My Love-Hate Relationship with Pink

Pink. Love it? Hate it? Or both? My relationship with pink is complicated. I used to h.a.t.e. pink. I don’t remember owning pink clothing as a girl. My mother preferred, and bought me, clothes in more classic colors. The only pink I clearly remember from my childhood was Bazooka Bubble Gum. And that pink, wrapped in wax paper with the Bazooka Joe comic inside, with its jaw straining memories (to soften it up), is the color I associated with pink for years. (Even Barbie wasn’t nearly so pink in her pre-vehicle days!) No pink for decor either, my bedroom was painted blue; we tried yellow at one point, but it was too bright, streaky, and stressful, so back to blue it was.

I never really liked pink until I found “my pink.” I was well into adulthood before I did. We were living in England, in the most amazing house in which we will probably ever abide, with our three sons. Two were teens at this point, and the third was hot on their heels to becoming one. In desperation, I bought myself a pink towel, hoping that the bright color might give my sons pause before grabbing it to dry their semi-washed hands. It was amazing! They left my towel alone. Not only did they not dry their hands on it, they never even grabbed it when their own was not at hand. They would walk dripping wet past my towel to get one of theirs out of the airing cupboard. Hallelujah!

And so began the parade of pink. When I needed a new Thermos, I found one in pink. Then came a pink coffee mug. I even bought a pink scooter. My strategy became “If I don’t want to share it, I will find it in pink.” Pink became my happy color, and not just my selfish color. My affection for pink these days is much more broad. There are myriad shades of pink I find attractive, and I love how there is a pink to flatter everyone.

It’s just a matter of finding “your pink.”

What shades of pink do you love, or hate? I would love to know! Please share your thoughts in the comments below!