Your Colours

This week I am planning a tactical and thoughtful assault on my wardrobe. I am not sure if all this Marie Kondo shit has subliminally sunk into my psyche, but the urge is real.

Horatio wants me to get rid of all of my feminist slogan t-shirts that I wear to canteen duty, but I will not be silenced by the juvenile patriarchal society!

But the truth is I have too many black tops and according to something that happened to me years ago, I should be owning none of them.

But before we get into that, let’s go back to 1984, when a new trend started to sweep though the women of Australia. There were plenty of trends that I can recall happening in our house. Suddenly we were buying bulk buckets of washing powder from a brand called Amway. There tended to be a pot of foul-smelling Cabbage Soup on the stove top because Mum was trying to lose weight.

And then along came YOUR COLOURS. Imported into Australia by a stylish Perth woman by the name of Lyn Kendall, she realised that it was colour that could change your life! You could sign up to do the course, via snail mail, and after a bit, you could claim yourself a Colour Consultant and then you could nag your friends so they could pay you so you could tell them which “season” you were.

You would sit while your consultant would literally drape different colour scarves around your face, before talking a step back and taking it all in, before deciding whether that colour made you look radiant or repulsive. After a few hours of this you are then slotted into Summer, Winter, Autumn or Spring. This also includes all makeup which you can order directly from your consultant. You were given a wallet of colour swatches with stern instructions not to stray from any of these hues, or you will burn in hell for an eternity.

It became a social topic of discussion. “What season are you?”

Ok so about 18 years ago I got given a voucher to see a colour and style consultant in her studio. I had no interest in colour or style but a gift is a gift and I am one gal who can take a well-meant hint.

The expert stylist was very stylish and she sure had her work cut out for her. She measured every single body part, including my wrists and swathed me in different colours before telling me to come back the following week after she had done her analysis, for a debrief.

The next week I turned up and the news was not good. She flicked though my ring bound folder and had crossed out anything that I was forbidden to wear. I COULD NOT PULL OFF A UNITARD! Or shorts, or skirts, or turtlenecks, or bodysuits, or jeans, or dresses or shirts.

She told me that I should swap out anything black for brown, and anything white should actually be beige.

She even told me that because I had a fat face, I should only wear earrings that were wide. Wide earrings? What the fuck? Like Japanese Fan earrings?

Anyway, I left feeling like all my options were closed and I should never darken the door of any fashion retailer ever, ever again.

I found that folder shoved under the bad the last time we moved house. I got a good laugh about it years later. I mean, I wouldn’t wear a pussy-cat bow tie blouse anyway! She had directed me to don a brown slack though, and that is advice that to this day, I still refuse to accept. And you know what you could do with that beige poncho you recommended, if you don’t mind…

So in closing, I suggest that you just wear things that don’t dig in, or makes you over-heat. And if you want to wear black, do it! Especially if you are a nasty woman!

Are there any fashion rules that you abide by?