What an inspired essay. I started wearing all neutrals and monochrome 7 years ago when I reported to a woman who was 20 years younger than me and, no other way to say it, cruel. I felt weird wearing another one of my red outfits into a day full of terrible interactions with this magnificently hostile woman, so I toned it down. I think I still looked great; I know my a style even if it did not include much color and, certainly, no prints. Dressing soberly kept me safe and made me feel like we had some kind of connection. It was also exhausting and expensive to basically overhaul my wardrobe, though I did discover a deep and true love for navy. But, I still regret all the beautiful colors in sent off to ThredUp. I’ve recently in the last 2 years started bringing back more color, in particular red. The red dress I am wearing in my latest headshots gives me shivers l love it so much. But. Oh gorgeous-vintage-silk-green -and-navy-dress-printed-with-giant-cream peonies, I miss you still.
Isn't it a shame when we have to hide ourselves, bury our identities, to try and fit in? Especially when it's to protect ourselves. It's interesting you make the point about it creating a sense of connection with her through more subdued tones. Almost as if subliminally you felt that brighter hues might come across as antagonistic.
I can only imagine how much you miss the beautiful dress you described! While I do think we hold on to many things we shouldn't, we've all felt that same regret over something we rashly donated.
Ohhhh… this sings like a manifesto and strikes like a lightning bolt in a grayscale storm. Yes, yes, and yes again!
The chromatic collapse of the modern world is no coincidence, it mirrors a cultural contraction, a retreat from sensation, risk, and individuality. We have mistaken muted tones for maturity, and caution for class. But beige is not virtue. Greige is not grace. And I’ll be damned if I let taupe dictate the tone of my days.
As someone who lives in Paris — a city unjustly accused of wearing only black — I take great pleasure in violating that stereotype. I own a red wool coat so bright it makes tourists blink. I have a collection of jewel-toned dresses that have walked through Montmartre and startled monochrome cafés into colour. My favourite is a deep emerald one passed down from my grandmother: when I wear it, I don’t simply walk, I declare.
And here’s the truth: people look. They respond. Strangers comment, children smile, older women nod in quiet approval like you have upheld some forgotten code. Wearing colour isn’t vanity. It is visual generosity. It is giving the eye a place to rest besides asphalt and advertising.
To your idea of colour as resistance, I would add this: colour is also memory. Our lives don’t play out in black and white, and yet we archive ourselves that way. I remember my happiest summers by the saffron of the sunset, the cobalt of Mediterranean tiles, the shocking pinks of my mother’s garden. We don’t recall joy in Pantone 427 C.
We need to bring back the audacity of hue. Not as accent, not as apology… but as presence! As declaration! As an answer to a world that wants us invisible, palatable, algorithmically safe. Wearing colour is not childish, as many women think today. It’s the opposite: it’s what adulthood should look like when it refuses to forget wonder.
So yes, wear red like a siren of selfhood. Wear yellow like you mean it. Let your clothes whisper courage or scream insurgence. But most of all, let them speak.
Because silence has a shade too. And we’ve been wearing it long enough….
Yes, when you dress in vivid technicolor it imbues you with a confidence from deep within your being that is a declaration of effortless assertiveness. Your presence commands attention, respect and exudes confidence. People do notice. They do comment. Children do delight. Dressing well is good manners. It is art in motion. It is a visual treat like the first buds of Spring.
Vidal said, "style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn." It is presence of self in an age of distracted absenteeism. In a small way, it is fulfillment of one's self. Perhaps it's a minor step toward the contented happiness you wrote about recently.
Since I wrote this I've been thinking, how do people describe you after you've left an event or even life. And you've struck on that with your point on memory. I do not want to be unremarkable in personality or clothes. I'd rather something colorful be said in my absence even if it is limited to my attire. I refuse to be remembered as an innocuous dreary grey.
Brillant… “presence of self in an age of distracted absenteeism”.
I agree: colour is self-expression, and legacy. Our wardrobes whisper long after we’ve left the room… why not let them sing?
And here’s another layer: dressing in colour sharpens perception. Like training your eye to notice beauty, it’s an active resistance against the dulling of the senses. In a beige world, vibrancy is FELT, not only seen. It awakens others too.
Let them say: “she entered like a brushstroke across a blank canvas”.
Tamara, this is incandescent, your poetry, your philosophy, always unforgettable. You’ve taken fabric and turned it into a form defiance, of memory, of meaning. “Wearing color is visual generosity” might be one of the most elegant, subversive truths I’ve read in a long time. Thank you for reminding us that presence can be a palette and that selfhood deserves to be seen.
If you want more life, more color, do you mean true multiplicity, or "simply" a richer, more flattering version of the same frame?
I agree! Many skin tones are more flattered in the right *colorful* shade than in an all-neutral palette.
What an inspired essay. I started wearing all neutrals and monochrome 7 years ago when I reported to a woman who was 20 years younger than me and, no other way to say it, cruel. I felt weird wearing another one of my red outfits into a day full of terrible interactions with this magnificently hostile woman, so I toned it down. I think I still looked great; I know my a style even if it did not include much color and, certainly, no prints. Dressing soberly kept me safe and made me feel like we had some kind of connection. It was also exhausting and expensive to basically overhaul my wardrobe, though I did discover a deep and true love for navy. But, I still regret all the beautiful colors in sent off to ThredUp. I’ve recently in the last 2 years started bringing back more color, in particular red. The red dress I am wearing in my latest headshots gives me shivers l love it so much. But. Oh gorgeous-vintage-silk-green -and-navy-dress-printed-with-giant-cream peonies, I miss you still.
Isn't it a shame when we have to hide ourselves, bury our identities, to try and fit in? Especially when it's to protect ourselves. It's interesting you make the point about it creating a sense of connection with her through more subdued tones. Almost as if subliminally you felt that brighter hues might come across as antagonistic.
I can only imagine how much you miss the beautiful dress you described! While I do think we hold on to many things we shouldn't, we've all felt that same regret over something we rashly donated.
Ohhhh… this sings like a manifesto and strikes like a lightning bolt in a grayscale storm. Yes, yes, and yes again!
The chromatic collapse of the modern world is no coincidence, it mirrors a cultural contraction, a retreat from sensation, risk, and individuality. We have mistaken muted tones for maturity, and caution for class. But beige is not virtue. Greige is not grace. And I’ll be damned if I let taupe dictate the tone of my days.
As someone who lives in Paris — a city unjustly accused of wearing only black — I take great pleasure in violating that stereotype. I own a red wool coat so bright it makes tourists blink. I have a collection of jewel-toned dresses that have walked through Montmartre and startled monochrome cafés into colour. My favourite is a deep emerald one passed down from my grandmother: when I wear it, I don’t simply walk, I declare.
And here’s the truth: people look. They respond. Strangers comment, children smile, older women nod in quiet approval like you have upheld some forgotten code. Wearing colour isn’t vanity. It is visual generosity. It is giving the eye a place to rest besides asphalt and advertising.
To your idea of colour as resistance, I would add this: colour is also memory. Our lives don’t play out in black and white, and yet we archive ourselves that way. I remember my happiest summers by the saffron of the sunset, the cobalt of Mediterranean tiles, the shocking pinks of my mother’s garden. We don’t recall joy in Pantone 427 C.
We need to bring back the audacity of hue. Not as accent, not as apology… but as presence! As declaration! As an answer to a world that wants us invisible, palatable, algorithmically safe. Wearing colour is not childish, as many women think today. It’s the opposite: it’s what adulthood should look like when it refuses to forget wonder.
So yes, wear red like a siren of selfhood. Wear yellow like you mean it. Let your clothes whisper courage or scream insurgence. But most of all, let them speak.
Because silence has a shade too. And we’ve been wearing it long enough….
Thank you! Hear, hear!
Yes, when you dress in vivid technicolor it imbues you with a confidence from deep within your being that is a declaration of effortless assertiveness. Your presence commands attention, respect and exudes confidence. People do notice. They do comment. Children do delight. Dressing well is good manners. It is art in motion. It is a visual treat like the first buds of Spring.
Vidal said, "style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn." It is presence of self in an age of distracted absenteeism. In a small way, it is fulfillment of one's self. Perhaps it's a minor step toward the contented happiness you wrote about recently.
Since I wrote this I've been thinking, how do people describe you after you've left an event or even life. And you've struck on that with your point on memory. I do not want to be unremarkable in personality or clothes. I'd rather something colorful be said in my absence even if it is limited to my attire. I refuse to be remembered as an innocuous dreary grey.
Brillant… “presence of self in an age of distracted absenteeism”.
I agree: colour is self-expression, and legacy. Our wardrobes whisper long after we’ve left the room… why not let them sing?
And here’s another layer: dressing in colour sharpens perception. Like training your eye to notice beauty, it’s an active resistance against the dulling of the senses. In a beige world, vibrancy is FELT, not only seen. It awakens others too.
Let them say: “she entered like a brushstroke across a blank canvas”.
Tamara, this is incandescent, your poetry, your philosophy, always unforgettable. You’ve taken fabric and turned it into a form defiance, of memory, of meaning. “Wearing color is visual generosity” might be one of the most elegant, subversive truths I’ve read in a long time. Thank you for reminding us that presence can be a palette and that selfhood deserves to be seen.
Thank you so much!
Well said! I love bold colors.