a coffee while it’s still hot.
And if you manage that, no matter what pram you’ve got — you’re already winning.
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