It's Not Black and White

         I had my ‘colors’ done. What the hell was I thinking this time? 

        When the idea was first presented to me, you must know that I scoffed at the prospect, telling my promoting friend that the idea of someone advising me of what colors to wear was absurd. I mocked her, and told her not to waste her money, but she was convinced, and through her justification of her own actions I was gradually lured towards that pretty orange dangling carrot.

         In my own defense, I had just had ACL surgery and was not thinking clearly when I set up the appointment and left a non-refundable deposit. Hydrocodone makes everything sound great, and what else was I supposed to do with my ski pass reimbursement anyway? Besides, as the cult recruiter (I mean, my very convincing friend) relayed, “The lady who does this doesn’t just tell you about your colors….she helps you find your ‘essence’….your authentic self.”

         “Well hot dawg!” I thought. Someone to finally tell me who the hell I’m supposed to be. I wondered if she could find me a career, bring back the romance in my relationship and cure my addiction to chocolate too! She sounded fantastic, and who the heck doesn’t want to spend 2 hours of their lives talking about themselves? A few selfish moments in the frantic and self-sacrificing world of a housewife, sounded like a divine indulgent opportunity….so I called for an appointment and handed over my credit card number as well as, apparently, my common sense.

         By the time the day of my appointment arrived, I was waffling between fear and regret. What the hell had I done? Why did I need someone to tell me what to wear? “I’m in my 40’s for god sake, I think I must know how to dress!” I told myself. “I haven’t had any friends pull me aside (of late) and tell me I looked ridiculous….and my husband still sometimes tells me I look nice (but then again, he wears Wranglers….) And what if she tells me I shouldn’t wear some of my favorite colors….and that I’m supposed to wear purple or something hideous like large paisley patterns….and that I’m doing it all wrong? What if I find out I’m not who I think I am???”

        And that’s exactly what happened.

        Without even giving me the occasion to open my mouth, the hue-hag had judged me as a person who fit the profile of a ‘Summer Tapestry’ (yuck), and then proceeded to determine my colors based primarily on this assessment. In her opinion, a person who is a ‘Summer’ is “thoughtful in nature with a keen sense of refinement…..emanates the graciousness and diffuseness of the twilight…..lives in a state of grace….has a brilliant sense of subtlety….is appropriate….is a lady’.” Huh? Lives in a state of grace? Is subtle?  Is appropriate?! She was off her rocker.

         For the next 1 hour and 45 minutes, I sat on an unusually uncomfortable chair, holding tiny fabric swatches of ugly colors up to my face as she unsuccessfully tried to convince me that shades like dusty rose and dark burgundy were my colors. When I confronted her with the straightforward nature of an ‘Autumn’, she acquiesced ever so slightly, and admitted that I wasn’t a true Summer, but rather presented as a Summer that leaned heavily towards the ‘lioness’ essence of an Autumn. Damn right. "Give me my favorite fall colors you Winter witch" I thought as I glared at her while sporting my best ‘intensely independent and strong willed’ autumn smile.

         I admit there were a few compliant moments where I actually enjoyed the process, smiling and nodding delightfully, (especially when the beautiful browns and coppers were being added to my palette), but then I snapped back to my cynical reality, hyper aware of my mode manipulator, and realized I was dyeing – I mean dying. I was uncomfortable, overwhelmed, confused and drained from the relentless attempts of color indoctrination and pigment persuasion, and I knew I needed out before I was completely brainwashed…..but not before I made one more attempt to get her to hand me that deep crimson red I so aptly deserved.

         I pointed to the red box of swatches in the corner, and told her she was looking in the wrong box for my ‘passion’ color, but she turned a (color)blind eye to me, and pulled out a drab and depressing maroon instead. It looked like a god-awful piece of carpet from my dentist’s office. Next, I was handed a piece of what appeared to be a chunk of muddy teal Astroturf and told that deep teal was my power color. That’s when I knew I’d been totally ripped off. Teal as a power color? Who the hell looks powerful in teal? I know I certainly don’t feel powerful in teal, and in fact it kind of makes me a little nauseous. Teal? For real? Was the lighting off in that place? I scrunched my face to show disgust as I held that dirty scrap to my cheek, and then proceeded to consider the colorful string of adjectives I would be using during the impending phone call to the snake oil salesman – ahem – my friend. I made a note to myself to immediately discard all remaining narcotics when I got home.

         I had always wondered what it would be like to taste that purple (my damn support color) Kool-Aid…..

         It's bitter.