Friday, November 23, 2012
On The Color Red
I don’t like red. It’s too strong, too angry, too out there. I have red sock yarn, red like richness and comfort and autumn. I got it on sale, just because. It’s a lovely yarn, silk-wool-nylon and gorgeous. I’ll never use it. The color’s too off-putting. Red socks seem like something weird. Even if I cabled them up all pretty, they’d still be red. And red is bad. I’m not even sure why I dislike red so much. It’s not every red that’s an issue. I can deal with red in moderation: bright red stripes on a sweater, dark red jeans, a single perfect red rose. My hair was even red once: dark, beautiful auburn red, shiny and soft as the silk sock yarn. Another time it was almost orange, a vermilion like a cross between a pumpkin and a tomato. Those kinds of reds are fine. Real, fire engine reds are not. They’re not real. I’ve never seen that kind of red in nature. Real reds are deep, rich, layered. Fake reds are flat. And flat is bad. Flat is boring, one dimensional, not worth it. It’s just not worth those socks. Flat feet are almost as bad as a flat head, which is why neither my socks nor my hair are red. And that’s why I don’t like red.