For the love of color.

When the day is gray, blustery, and dull, I reach for my brightest sweater. It’s electric orange, soft as cashmere, and instantly cheers me up. The anecdotal evidence, by way of compliments, shows it has a positive effect on others as well. Color inspires me. I marvel at the array of hues nature serves up every day. Whether the fuchsia bloom of a cactus, the acid yellow of a tiny mushroom, or the rainbow sorbet of a summer sunset, it seems Mother Nature is trying to tell us something.

And yet, we don’t seem to be listening, at least in contemporary Western culture. According to the late artist, David Batchelor, we have a real prejudice against color. He argues, “chromophobia manifests itself in the

many and varied attempts to purge colour from culture, to devalue colour, to diminish its significance, to deny its complexity.”

I couldn’t agree more. He goes on to say, “this purging of colour is usually accomplished in one of two ways. In the first, colour is made out to be the property of some ‘foreign’ body - usually the feminine, the oriental, the primitive, the infantile, the vulgar, the queer or the pathological. In the second, colour is relegated to the realm of the superficial, the supplementary, the inessential or the cosmetic.” In other words, color is suspect, frivolous, trivial, and maybe even dangerous.

Serious people, it seems, are supposed to wear black, take Steve Jobs for instance. Or, various incarnations of gray, navy, taupe, and white. Apparently, this is the palette preferred by smart, sober, educated, cultured, and sensible people. Minimalism equates to enlightenment, with designers like Jil Sander acting as high priestess. Neutrals are safe, no risk involved, and arguably no reward. The vibrancy, warmth, and various hues of life become neutralized. Increasingly, I’ve noticed, our future looks dull and muted. Look at any futuristic portrayal, the television series ‘Westworld’ comes to mind, and we are increasingly relegated to wearing black spandex bodysuits with tailored overcoats in, well, black. Beyond the fact that we are all wearing the same thing, devoid of any individuality or imagination, the underlying message is, the more sophisticated we get as a society, the more technologically advanced, the less we need color. And, leggings seem to be the gateway.

Vanessa Friedman, the New York Times fashion critic, once lamented, “Are There Any Limits to Leggings Any More?” I feel her pain. Monochromatic athleisure, worn as a substitute for clothing, feels, well honestly, lazy. At minimum, the diversity of color, pattern, and style that we are so lucky to have at our fingertips, is absent. Like anything in life, fashion succumbs to the push and pull of the times. The sober suit and drab clothing of the World War II years, were balanced by the colorful, frivolous frocks of the fifties as envisioned by Christian Dior. But, while color comes in and out of fashion, deep down, Westerners harbor a persistent skepticism. When color is involved, people ask, how much is too much color? Do I look like a clown? Do I clash? The fear around color can be paralyzing for many, and not just when it comes to fashion. There are very few cities in the United States where a colorful house is celebrated; frivolous places like Key West, New Orleans, and Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard stand out like a sore thumb for their riotous color. My response, get over it! Embrace it. Color is happiness, and clashing color might just make someone smile. 

This morning, I put on an Adidas track jacket by the chromatically brave Brazilian brand, Farm Rio. A vibrant blend of bubble gum pink and ochre yellow that caused people to perk up, maybe even stare. I don’t care, I felt lighter. I will always celebrate color, in my wardrobe, at home, in my design work, and in life. For me, the cultures that unabashedly embrace color are inspirational, vibrant, and happy. For the love of color, that is the future I hope to see.