Color Theory: Purple

I've never exactly thought of purple as a favorite color of mine, but then I noticed so many places in my life where I'd chosen it, like the lovely Anthropologie quilt on our bed and the satin comforter I had on my bed in high school and college. Or the velvet throw pillow on our couch, or the "Lilacism" nail polish by Essie that I love so dearly.

Maybe I've resisted the idea of myself as a "purple person" (that is, a person who likes purple, not a person who is purple) because I've always thought of purple as being next to pink in terms of colors girls are supposed to like. More on our culture's complicated relationship with pink here.

Purple is again one of those colors that men, in general aren't supposed to like. But, purple has such a rich history and so many varied associations, we really shouldn't sell it short.

Positive purple associations and/or fun facts are as follows...

01. The most regal of all colors, purple is still associated with royalty because it used to be a shade that only royals wore. Why? It was such a difficult color to produce in the days before synthetic dye, that purple garments were very, very expensive. As such, royals wore purple along with jewels and precious metals to show off their wealth, grandeur, and power.

02. Purple represents "Spirit" on the LGBT flag. That's why every October 20th people show their support of LGBT youth by wearing purple on Spirit Day. Here's what I wore this past Spirit Day.

03. Painters will tell you that, although they look gray, shadows are actually a shade of purple. It makes sense because sunlight is vaguely yellow and the opposite of yellow is purple. Pretty cool, right? Does it make you think shadows are prettier now? I hope so, though I love the color gray as well; it's so soft and makes me think of clouds and stones. Also, would you guess that this dress is actually purple, even though it looks fairly gray?

04. Cincinnati has a "Purple People Bridge," a pedestrian-only bridge in a pretty shade of lavender that crosses the Ohio River into Newport, Kentucky.

05. J. K. Rowling wrote in Pottermore that "Wizards at large in the Muggle community may reveal themselves to each other by wearing the colours of purple and green, often in combination." Long before this little tidbit of Harry-Potter-universe knowledge surfaced, I'd been obsessed with this particular color combination, painting the walls in my bedroom green and accenting them with the aforementioned purple satin comforter. Later, I discovered that my aunt and cousin were also obsessed with the color combination and had decorated several rooms in their house with a green and purple color scheme. My mother is also mad about purple and green together. Maybe we are all magic at heart and don't even know it. Here's a purple and green outfit I wore recently. I wonder if any passing wizards thought I was one of them. ;)

06. In the poem "Warning," Jenny Joseph warns the reader that, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple / With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me. The poem (which you can read it its entirety here -- and really should, as it's hilarious and lovely) inspired The Red Hat Society, that ladies club you sometimes see lunching together always clad in purple dresses and red hats.

07. Gogol Bordello likes to play their song "Start Wearing Purple" (see below), which is a bit of a reference to Jenny Joseph's poem, to kickoff their shows. It's a way to introduce themselves as something unusual and to invite the audience to join them in their silliness, if only for one night. When they say, "start wearing purple," they mean, "start acting crazy."

08. The book "The Color Purple" gets its title from a bit of philosophy the character Shug shares: "I think it pisses God off when you walk past the color purple in a field and don't notice it."

It's a funny thought that such a thing would "piss God off," but then, purple is such a magical thing, maybe we should make sure to notice it every time we pass it in a field.

I mean, wow! One color that represents royalty and magic, mischievousness in old age and the indestructible spirit of LGBT youth. Is there any color better prepared to handle with grace and humor whatever associations society throws at it?

Without further ado (I mean, that was a lot of ado -- not that purple doesn't deserve such a spotlight), here are some of the ways I've worn purple lately. As usual, you can click any image to bring up the full outfit post. Here's your soundtrack...

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IFB asks "What's you favorite fashion decade" The '20s and the '60s! Who can decide?

I'm really excited about this week's IFB (Independent Fashion Bloggers) project, inviting us to talk about our favorite fashion decade. For me, the answer is easy. Well, it's easy if I can cheat a little and pick two: the '20s and the '60s. Strangely, I love both decades for the same reason. Allow me to explain.

Style changed drastically in both the '20s and '60s as the result of sexual revolution and a movement toward women's liberation. In both cases, hemlines rose and silhouettes became less constricting.

In the 1920s, the long-anticipated shunning of the corset was incredibly liberating for women. In practical terms, this new shape meant that women could work and play sports more easily. But, there was also a symbolic liberation. Without the hourglass shape to ooze sex appeal, hemlines were raised and legs (rather than a curvy silhouette) became the new symbol of sexiness.

Photo credit: wiki-land.wikispaces.com

Legs show a whole new kind of sex appeal, a liberated kind. You see, an hourglass is sexy because it represents fertility. A woman's bust-to-waist-to-hip ratio is actually a sign of high estrogen, which is why, evolutionarily, men find curves attractive.

So, an hourglass means a woman is sexy because she can reproduce. But legs . . . legs mean a woman is sexy because she is free. She can dance and move and run. The leg-bearing women of the 1920s were a whole new breed of woman: she was liberated, she finally had voter's rights, and, for the first time in history, she could be open about her sexuality as a means of pleasure, not just procreation.

Just look at the difference a few years made in a woman's silhouette. It's one of the most dramatic changes in fashion history, and it reflected a bigger and broader change in women's lives.

Photo credit: star-spangledheart.blogspot.com, debutanteclothing.com

Let's skip ahead to just after World War II, when fabric (once rationed) became plentiful again and Christian Dior introduced the famous "New Look" silhouette. Once again, the hourglass was the thing. Women were praised for being good stay-at-home wives and mothers, and that nipped-in waist was the perfect way to showcase their fertility.

But, in the 1960s a sexual revolution caused silhouettes to change in precisely the same way they had in the '20s, with hemlines rising and legs quite literally stepping in to replace the gap left by the hourglass silhouette. Just look at the difference between Dior's "New Look" and the mod silhouette of the next decade.

Photo credit: superaffiliatelab.com, felicitiesshowroom.blogspot.com

It should be noted that I have nothing against the hourglass shape. I actually love almost every silhouette and every decade of twentieth-century fashion. But, what I really love is that fashion never stagnates. The changes are necessary. That's the evolution in "Fashion is Evolution."

Still, I do find myself more drawn to the flapper look and the mod look of the mid 1960s more than anything else.

In my own wardrobe, I like to mix my vintage taste with modern sensibilities to keep everything fresh. My love of the 1920s usually manifests itself in cloches, t-strap shoes, vintage swing coats, and long strands of knotted pearls.

My love of the 1960s usually manifests itself in a-line mini skirts and mini dresses worn with knee-high boots or clunky heels. In fact, a mini dress with black opaque tights and knee-high boots was my go-to uniform for a night out all through high school and college. At the time, my obsession with Edie Sedgwick was bordering on unhealthy

So, there's the story of my love for the 1920s and the 1960s, and of the remarkable similarities between the two time periods.

By the way, in case you doubt the extent of my Edie Sedgwick obsession, here's a tribute photo shoot I did one Halloween when I dressed up as her:

And the original:

Photo credit: Andy Warhol

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