In Praise of Pink

A friend once asked me why any woman would want to wear the same color as her bassinette.  As a life long true pink lover, I was not offended by her question.  I know I just can’t help it.  I am passionate about pink.

Last weekend I saw the Think Pink exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.  When I opened the glass doors of the hushed gallery, I felt I had entered another realm – a girly feminine world of delicious confections.  Beautiful rose and pink clothing artfully arranged made my heart leap with joy.  Hats, jewelry, children’s clothing, slippers and even a man’s suit.  Pink was once a man’s color and not often worn by women until the 20th century. 

For me, pink is one of the most evocative colors in the spectrum.  In all its many variations, I am drawn to it like a moth to light.  I love hot pink, ballet pink, rose, coral, even Pepto-Bismol pink.  It makes me happy, delirious even.  Fear not…I am not a throw-back of absurdity in my love of pink:  I wear it discriminately, in a skirt now and then, ballet flats with my jeans, or a cashmere sweater.  I do have one photograph of myself in high school though, where I am wearing a pink dress, pink tights, pink lipgloss and pink nail polish. I would never do that today – I like too many other hues, including black.  I love that picture however, because I am conspicuously being who I am in my heart.

Pink is tender and soft or vibrant and animated.  Its delightful panorama calls out “It’s a girl!”.  Just like the bassinette.