Somewhere in the chaos of becoming an adult paying bills, choosing dinner based on what won’t upset my stomach, pretending I understand my insurance realized something hilarious and kind of beautiful:
I love pink.
Not in a “my whole room looks like a cupcake” way. More like… pink feels like a small luxury. A softness I choose on purpose. A color that makes everything feel a little warmer, a little lighter, a little more me.
But here’s the part that makes this whole revelation funny:
I used to hate pink.
And not because I genuinely disliked it oh no. I hated pink because I thought it made me cooler to hate it. I was deep in my “I only wear neutrals and have a mysterious playlist” era. I thought rejecting pink made me edgy, or mature, or somehow above the things other girls liked.
Spoiler: it didn’t.
It just made me tired.
At some point, I stopped performing that version of myself. I stopped pretending that softness was embarrassing. I stopped acting like liking something “girly” made me less interesting.
And pink started creeping back in.
A phone case.
A mug.
A pair of headphones.
A random sweater I bought on impulse because it made me feel pretty.
Then suddenly, without meaning to, I was surrounded by pink and it didn’t feel childish. It felt intentional. It felt comforting. It felt like I had finally given myself permission to enjoy things that make me feel good, even if they aren’t “cool.”
Pink became a tiny rebellion against the part of me that used to shrink herself.
A reminder that softness isn’t weakness.
A color that feels like choosing joy on purpose.
So yes, I’m in my pink era.
Not ironically.
Not performatively.
Not because it’s trendy.
But because it feels like home and I’m done pretending that comfort isn’t cool.
Okay byeee, love you, go drink water and do something gentle for yourself today 💗
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