Pink: A Theory

I’ve always had quite the turbulent relationship with the color pink; somehow after the age of five (when I realized that the corporate world felt it necessary to monopolize the color as the official representative of the female population because they were (a) sexist and; (b) too lazy to manufacture things in other colors). I developed a slight loathing for it. I refused to be like every other girl and carry a pink bag and wear pink ribbons and come home to a pink bedroom full of frilly things. I would not, in my grade school protest, resign to commercial dictatorship and become some gossip-loving, fluffy girly-girl. Non, monsieur, I adamantly refused!

Pink things were since avoided. Pink shirts, pink dresses, pink lipsticks (mauve-y nudes do not count as pink!), pink bedding, pink cupcakes. I told myself pink just wasn’t suitable for my complexion (actually true), or my personality. Pink was allowed only for nail polishes, as I (back in the day) kept to more neutral colors. Nail polish was is [still!] the one exception. I once made the mistake of wearing a [hot] pink frock to school (that wasn’t bodycon, with white (!) flats) and was gaped at. Not even because I was wearing color. “… You’re. Wearing. Pink?!” From ladies and gents alike. That, my dears, is when you know things are bad, crazy, or just… bad.

It was a vulnerable week. So the pink was excused.

I’m warming up to it, though. Step one in overcoming my abhorrence of pink was in embracing pink nail polish (I blame Essie’s collections for making me swoon, one of which being “Knockout Pout,” an unabashed hot, hot pink). And though I refuse to believe that blush qualifies as pink, I suppose it’s a second step in tolerance.

I’ve still got a long ways to go. But it’s a process, like that moon thing with Neil Armstrong. One small step man, one giant leap for mankind.

But, you know. It’s just a theory.

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