From the runways of Paris to the sales racks of Target, pink
is everywhere. This pressure to "Think pink!" makes me see
red. Pink is the color my mother (still) wishes I'd wear.
Pink is the color of medicinal remedies. Pink says, "Hi, I'm
Heather, and I'll be your pushover today."
The pink conspiracy can be attributed to industry color
analysts and trend forecasters, whose job it is to help
designers avoid costly errors as they plan upcoming collections.
Money, not telepathy, inspires the strikingly similar themes
that designers produce each season. Even Calvin Klein can't
afford to present an all-black collection when the analysts
insist the consumer wants color. The stakes are too high,
the customer too fickle--which is why we now find ourselves
gasping for breath in a pink maelstrom.
The push for pink has little to do with the actual hue.
The shade du jour could be anything--orange or violet--as
long as it's not black, gray or brown. In essence, the color,
which just happens to be candy-ass pink, is the fashion
industry's response to the black suit. In the '90s, virtually
anybody with a job (or a funeral) to go to made black the
foundation of their wardrobe. Millions found comfort in
their minimalist uniforms, embracing the order that a few
well-chosen pieces of clothing brought to their lives. Busy
women found the benefits of a little black dress and matching
jacket to be a breakthrough on a par with the pill. The
freedom and transformative qualities of this magical ensemble
seemed unparalleled. After work, they simply lost the jacket
and donned the pearls, et voilà--the day-into-evening
transformation was complete.
But there is no room in retail for satisfaction. Planned
obsolescence is the name of the game. (That's a fancy way
of saying, "You're not still wearing that, are you? Buy
something new!") The game begins long before you even know
you're in it--usually years before the trend surfaces at
the nearest mall. For example, the butterfly-emblazoned
tank or hair accessory you're wearing now is a trend that
can be traced back to at least 1996, when Hermès
showed a sheath dress in a colorful butterfly fabric at
its spring show. Competitors worked overtime that night,
producing knock-offs of the hit item. Since then, we've
been offered every conceivable variation on the trend, which
has mercifully run out of steam. (Now is a good time to
pick up butterfly dishware and sheets.)
Should you decide to take the bait, remember that it's all
about choosing the right shade of pink. Steer clear of Pepto-Bismol
pink clothing, which, when paired with anything black, will
cause you to resemble a box of Good & Plentys. The best
shade for anyone over 16 is what Donna Karan calls "nude,"
a color that's more taupe than pink and looks great on virtually
all skin tones. Choose a focal point for your pink-hued cosmetics,
as more than one shot is tutu much. Lips, cheeks, fingers
or toenails--but no "pink-eye," please. As for men in pink:
Just say no.
Toga! Toga!
Who knew that a single piece of fabric could cover so
much territory? Head upstairs to the Textile Room at Cargo,
1301 NW Glisan St., and drape yourself in the possibilities.
No two fabrics are the same; each is rich with exotic color,
pattern and history. Prices run from $17--$700. Drape your
dining table in an oversized cloth from India, or frame your
form in a Balinese sarong. And don't restrict that sultry
square to poolside status; combine a sarong with a sleek tee
and sexy sandals for party-ready panache. Wrap it up--I'll
take it!
Boys
Don't Cry
Weight loss, self-righteous anger, consolation from
Ben and Jerry. There are more than a few benefits to being
A Woman Scorned. But probably the best of all is the gotta-have-it
tee from Hot Topic at Lloyd Center. Emblazoned with two
little words, it tells the world your current position on
all things male: "Boys Lie." The tee is $19, the tank $14.
Hurry. We've got a feeling they'll go fast.
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Willamette Week | originally
published June 23, 1999
|
