What do you think of the color pink? What does it bring to mind? Does it remind you of anything in particular? Good things or bad things?
Somehow I got onto this train of thought this morning, perhaps when I grabbed a pink patterned shirt from the closet. I have several pink shirts, purchased because I needed a shirt, I liked the style, and no better color was available at the time. But I never don one of them without thinking negative thoughts about pink being for either little girls or stereotypical grandmothers — and I am neither. Worse, if I’m wearing denim or chambray shorts or pants, I’ve got the baby blue and pink thing going on. Yuck.
Yet pink is a good color. A nice color. A friendly, happy color. Babies and little girls are pink. Flowers are pink. Blushes are pink. Puppy noses are pink. Some of them, anyway. Healthy skin is pink. Cherry blossoms are pink, and redbuds, Oklahoma’s state tree. And my granddaughter is so, so pink. Pink room, pink blankets, pink ribbons, pink soccer balls.
Pink is said to flatter every complexion, and despite their protestations, men look great in pink. My son has dark hair and eyes and looks wonderful in a certain pink shirt he has — although I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that it is coral, not pink.
Let’s face it, pink has been stereotyped, probably forever, as the feminine color. Oddly enough, “blue is for boys” doesn’t seem to be as strict a rule. Not sure how that happened, but I don’t see it changing any time soon.
Pink is said to be a calming color, which is why prison cells are sometimes painted pink. But that’s probably not the reason Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio issues pink underwear to his prisoners.
Pink reminds me of my sisters who, when we were kids, had bedrooms decorated in pink. One sister had tiny pink rosebud wallpaper. Four walls full of pink rosebuds! Along with pink carpet. The other opted for a pink patterned border around the top of her walls, a border she could and did change easily and often. Both sisters were definitely pink in those days. No girly pink for me. Nope, three walls in my room were mauve, a purplish brownish not-pink reminiscent of Western stone and deserts — the background color for all the little horses that ran wild on the fourth wall. Rosebuds are pink. Horses are just horses.
The Susan G. Komen Foundation has made pink the signature color for its annual (more like year round) campaign against breast cancer. But Komen doesn’t have an exclusive on pink. Planned Parenthood uses pink. And Code Pink, obviously. We get politically pinked everywhere.
What about pink Cadillacs? Elvis Presley had a pink Cadillac, and there was a song “Pink Cadillac.” Top Avon sales reps were (are?) given “Pepto pink” Cadillacs. I think I’d have considered that punishment, not a reward.
There’s some celebrity named Pink. A singer, I think. Can you tell I care? The color pink also has some very rude connotations, but I’ll skip those here.
My favorite pinks will always be those I see in the mountains and skies, when the sun is rising or setting and atmospheric conditions are just right and suddenly, for a few minutes, everything is bathed in a glorious, heavenly pink.