Having a daughter after years of being in a house of men has prodded me to think deeply on all the conventions surrounding femininity, and in particular, the need to ply women and girls with pink things.
It's not as if there is something inherently wrong with the colour. For instance, I quite appreciate the beauty and delicate tones of pink on a bouquet of fresh flowers, especially when they come in the form of springtime tulips. And yet, pink is not a shade that factors greatly in my life beyond old ballet slippers, fillets of fresh fish, and the odd glass of Rosé.
Indeed, the influx of pink everything upon the birth of a girl has been near impossible to overlook. As 'traditional' as I can be on occasion, it all makes me wonder: how did pink become the official tint of girlhood, womanhood, and femininity? This is not to say that I support drowning little girls and women in a supposedly 'sobering, mannish' blue (or conversely, draping boys/men in pink) merely for the sake of promoting new wave ideals, equality, and the bucking of gender norms. In fact, I often question such extremes that take complex issues of personhood at face/base value, whilst simultaneously swapping one forced belief system for another under the guise of advancement and modern thinking.
The ultimate resolution between pinks and blues, and their more weightier societal representations in the lives of women and men, would be for people to enjoy autonomy and agency in directing their representations of self, not so?
If colours were so easy to align with states of being, I'd say that my idea of femininity in general - and womanhood in particular - correlates directly to an unmissable, deep, bold, vital, rich, sensuous, pulsating, viscous, bloody red.
More on that, soon.
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