People tell me that pink is the menswear colour of the season. But I’m a 6ft 7in site manager who has trouble emoting. Am I better off steering clear?
Terry, Luton
Most mornings I wake up to a pink room. Actually, it’s called Chemise by the Little Greene Paint Company (of course it is), but imagine a washed-out version of Hubba Bubba Awesome Original and you’re nigh on there. The bedclothes are also a dusty pink, as is the desk chair, the rug, the picture frames on the walls and the toys that scatter the floor. In the corner is a TV decorated a violent shade of fuchsia, complete with matching remote. Lined up against the walls are innumerable pink dolls, queuing to grab a ride in the convertible SUV that’s parked next to the door. The licence plate reads BARBIE, and the paint job is an intense cerise.
This is my daughter’s room. The fact that I spend so much time in it is not important here, and anyway, readers with kids will barely need it explained. The point is this: that the decor, the soft furnishings and the tiny pieces of Lego I tread on each morning are all pink is entirely her choice. She chose the swatches; she asked for the TV that you need sunglasses to watch, even on standby. In fact, she insisted. It’s a story that’s doubtless familiar the land over. And this is why we assume that pink is a colour exclusively, congenitally reserved for girls.
But it is absolutely, categorically not.
Before the turn of the 20th century, babies were typically dressed in white, regardless of gender. Pink and blue were interchangeable between the sexes as kids grew older, but if anything pink was more often seen as a “boy” colour, it being a variant of the more rambunctious, aggressive red. Later, it becomes more an indicator of social standing than gender coding, especially in America. In The Great Gatsby, the elusive protagonist finds his claim to have been educated at Oxford called into question, purely on the basis of his pink suit — a nailed-on affirmation of low-born status if ever there was. Girly? Common? Whatever. Watch the films and tell me Redford and DiCaprio don’t look pretty fly for working-class sissies who throw good parties.
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Anyway, Terry, it’s true: pink is enjoying a popular moment in the retail sun — you’ll find varying shades in current lines from Albam (T-shirts from £25), J.Crew (polo shirts from £55) and Ralph Lauren (swim shorts from £35). But your mistake is to see this as anything especially new or contrary, and therefore intimidating. This is a colour so loaded with counterfeit connotation and misplaced symbolism that it causes men to panic unnecessarily, when really it should be regarded with just the same mixture of enthusiasm and caution as any other vivid hue — even by taciturn types who work in construction.
“In recent seasons, men have become more adventurous with colour, so for pink to resonate to such an extent this summer feels like a natural progression,” says Alastair Rae, co-founder of Albam, whose current collection is awash with pink. “Crucially, every brand has produced its own version of the colour, meaning there is a shade and a price point for everyone. The key is to find a tone that suits your complexion. So, if you’re paler skinned, go for a bolder pink to avoid it washing you out.” Get it right and pink can be one of the most flattering colours out there.
Incidentally, about 15 years ago I wore a pink sweatshirt on a first date with someone whose looks were so far out of my league as to prompt quiet admonitions from friends. That woman is now my wife. She always says it was the jumper that swayed it. Now, admittedly, I don’t wear a hard hat to work and I’m more than capable of welling up over ET, but this is an irrelevance. Pink is bold. It is virile. It speaks of inner confidence. Wearing it defies conventions established by greetings-card companies and Mattel. These are positive things. Embrace it like a man.