Why was orange my favourite

September 26, 2002

Why was orange my favourite colour? Why did my allegiance lie in the red end of the spectrum? This was back when favourite colours were important. It was long before cliques and gangs and rock n’ roll subcultures as a way of life. You were not a mod or a rocker or a punk or a teddy boy. You liked red or blue. The green and yellow kids were marginally experimental. I chose orange. I truly liked it best. Fire was mostly orange. Oranges were orange. Rescue outfits were orange. Did I mention that fire was orange? When the popsicles came out I chose grape. What was I thinking. I had to get with the program. Grape is almost a colour. I was treading on thin ice. Later on you could choose between bands, sports teams, religions and haircuts. Being forced to choose a favourite colour was where it all started. Everyone made you choose. What kind of person were you? The choosing was hard. The sky was blue. What did I have against the sky or the sea? Nothing. Santa’s elves wore green costumes. Green was good but I was backed into a corner. Why oh why did I have to rule the elves out? I don’t have a favourite colour now. I haven’t for years. You can’t really live a sane existence if you lean on one too heavily. The only one reliable is gray. Some say it is not a colour but I learned from a good friend that gray can be someone’s favourite colour. “Favourite colour” doesn’t really mean “favourite colour. Its a term to describe the shades and hues that make you comfortable. Gray does that. I live in friggin Vancouver. If you can’t relate to gray on a constant basis in this place you better poke out your eyes and lay down beside the pharaoh's sarcophagus. Sacrifice them to live elsewhere. Sure I hate it being gray all the time but that helps maintain a writer’s frame of mind. How do those Mary Kay salespeople do it. Pink everywhere. Pink is a great colour but not everywhere. I can hardly wait until “Pink’s” CDs have absolutely no pink on them. She will have grown up. It will be an ironic moment. Irony is, at times, a mark of some sophistication. it would also prove that she could get sick of some aspect of her past. That’s growing up too. If she “came out” and admitted that her favourite colour was navy blue then she would be in her 30’s. If she then came out to say she couldn’t pick anymore she might be in her 40’s. The “artist formerly known as Pink” could be designated by a symbol or maybe a flavour, Perhaps she could be “Sweet” or “Salt” instead of “Pink”. The albums could be bleached of all colour and she could be distinguished by their texture. The “sandpaper” album. The “squishy” album. Maybe she could go by a smell? The reviews might read, “the artist formerly known as Pink has really brought out the funk this time with a rank assortment of cheesy beats and down and sulfurous gnarl”. If she wanted to stick with colours she might have to stick with “Blue” or “Violet”. “Red” is reserved for burly bodyguards and hockey players. “Brown” doesn’t ring right for her. “Yello(w)” is still too techno. “Orange” is too round a word and might make her feel boated. In her 50’s she could return to the “Pink” handle and actually do advertising for Mary Kay. “Pink for Mary Kay”. Medleys of her hits could open each convention as participants clapped on the 1 and the 3 and swayed into rapture. I picked orange.