When I was a toddler, my father said I could have my room painted any color I wanted. My mother glared at him and said, "Don't make her promises." I knew right away what I wanted and I was elated. I pictured velvety black walls. My father said that nobody wanted a black room. I didn't know what difference that made but I certainly didn't get one. My mother had an I-told-you-so look on her face.
And I wanted a black velvet little girl's party dress. I have no idea where I saw anything like this. I didn't get one of those, either.
In college, I got off the train down south, visiting a casual boyfriend going to school there. He remarked, "What are you, an art major?" More black hate.
At one point, in my early 40's, I realized I had no black everyday clothing. I did have a couple of amazing coctail dresses, including a silk ribbon knit that might remind of something a granny would own except for the fact you could wear it nude underneath and it would flash teeny bits of skin in the interstices between stitches.
I own a lot of black jackets and coats now, black pants of every kind. Maybe one black skirt and one black stretch lace Cabi dress. The other day I realized I had not one black sweater so I bought one.
Is black still my favorite color? Almost. Perhaps I "shouldn't" be able to pull it off with my coloring but somehow it is magic on me. I wore black to our community center where there is a postal sub station. I had taken a few yoga classes there with the seniors. One looked up and exclaimed, "Black. That's your color. It brings out all your natural color." And it does. Go figure. I look healthier in black.
But probably my favorite color to be happy in is a strong pink similar to Angie's coat. I had a shantung type pantsuit in close to that color and was told by a date once that I "shouldn't" be able to wear that but somehow it looked good.
Damn straight. Amazing how other people often are so certain about what is good for you/on you.