Beige washing

My grandma was full of pearls of wisdom, as well as pearls of… well, not so much wisdom. Take this classic nugget as an example: blue and green should never be seen. I mean, what? Why? Grandma would routinely drop this quip about people’s carefully curated, marine-themed outfits, mine included, and I’d always wonder what she was on about. 

Then there was her thing about loud handbags. Red leather bags, she claimed, are a sure sign of an argumentative temperament. As if she herself wasn’t the most argumentative person going, dropping judgements like that on unsuspecting strangers. Grandma, I’d think to myself, where do you get off believing you know about people purely on the basis of their bag colour? Meanwhile, she’d just be chuckling to herself, and then I’d wonder if there was, perhaps, some grandmotherly wisdom I was missing. 

If that’s the case, I’m still no closer to figuring it out. Even so, her words must have got to me, because I’ve wound up as that person who opts for the unassuming, practical, neutral coloured, soft leather shoulder bag. I seem to have bought into grandma’s half-baked theories, despite the fact that I don’t agree with them. I did always try to avoid her judging remarks by wearing the most attention-deflecting colour configurations possible. But she’s not here now, so why am I still doing it?

I can’t believe it’s only just occurred to me that I could go out and buy a red bag, and wear it with pride. Or a peacock blue one, for that matter, with fringing to boot. Or even a metallic gold leather bum bag! Who’s to stop me? Certainly not my mother. She’s never bought into any of this. In fact, she’d probably be stoked to see me taking charge of my aesthetic for a change. Not that I’m undergoing this transformation in order to please her – this is all about me. I’m unshackling myself from grandma’s influence once and for all!