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The joy of being colourful
There’s nothing like a commuter train to make you realise how dull the masses of humanity are. If you squint a little at the crowd (or look over the top of your glasses if you’ve got bad eyes like me) you’ll notice it. Things like a heliotrope tie or scarlet scarf, that are so vibrant and noticeable when you’re face to face with the wearer, fade into the grey.
I’m as guilty of boring fashion as anyone else on a commuter train — my work wardrobe is 95% black. But when I’m not playing the part of a professional, the colours come out to play. When my husband and I go out together we’re pretty eye catching — at the very least we both wear bright t-shirts and with his blue-and-purple hair we bring a dash of colour to any crowd. Often I wear lolita fashion out and about, which adds unusual shapes and styles to the colours.
We choose to wear what we wear because we like it, not for any other reason, but I’ve always found that colours bring joy. While I can feel rather sleek and suave wearing black colours just make me happy. I love looking at my body and seeing bright and pretty things, whether it’s a shirt with a unicorn on the front or a fluffy dress covered in flowers. Before my day job instigated a “no unnatural hair colours” grooming rule, the bright pink streak at the front of my brunette bob had the same effect.
Seeing other people embrace colours also sparks joy for me. It’s a flash of humanity in a sea of conformity. I smile when I see someone with brilliant hair, a vintage dress, quirky shoelaces. Even if that flash of personality fades at a distance or in a crowd, there’s still a great joy in being colourful and seeing others do the same.
