Wearing Colour (an autobiography)

My hair used to be white. Straight up white. It had nothing to do with genes or premature aging. Oh no. I bleached the crap out of my head for two whole years. I fucking loved that hair. I thought I looked like some kind of alien queen visiting from a far off galaxy. Fear me, humans.




December, 2015. Very sassy.

Two years, however, is a long time to bleach your hair. Anyone who’s done that before will know. You will get breakage, your scalp will be sensitive and you won’t want to do ANYTHING involving heat for fear it will start to fall out. Combine those factors with the expenses. Frankly, I’m pretty crap at doing hair. There was no way I would ever attempt to bleach my head by myself when I can’t even do a decent braid. I went to a professional, and had to pay out of my ass for that.

So, one day, I said fuck it and went back to brown.

While I was still a blonde, I wore black all the time. I still do now, but when I had my platinum hair I thought the contrast with black was so badass. (Sidebar: I stand by that to this day, regardless of that girl in my film class who asked me, “Who’s funeral are you going to?” I’m like, bitch, probably yours.)

I didn’t want to wear white very often because then looking at me would be like staring into the sun. Yellow was out because I would resemble a lightbulb. Generally, all other colours would be totally acceptable, but I was constantly rocking the black. Sometimes variations of grey. Every St. Patrick’s Day and Valentine’s Day it was the same deal. I still don’t own any green. I still don’t own any red or pink.

Now, of course, I have gone through immense growth as a person and own one red dress. And two pink t-shirts. I’m not even being sarcastic, I just went into my wardrobe to confirm those facts.


T-shirt: Ginger G; Shorts: Aritzia

I know, people are going to read this and go, “What’s the big deal? So many people don’t like wearing colour simply because they don’t like it.” Fair enough. Some people might also see this and think, “Why the hell are you so opposed to wearing colour? Give me all the colour.” That’s also very fair.

For a while, I just thought my style thing for a while was going to be monochrome. Even when I went back to brunette, I thought I would keep it white, grey and black always, sometimes with a bit of navy or brown.

I had a weird hangup about it. For me, wearing colour, especially bright primary colours or *gasp* combining colours wouldn’t work in my favour. I didn’t want to look childish, and for some reason, I thought colours would do that. This is the reality of it: my face is hardly mature-looking. I have round cheeks that bulge out when I smile, big eyes and about a million freckles. I thought, I can’t pull off wearing colours without looking like a tall pre-schooler. Obviously, that’s a ridiculous thing to think, but I didn’t know how ridiculous it was until I started wearing colour again.


Top: Aritzia; Denim skirt: Topshop

Now, I actually got out of my way to find colour, especially since it’s summertime. Lord knows I have enough white and black in my wardrobe to pair with it. And the truth is the colours I wear are still pretty conservative in terms of brightness or boldness (probably not a word), but it’s how I style colour. It’s how I wear it. I wouldn’t call this a personal breakthrough or anything, but it’s a small change, a small thing that has expanded my personal style, which is a process I hope never ends.


Top: Urban Outfitters; Skirt: American Apparel

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