It's my style and there's nothing you can do about it

I have a friend who is valiantly raising his 11 year old daughter all by himself. Sometimes I get to be a party to some of what his experience with this is like. Today, when I inquired after his daughter, he said, "Well, this morning we had a fight about pants."
I was intrigued.
He sighed.
"She has this pair of low rise, peg-leg jeans that are, I'm sorry, just too small for her now, and I told her that today was the last day she would ever wear those pants, because I was going to throw them out. God, I hate those pants."
I thought of the little teenager I saw recently going into a doorway clad in sweatpants that read "pink" right across her ass. We began to discuss the horrors of what kinds of clothes are available for girls his daughter's age.
"All of those clothes are for Vietnamese whores," he mused. He scratched his beard. "Then at the end, when I dropped her off at school, she told me 'it's my style and there's nothing you can do about it!' You've got to give it to her," he said, "the girl's got guts." He laughed about it, and I could tell his morning was definitely type B fun.
Right after that, I bought a bottle of wine. The cashier carded me. Awesome.