I have a confession to make. I don’t like beige.
There, I’ve said it. It’s just so, well, beige. The disappointed fusion of a brilliant heavenly white and an unctuous earthy umber.
Now I acknowledge that for many people it is a shade of delight, a colour that bring comfort and happiness. I almost envy them their glee. But only almost.
So what’s with this irrational dislike of a particularly inoffensive and popular shade of the colour palette?
Well, good question. For me it is about what it represents. It’s a compromise colour. One born of dilution. I’m not a fan of dilution. Why dilute? I would rather a small powerful shot than some long bland drink any day. I would rather the sting of horizontal blown storm rain or the howl of a gale than elevator music at a temperature controlled 20 degrees centigrade.
Is this peculiar to me? Maybe. But I think life is about relishing contrast. In the extremes lies the secret to finding the median. Finding that middle value. That point of relative zen where the Gaussian curve of life falls away like a rollercoaster to each side. By feeling the extremes, my brain can find balance and sense in the world. And that, for me, is why I have an issue with such an inoffensive shade.
Rage against the beige!