Gray and the City

A dear friend of mine told me that after moving to NYC most girls' wardrobes evolve into tight, black clothes. Surely, he didn't mean this would happen to me. "All I'm saying is that I've seen it happen a lot," he said. These girls start off with bright, patterned clothes and slowly buy more and more of what is essentially the New York uniform: black and gray with a splash of brown and tan. Surely, it can't be true that New Yorkers only wear black. My mom must have exaggerated when she lamented about it. My dear friend had to be wishfully thinking that the colors fade (although why I'm not sure).

It turns out they were right. The uniform truly is a uniform. While riding the train to work one day this fall I noticed the riders sitting across from me: khaki pants, black pinstripes, brown dress, black skirt, etc. To the left black, to the right black. I looked down to my lap: hot pink cords. That's right, hot pink cords."Who is that girl and where is she from?" they must have wondered. (Well, maybe not. Most New Yorkers are so blase about everything that they probably didn't notice at all, but that's a different blog topic.) I have never seen another person in hot pink cords in New York. My heavy jacket, not coat, is pink as well, and you better believe I've definitely never seen a person in the city with a pink L.L.Bean jacket. I, however, love it and it keeps me warm. Hot even when I'm on the train.

My solemn vow is to not let all of my outfits turn into the NY uniform. I, who love pink and blue and purple and yellow, will not wear black everyday. I will not give up my color. I have a sense of possibility, and I will relentlessly pursue results. I'm on a one-woman mission to brighten NYC.

I must admit I had a little setback today, but even people who change their lives with 12-step programs sometimes have setbacks. Still, I went to Macy's today and bought a coat. It's color? Gray.