March 1, 2015 § Leave a comment
I was sorting through my laundry awhile ago when I suddenly had the epiphany that most of my clothes are either black, dark blue, or white. I literally walked to my dresser and opened the doors to check and was flabbergasted that indeed most of everything I had here are in those colors. I used to like wearing prints. Deadly flower prints. They were so deadly I cannot forget my brother’s remark one day that my clothes look like curtains because of the flowery prints. To my defense, they absolutely did not look like curtains (how narrowminded can boys’ descriptions sometimes be) – but yes, I did love flower prints. And I used to love yellow. It was the color I received the most compliments for. I even wore pink, and baby blue always caught my eye when I go to stores. My favorite swimsuit was orange and green. Now my existing wardrobe’s majority is the embodiment of the absence of color – black. I wondered when my wardrobe started changing, and I think it was the moment I started living here in Singapore. I swear I wore lively colors up until when I was teaching. If it was because of the fact of living away from home, doing a PhD, my mourning for the loss of my mother, the practicality of having such a straightforward and timeless fashion, not to mention dark colors does wonders in slimming down (hmm this might actually be a huge factor) – I can only guess. No wonder when I went home last December, I couldn’t find anything I was comfortable wearing. All the clothes I left behind were lively and seemed too loud. It made me queasy wearing them, and so I even bought a few more black tops when I was there. Looking back, it just seems queer. I didn’t plan a conscious transmogrification of my wardrobe to black, but somehow it seems like I gravitate towards that color as of late.
But I don’t want to die in black. Not that I am a firm believer that fashion is deeply connected to personality (because really, black does wonders in slimming down…and it’s always classy to be in black), but because I simply miss being able to pick green, or yellow, or pink, or daisies, or ducks, or or or watermelons, or whatever. It might be symbolic, that I will now make a conscious effort to buy colors the next time I go shopping. And the fact that of all the trite things I can write about, I chose this as deserving of a public entry. But whatever it is, let me just say that black is utterly boring. I hypothesize that the moment I get back my colors, doing the laundry will be much much more therapeutic. As for now, I will have to make do with the yellow on the center of that white flower print I have on a sheer black tank top.