Art by Lissa Rankin at Owning Pink.
As a young girl, I was forced to wear pink.
I had pink receiving blankets, pink hair accessories, pink ballet clothes and pink dresses.
Just by being a girl, everyone assumed I liked pink.
WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!
I HATE PINK!
I’d rather play with Tonka trucks in the mud than with Barbie dolls smothered in pink puffs of satin.
Making a tomboy wear pink is child abuse. End of story.
Had I know about Social Services as a young girl, I would have called them for sure. Now purple, well, that’s another story.
I adore purple!
(I hated the top half of this dress, loved the bottom)
Mauve, dusty rose – whatev, it’s all pink to me
My mother loves pink. I don’t hate pink because she loves it, but because she covered and smothered and pasted everything in the house with it.
We had pink carpets, pink drapes, pink furniture, pink bath towels, pink Christmas decorations & baubles, pink linens and on and on. She claims the color was “dusty rose” but it is all pink to me.
As I look around my house, I see the beautiful absence of pink, save my roommates Coach hand-bag trimmed in pink.
My paintings and photos on display are pink-less (I hide all the photos of me in pink, like the one below).
I am in the back row of this photo looking miserable, bored and humiliated.Calgon, take me away!
I have no pink clothes, pink underwear, pink bras, pink hair accessories or even pink post-it notes.
I don’t eat pink food, candy or sip pink drinks (unless you count cosmos).
Whew! I feel better getting that out.
How do YOU feel about pink?