Just so you know: I’m writing this in pink. In fact, I extravagantly took a picture of it.
Pink was my favourite colour as a kid. And I mean bright pink. It later changed to flower field yellow, then to green. Now I prefer turquoise for sure. That’s lovely shit.
Our society has an intense love-hate relationship with pink. On the one hand, it’s the colour of little girls. Not women, but the ones that were born last week, or at least those that have not reached puberty, when their differences with boys are smallest. Even so, if you put pink clothes on your little boy at that age, the least you are is a strange parent.
When women are older, those who still wear pink are the ones who want to express girlishness. Not femininity, but something innocent and weak that needs protection. Once again if you’re a guy: forget about it. Even if you have a big gray beard, sunglasses and ride a Harley Davidson, if your leather pants are pink, people mentally reconstruct you into a pussy.
Then there are the gays. I don’t believe that there is any social movement that impersonates a colour so thoroughly as they do. Who says gay, thinks pink; who says pink, thinks gay. We are conditioned that way. I get back to this girlish innocence and my first thought is: “huh?” How the hell did gays manage to pull this off? Then again, if some gays would in fact be little girls, I’d understand their behaviour better. Still, the fact that they’re gay is not because they hold hands.
Which brings me to erotic attributes. Dildo’s, feather scarfs, fluffy handcuffs… Walk into a random sex shop in Amsterdam and the dominant colour you’ll find there is pink. Or, if you’re not around: Google “sex toys” and take a look at the pictures.
To sum up: the colour pink, in our society, is attributed to two things: baby girls and sex. Slightly twisted, no?
Oh and by the way: don’t think about pink elephants, please. That would be off context.