What comes to mind when you think of the colour pink? Probably femininity and childhood. For many of us growing up, especially in the early 2000s, the majority of âgirlsâ toys featured pink. Particularly in the Western world, girls are socialised into pink before they are even born. Itâs associated with softness, delicacy and sweetness, and often with a passive ideal of femininity. Childhood role models that were book and film characters, like Barbie, often wore pink (and the âcoolâ ones never did). Whilst characters like Elle Woods and Regina George wore pink in a way that made it iconic, a lot of media reflected pink getting you not taken seriously. Itâs often been perceived as an emasculating colour for men to wear (though this is starting to change). Itâs important to note that here I will be discussing the gender coding of pink in mainly Western cultural contexts. Whilst these ideas were and are held in various places around the world, it has typically been most prevalent in the West, with the gender associations not as intense in other cultures.
While I wore pink a lot as a child and had no problem with it, I started to develop an uneasy relationship with the colour as I got older. This was not about the colour itself, but about the associations so deeply tied to it. Around the age of 12, I developed a complete aversion to wearing it. If there was a choice of colours to pick from, I never picked pink. Looking back, I think this is interesting to reflect on, also because many of my female friends have agreed that they went through a similar thing.
In my teenage years, I was socialised to associate pink with frivolity, silliness, and internalised the belief (largely from media) that I would not be taken seriously if I wore it. In wanting to be seen as strong, clever and capable, itâs sad that I firmly believed that pink would do me no favours. Rejecting pink was my way of rejecting gender stereotypes put on me. However maybe this did the very opposite, because I had internalised that pink and femininity could not mean âstrongâ.
Itâs interesting that before the 1920s, pink was often branded a âmasculineâ colour because it was a lighter version of red which was associated with aggression, passion and activeness, making it suitable for boys. The gender coding of colours, especially pink and blue, has largely developed because of marketing techniques that rose sharply after the 1940s. The effects of this have been huge.
For me, things started to change with a small pair of pink stud earrings that I began to wear in my later teenage years. Even something that tiny felt bizarre at first, but then it began to feel empowering to go against all the assumptions I had built up in my head without realising. I began to challenge these assumptions and question where they came from. Seeing my friends love, use and wear pink helped a lot. Pink never detracted from their character, so why should it detract from mine?
As the definition of what it means to be feminine is changing, so have perceptions of pink. Pop culture and social media has helped many of us celebrate pink again. Seeing so many more feminine-presenting people wearing and using pink at work in impressive careers, day to day, or wearing it in sparkly, glittery outfits to concerts like The Eras Tour which feel like such a celebration of femininity and girlhood, is very freeing. Wearing pink is fun. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be or feel girly or sweet in pink. Theres nothing to say you canât feel all kinds of strong in it either. I know the little girl in me would be very happy about this! Now pink feels like a celebration, of girlhood and womanhood, in all its shades.