When I was younger, I went through a stage where I hated pink. Absolutely despised it. It was my kryptonite. I would shrivel away in horror at even the mention of it. The fact that my room was adorned in this colour from ceiling to floor did not help my case. This phase went hand-in-hand with a hatred of dresses, makeup and all things frilly and pink.
Yes, I disliked these things, but my hatred stemmed from what these things represented – ‘girly.’ It was my belief that the word ‘girly’ was synonymous with unsporty, unadventurous, scared and average intelligence.
Sticking to that stereotype, and not particularly excelling in any of those areas, I distanced myself from girly things, and what I thought it meant to be a ‘girl.’ By dressing like a boy, I could fool people, and myself, into believing I was the person I wanted to be.
Now, the roles have reversed. I am not a complete pink, Barbie-wearing princess, but I am slightly more interested in things like makeup, dresses and heels, now dressing more feminine to feel pretty. Dressing in a way I want to be perceived – as beautiful.
Wore blue for smarts.
Pink to be pretty.
Pink and blue were brought into the world simply as colours, but we have thrown so many responsibilities, rules and ideas onto them. They are bursting at the seams at all the things they are supposed to be.
I now sit in a bare white bedroom, layers of newly-fresh paint covering the once bright pink walls. The once naive girl so scared of colour.
Self portraits of me wearing my brother’s clothes