Studies in colour for the purpose of defining a personal style
I’ve worn this blue, pink, and yellow outfit in the wild before and have been accused of dressing like a box of Crayolas. To that I say, jealous?!
As far as I’m concerned this outfit is cute and fun. Juvenile, yes, but to those who would accuse a 40-year-old woman of being too old to pull off something so playful and twee, I would say there’s no age limit to joy.
In conclusion: can I live?!
Red is power, dynamic. Blue is cool and controlled. White is innocent purity. The whole aims not to withhold.
A hand held in both strength and friendship. Seen on flags and logos alike.
Warmth and detachment in tension. Maintaining the boldness to strike.
Perfect for company picnics, where small talk will numb limbs and minds.
Dark thoughts erased with soft ice cream, in flavours to help you unwind.
Whenever I go to my local hot dog resto I like to wear a black pleather mini with a yellow tank and a red cardi.
The skirt says I’m hot to trot, while the shoes say I forgot I broke the right heel about a year ago and now I can barely stay upright.
The wide-brimmed hat says it’s that time of year when it’s super sunny but not excessively warm, hence the cardigan which is office-appropriate enough to fill out a TPS report, while the tank top assures you I’ll do so with a sunny disposition.
Casual, chic, elegant. No one can take issue with blue, black, and grey. A somber palette perhaps, but one without fault. Appropriate for early spring, when everything is still dead, but beginning to regenerate.
A black turtleneck top with flouncy cap sleeves implies that I’m about to order a café au lait, even though I don’t drink coffee. This top is much more French than I am, even though I was born in France. It was given to me by an American because she felt she was even less French, and thus unable to wear it in earnest.
The grey A-line midi skirt with black floral detailing is perfect for a stroll through a second-hand book fair, but I read all my books on kindle, so I usually wear this skirt while plotting revenge.
Turquoise tights add a touch of whimsy to this otherwise classic ensemble, making the whole thing appropriately twee for a grown-ass woman with a Twilight Sparkle keychain.
The entire outfit says, yes, I am overdressed for brunch, but let me have this, I have so very little else.
Brown is a good soldier. She blends in, stays neutral, keeps her head down and does her work, making an effort never to stir the pot. And yet, some still find her offensive simply due to her appearance, simply due to her very nature. Brown is ugly, they say, she serves no purpose. Brown is meant to blend in, and if deployed in anything other than a shoe or a belt, she is deemed too much, and even then, somehow, not enough.
It’s no wonder Brown is often melancholy. She is perpetually tired, always working hard to keep things together, to be supportive of more eye-catching colours, yet taking the blame whenever a situation is deemed unsuccessful. But she’s also tired because she’s sick of it. Sick of being at once overlooked and over blamed.
Blue on the other hand is everyone’s favourite. People just can’t get enough of Blue. She’s popular but never boastful about it. She’s everyone’s friend, a true friend, genuinely supportive, and giving. When Navy, she is a great neutral, offering assistance where it is needed. And yet, as Azure, or Cobalt, or any number of other shades she takes the spotlight, and shines brightly. She can pull focus and yet never steals the spotlight. She’s simply good. Which is why it hurts her to see her friend Brown so abused.
Blue takes Brown by the arm, and guides her outside. No hiding in the shadows today, Brown. They walk through the city, taking in the sights, noticing how much brown brick holds up the urban landscape, and stopping for coffee, everyone’s favourite brown drink, and then for chocolate, the most beloved of all brown foods. Their journey takes them to a park, where brown sees herself in the dirt underneath her feet. I will always be walked on, she muses. You are the earth, notes Blue. You hold us all up, and you allow our sustenance to grow. Look at yourself in the bark of the trees that pump out our oxygen, and in the fur of the squirrels that hunt for food among the nuts blending into the ground. You are everywhere, you are everything, you are life itself. Brown smiles, and looks up to the canopy, and beyond. High above it all is her friend Blue, in the sky, blanketing everything below. Everything is going to be okay.
Black has always been assured of her power, and feels unwaveringly comfortable taking control of any situation. After doling out advice to her friend, Green, she smugly carries on with her week, supremely confident that she’s always right. She meets up with Blue for cocktails at VIP night at the Fine Arts museum, where they discuss the merits of various so-called masters. They are both calm and collected in their arguments and are both capable of seeing all sides of an issue. Blue favours the impressionists, while Black enjoys abstract expressionism but they both acknowledge that the other makes good points.
Black, still proud of the points she had illuminated for Green, brings up the subject of beauty with Blue. She reiterates her view that there is virtue in recognizing the beauty within that which is typically considered ugly. Blue nods in understanding, acknowledging that one must always search for the light in all situations, as everything and everyone is imbued with both darkness and light. Yes, but it’s not a matter of searching for the light, it’s a matter of being comfortable with the dark, says Black. Certainly, agrees Blue, but wisdom comes from finding the light within the dark.
That’s a little unfair, pouts Black, for the first time, perhaps ever, unnerved. Easy for you to say that wisdom comes from the light, since you can merge with white and become pastel, yet remain blue, but white added to me is grey, which is quite distinct from black. Sensing Black’s sensitivity at always being perceived as the bad guy, Blue elaborates on her point. There is wisdom in the light, in the brightness within all things, but darkness reveals truth. When we dig the deepest, when we peel away the layers and reveal the underbelly, this is when we discover what is most real, and then, and only then, can we choose our path, and walk towards the light. Still suspecting that she is somewhat under attack, Black nevertheless knows that this is as good as it’s going to get for her. Blue will never lie, and if she truly believes that the correct path is that of the light, then Black won’t argue. Agree to disagree, she smiles slyly.
Green, somewhat distraught by her recent interactions with Grey, decides to seek out her good friend Black. Black can always be counted on to take control of any situation, and steer it in the right direction. Black takes Green downtown, where they walk down the most bustling street in the city. Green confesses to having turned somewhat teal after her day with Grey, and wonders if there is anything to be done about the current state of affairs. What state of affairs, wonders Black suspiciously. Green acknowledges that the world is neither good nor bad, and what some perceive as a dystopia is a utopia for others, and vice versa, and yet, she feels certain that she can do something to bring the utopia closer for all, or at least even the playing field somewhat. She’s never thought of herself as an idealist, but she knows there are things that could be done, and she’s never been afraid of hard work.
Black, with a twinkle in her eye, smiles slyly and takes Green’s arm, leading her down an alleyway populated by dumpsters, broken bottles, and discarded cigarette butts. Look around, what do you see, asks Black. Garbage and graffiti, answers Green. Graffiti? Are you sure? Green wonders what Black is getting at, and looks more closely at the scene before her. She sees it now. It’s not graffiti, it’s art. The walls of the alley are covered in strikingly lovely murals. The colours are bright and intermingling, and add a warmth to this otherwise foreboding alley, even on a cold spring day such as today.
Yes, I understand that everything is a matter of perspective, I’ve already noted that, says Green, slightly impatient. No, you don’t get it, chuckles Black. It’s not a matter of noticing something dirty and perceiving it as beauty, it’s a matter of deciding something is beautiful because it is dirty. There can be no light without dark, and no beauty without ugliness, but true contentment lies in finding comfort in the dark, in what is normally distasteful. Finding the power that lies in the twisted and obscure. If I were a sensitive sort, I’d be offended that everyone equates me with bad, muses Black. But I revel in it. I find strength in it. This artwork is only impressive because it’s in an alleyway. Context matters. If these same murals were in a museum they would be bland and uninteresting. But here, the trash that surrounds the art elevates the art. Here, among the debris of the city, the murals remind us to always look up, because there is more than what lies at our feet. We can soar if we are willing to reach.
Grey isn’t always melancholic, sometimes she’s just indifferent, but lately she’s been going through a tough time. Her friend Green comes by for a visit and rather than go out and pretend to enjoy the insipid offerings of their city, they agree to stay in. Their primary activity is sipping tea while listening to the rain. Though it’s chilly out, Green insists on opening the window so she can smell the rain as well as hear it; she wants to completely immerse herself in nature. It’s early spring and the weather has been all over the place. Sometimes freezing, sometimes mild, usually snowing. Today the rain is diluting the snow into dirt and creating slush, and Grey wonders if she too is a mix of purity and filth. Perhaps we all are, muses Green, knowing everyone has their strengths and their weaknesses.
Green suggests they play an intellectual board game, such as scrabble, as she’s keen to keep her most important muscle, her brain, in constant motion. Grey shrugs, as she could go either way. They play the game, with Green handily winning, as Grey doesn’t put in nearly as much effort. It isn’t that she doesn’t care about the game, but she knows from experience that Green hates to lose, as she’s got a bit of a jealous streak, and Grey is equally happy winning or losing, since she knows the distinction between the two is irrelevant. Life is meaningless either way.
Green isn’t one to get exasperated, as she’s very patient and calm, but she rolls her eyes at Grey’s nihilism. She brings up the current political climate, wondering if we are destroying the world. Grey wisely points out that the world is better now, statistically speaking, than it’s ever been. And yet, no matter how good or bad the world is overall, for some it is a dystopia, and for others, a utopia. This dichotomy will always exist, argues Green, as the actual state of affairs is unimportant. What matters is perception. Some people are optimists, and others are pessimists. Yes, nods Grey, and some are a mix of both. Finally Green and Grey can agree, as they are both realists.
It is a cool, misty morning when Grey awakes and greets the day. She’s unbothered by the drizzle outside, and some might say she even relishes it, only happy when she’s sad. She sits on her couch wrapped in a blanket and sips herbal tea, listening to melancholy podcasts about the duality of humanity’s nature. It is only when Pink comes over and drags her out of the house that Grey remembers there is an outside world. Pink is ready for anything but knows that her introverted friend would rather do something solitary and calm. They go to a museum where Pink rushes to the modern art section and asks Grey’s opinion of the pop art, which is her favourite. Grey is neutral on the subject, neither liking nor disliking the work. She isn’t exactly unmoved but is mostly indifferent.
Disappointed in her friend’s opinion, or lack thereof, Pink drags Grey to a small bar with a live band covering pop hits from the 80s and 90s. Pink downs tropical drinks and dances in her seat, singing along to the songs. She tries to get Grey to join her but Grey remains immobile, sipping her whiskey slowly, thoughtfully. Finally the band is done and makes way for the beat poets. Grey nods as they discuss the inevitability of mortality in an indifferent world while Pink tries to hide her irritation. She makes an effort to listen, to really understand, and eventually she gets it, transforming into a dusty rose.
“Shall we go, Pink?” asks Grey as the evening winds down and the poets have all turned to drowning their sorrows in drink. “Rose, call me Rose,” Pink replies evenly. Grey is only somewhat regretful at having brought out Pink’s emo side. She’s glad that they can go home in silence, both brooding about the day’s events, but she knows she’s squashed a little bit of Pink’s effervescence. She does nothing though, knowing that time will heal all wounds, and tomorrow is another day. Hopefully, another rainy day.
