Pretty in (Millennial) Pink
From now on, I choose to be unapologetically pink.
After first coming across this article, I was intrigued. “What is this term that includes my most favourite hue!?”, I thought to myself. I felt a sense of delight, and after reading it — a relief of sorts. The idea of Millennial Pink, as a gender neutral colour, and that I could embrace it without feeling I had betrayed my fellow feminists gave me this sense of relief.
The fact is, I love pink.
As I reflect upon this, I found, with interest, that I had placed a terrible burden upon myself — wasn’t I a millennial too? Shouldn’t I have always thought pink was okay for me to wear? Why had this been an issue for me?
I was born in 1983 — year of the Cabbage Patch Kid, My Little Pony, and Care Bears… the (successful) Reagan-era of deregularized children’s broadcasting. Advertisers were self-regulated, and creating television content basically to sell toys to children.
All toys seemed to be gendered, and the target audience was always clear: girl toys for girls. Boy toys for boys. You never saw a girl playing GI Joe on a Saturday morning TV commercial.
Pink as a Statement
The youngest of three sisters, I grew up in a remote community where our sources of entertainment during particularly bad winter days were recorded from cable on beta cassettes. We loved Dirty Dancing, and anything by director John Hughes. I would go so far as to say that although inappropriate for my age, I watched these over and over; even more than my older sisters. I was “glued to the tv” as my mother liked to say. I lived the romanticized version of American teen-life from my living room. It was a distant reality. My high school didn’t even have a football field (we preferred hockey).
Now, as a 33-year-old, educated woman, I’m quite aware of what I was exposed to. Don’t get me wrong, I still adore Hughes and his repertoire; only now, my viewings will typically include at least one eye-roll, which usually happens during a gratuitous topless scene or the uttering of a borderline racist remark — fodder for an 80s comedy. Although by today’s standards these films can be quite offensive, they played a part in helping shape who I am today.
If you haven’t noticed — the oft-heroine and muse of Hugues’ films, Molly Ringwald is seen wearing pink in many of her pivotal scenes. She’s a classic beauty — feminine but with a realistic perspective — quite pragmatic, actually. I would argue that it is her character in the film Pretty in Pink which best exemplifies this point. Her father, an alcoholic, is raising her alone, as her mother left the family some years back. She defines her own womanhood, with no role model (unless you count her kooky record store owner boss, played by Annie Potts). Dealing with all of this is a real struggle for her, but still, she finds time to express herself through her clothing and her femininity and still remains strong. It is a form of therapy.
I believe this is what I connected with.
Ever since I was a little girl, if there was a pink option — I was in! And as I’ve gotten older, the same could be said.
What has changed is something more profound.
Feminist Guilt about Pink
I’ve had a growing feeling that I can only describe as “feminist guilt” when I go for pink, the “girly” option. “Typical”, I tell myself. “No one is going to take you seriously.”
Even now, as a visual designer, though I’ll personally create stuff for myself in these tones, pinning away and following influencers such as Alyssa Garrison (Random Acts of Pastel) or Amina Mucciolo (Studio Mucci) — I’ll downright avoid them when doing work for clients. It’s my struggle to balance femininity and power with the girlishness of pink.
It turns out I’m not alone.
Unapologetically Pink
I recently came across writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s essay (and excellent TED Talk) entitled We Should All Be Feminists. She writes,
“I have chosen to no longer be apologetic for my femaleness and my femininity. And I want to be respected in all of my femaleness because I deserve to be.”
I echo that sentiment, and as I write this, I am putting my foot down. I will no longer apologize for wearing pink, or move it to the back of my closet for vacation time. I look good in pink. I feel good in pink. I’m at my best feeling my best, and sometimes that’s in pink. Or maybe another pastel colour, or a big, puffed sleeve dress that Anne with an “E” would surely approve of.
I’m the same woman in pink. In fact, I’m a better version of me in pink.
Millennials get it — and it’s about time those of us that grew up in a more gendered era got over our outdated ideas about this colour and “got it” too.
An old English proverb sums it up nicely:
“Appear in your own colours, that folk may know you.”
You should get to know me — it’s not hard to find me among the designers.
I’m the one in pink.
