The color of cupcake frosting, flushed cheeks, marshmallow Peeps, lip gloss, and sunsets. In a nutshell, all that is right with the world.
I’ve been through phases with pink.
My mom will tell you that one of my childhood nicknames was Pinky Tuscadero. The name had less to do with my smallest finger as I thought at the time (seriously what 3-year-old is going to catch the reference to a classic television sitcom?), and more to do with my infatuation with the color. My bedroom in Maryland was painted “My Little Pony Pink” and I kept up with the pale pink decor when we moved to Virginia, adding an accent of dark green for sophistication.
At some point I grew out of it. I lost touch with my inner girly girl and resisted the hallmark color of femininity. In high school and college, I played lacrosse, ran track, and wore T-shirts and sweatpants most days of the week. Blue, then yellow, then orange and navy achieved priority status.
Now at age 23, pink is back, and I have breast cancer awareness to thank for it.
When I got involved with the fight against breast cancer, the color took on new meaning for me. I no longer associate pink with Barbie dolls, daintiness and fragility. Today it speaks a more powerful message of strength, health, unity and courage. I plan to write more in the coming days about breast cancer’s instrumental role in the color’s re-branding.
I am happy to say that pink has returned to my closet, and I’m back to my old habits of squealing with delight at the very sight of the color. Pink sprinkles, cherry blossoms, decorated football players, blushing orchids, and grenadine-tinted beverages all bring a smile to my face.
It might not be a “problem” just yet…
… but it’s getting there.