Pink, a color I never wanted to like. Your ballet slippers, girly and pink. Your gymnastics leotard, sparkly and pink. Every “women’s” razor in the store, more expensive and more pink. Growing up my favorite color was turquoise, or teal, or aqua or any greenish, blueish, not pinkish color. From a young age I knew what it meant; pink meant being girly, which meant being weak. No one was praised for being ‘girly’, people were praised for their strength, their bravery, their brains. This was ingrained into my head as a child, never by my parents, they didn’t really care what colors I liked and didn’t like as long as I was happy. It is society that cares about what everyone else is doing and society said pink was pretty. Girls then had to choose; beauty or brains. You can’t be both. I craved to be able to define myself as different and “not like the other girls”. I wanted so badly to stand out and be noticed. To be 10 and to want to be different is torture: your hormones are just beginning to butt their noses into every bit of your life, and your brain doesn’t know what voices to listen to. If you’re pretty you can’t be smart. So I didn’t want to be pretty, and as I looked at myself in the mirror - I chose to call her fat, ugly, and weird. In that moment I wrote her story. She’d grow up to be ashamed of how she looked, wishing she was just a little skinnier, a bit taller, had smaller boobs or blonder hair. That is the weight of pink. Sure, it’s just a color, but I believed that that color wasn’t meant for girls like me.
I want to reclaim pink. Pink should stand for, bravery, compassion, beauty and self love. Pink is my favorite color, I am beautiful and I love who I’ve grown up to be.