An Open Letter To Orange

Dear Orange,

I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot. Or, at least we would have, if you had feet. You’re just a color so that wasn’t really the correct phrase to use. But here’s the thing…

I walked out of the dressing room completely dejected and kind of concerned that I might be a ghost.

I love you. Really, I do. I think you’re one of the most beautiful colors in the game. I love every incarnation of you–bright neon, sunny tangerine, creamy coral. I loved the giant orange fur coat that my best friend Rachel wore in high school (and I loved it even more when someone started a rumor that she was an orangutan poacher). I love you in juice form too, but not as much as I adore you as a cardigan.

Alas, my love for you is unrequited. In fact, I’m pretty sure you hate me. The moment you get within three feet of me, I start to resemble a slightly uglier version of Uncle Fester from “The Addams Family”: sallow, pale, and vaguely undead. All the gorgeous orange sweaters and blouses and sundresses packing the stores right now? I will never have a future with them. I can only stare longingly as you go home with other women. Why do you look so good on them and not me? We’re both bright and fun and spunky, Orange, so why can’t we make things work?

The other day, after yet another unsuccessful attempt to wear you,

I walked out of the dressing room completely dejected and kind of concerned that I might be a ghost.

Standing in front of a mirror a few feet away, a woman was trying on a beautiful bright orange cardigan. The fit was great and the color popped against her tan skin, but she was squinting at her reflection and cocking her head to the side. She was actually debating whether or not to purchase this perfect summer staple.

So here’s what I did, Orange. I’m not necessarily proud of it, but I grabbed this stranger by the shoulders and I said, “Hi. You need to buy that cardigan.”

She tugged shyly at the sleeve and said, “Really? I’m not sure about the color.”

“I’m sure about the color,” I said. “And you absolutely need to buy it. You were pretty much meant to be together.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

I figured if I can’t have you, I might as well set you up with someone who can. And yes, she went home with the cardigan. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hot date with cobalt blue.