A Simple Icebreaker That Gives Me Nervous Sweats
Going back to as early as preschool, a frequently asked question to get to know someone is, “What’s your favorite color?” It’s supposed to be an easy question— something instinctive, a spark for common ground, light-hearted and fun. But for me, it triggers a slight panic and a silent prayer that someone else answers first so I have time to think. Sure, it would be easier to just blurt out a random color and move on—but I can’t help feeling like your favorite color says something about who you are. I don’t want my split-second choice to become someone’s first impression of me. And so, I spiral down a rabbit hole of chromatics I can never seem to climb out of. With so many hues to choose from, it feels almost unfair to be forced to pick just one. Every shade holds a special place in my personality. Maybe that’s the problem—my nature feels too layered, too shifting, for a single color to sum it up.
Let me start off by saying that I am well aware of the colors that don’t even stand a chance of being my favorite. Aquamarine, orange, brown—sorry, but you’re at the bottom of my list. My twelve-year-old self would be appalled by my lack of respect for aquamarine, but after she chose to paint her bedroom walls aqua and keep them that way for far too many years, she brought this on herself. Orange isn’t a bad color—in fact, it might be the one that most aligns with my personality. It’s adventurous, citrusy (sweet with a little tang) and unashamedly bold without being too proud about it. But when I actually picture the color, I can’t imagine living with its presence in my everyday life. A sweater with tiny oranges on it? Cute. An entire orange-themed outfit? It’s giving carotenemia-core rather than a cozy pumpkin spice moment. Furthermore, while peeling an orange the other day, its juice launched a full-on attack on my eye, leaving me with a personal vendetta against the color—and oranges in general—until further notice. Then there’s brown —perfectly fine, but utterly unremarkable. Out of all the colors I could have chosen, picking brown feels like ordering a cup of water at a world-renowned milkshake shoppe. And finally, the ongoing debate about the “colors” white and black. Not to get too nerdy about art theory, but white is technically the absence of pigment, so that’s out. Following the same logic, black is the summation of all pigments, and that just feels a little too all-or-nothing for me. While this narrows my options a bit, it still leaves plenty to ponder for my “favorite color.”
Now, when asked this atrocious question of my color preference, my brain immediately begins listing all my options, starting with the first color of the rainbow: red. Red feels confident and dynamic—in fashion, models are often put in red to create a mood of sexiness and temptation. All around, red draws attention, refusing to have a damper put on it. But you know what else is associated with red? Firetrucks, love and Elmo. There is this warmth around red, too—elements of nostalgia and our childhood that tell us to associate red with care and compassion, despite it typically being an overwhelming color. This is where red creates a torn feeling in me—how do I narrate to a person through this one word that I am either an individual with untamable passion and playful ferocity or a lovable romantic with a kind soul? The color red leaves me beautifully conflicted, tied to two extremes with no middle ground—which is why it can never be a dependable favorite.
Following the sequence, yellow comes next—since orange is out. To me, yellow represents happiness. It’s the color of a golden sun shining down on Bascom Hill, instantly lifting my spirits with the warmth it brings. Yellow also carries energy— the kind I feel when listening to music and dancing without a care in the world. Whether I’m adding little skips to my walk across campus or improvising full-on choreography to Broadway soundtracks in my kitchen, yellow carries that driving rhythm with me. It’s the color that makes my day feel lighter and my step bouncier. It even makes my brain a little happier; scientifically speaking, it triggers serotonin, which is the hormone that boosts moods and eases anxiety. And yet, despite all these positives, yellow still isn’t the color for me. It can be too bright, too vivid, too much—like an endlessly bubbly friend. Fun in short bursts, yes, but exhausting if you spend all your time with them. Yellow also gives the impression of perpetual happiness, when sometimes those who seem the happiest just need to understand that it’s okay not to be cheery all the time. Ultimately, while yellow is a sprightly hue to brighten a day, I want a color that dwells in more emotional realism.
Green provides the grounding that yellow doesn’t. It’s reserved and doesn’t show off—it just exists. The best example of this version of green is outdoors. While I walk through the urban sprawl of the UW-Madison campus, verdant nature sprouts everywhere: terraces, gardens and little ivy creeping along the walls of well-worn academic halls. Green, however, doesn’t fully capture my spunky nature like yellow or my self-confidence like red. It underplays my energy and boldness, giving a calm impression that feels a little too understated for me. Contrastingly, lime green exists in the limelight—shining for only itself and the tween boys who are obsessed with wearing it. This shade overemphasizes my self-confidence and overshadows my genuineness. In the end, forest green fosters too understated an impression, while lime green is too over the top—together, they show why green doesn’t make the cut for my favorite color.
Now, blue is the color I usually lean toward when asked for a favorite. It has life and vibrance, but it’s versatile enough that anyone can find a shade that fits them. Powder blue is gentle, soft and easygoing; sky blue feels elated and radiant, like a breath of fresh air. Royal blue is self-assured and valiant without being flashy, while navy is calm and cordial. The combination of blue shades almost exactly emulates my poised side: balanced, approachable and adaptable. And yet, even blue isn’t perfect. Sometimes it feels too basic and too subdued— like it’s quietly standing back when I want to jump into the spotlight. When I’m craving a bit of flair or a jolt of energy, blue doesn’t quite deliver. It’s reliable, yes, but it doesn’t fully capture my quirks, adventures or random side quests. Does blue describe someone who has ziplined backwards and upside down over a 1,000-foot-deep valley? Or someone who skis down a blue-square hill just to prove she can, despite her total lack of skill? Not a chance. Blue may be dependable, but let’s be honest—it’s no adrenaline junkie.
Lastly, we reach indigo and violet, but despite my previous color theory remarks, they’re close enough to generalize as purple. Purple has been my long-claimed favorite color for years. It instantly reminds me of Tangled, my favorite Disney princess movie of all time. From the songs of adventure and newly discovered love to the beautiful artistic moments of flowing hair and blooming flowers, Tangled has always fostered an affection for the color purple within me. Without tying the color to the movie, though, purple loses almost all its meaning for me. Where would purple be in my heart without Rapunzel, her stunning dress and the hundreds of glowing lanterns with purple suns that light up the sky in “I See the Light”? Pink is also a strong contender—it filled my childhood through Barbie dolls, Princess Aurora and limitless imagination—but the color feels one-dimensional when I try to justify liking it as a girl. While it captures sweetness and nostalgic playtime, it doesn’t carry the same depth, action, or contradictions that truly define my experiences as uniquely “mine.” And so, despite all my careful reasoning, I still can’t fully claim purple or pink as my favorite. Without the memories and meaning behind them, the colors themselves feel empty.
Here I am—without a favorite color and armed with a ridiculously long and overcomplicated explanation for why. Sure, I could blame it on being complex and logical, but let’s be real: it’s just extreme indecisiveness over something as simple as choosing a crayon. We all want to make a good first impression, yet I am here mentally auditioning every shade, measuring their emotional weight and arguing with myself over which one best captures my lovable, yet chaotic energy. Picking a color shouldn’t require five business days and a mental pros-and-cons list. At this point, I propose a replacement icebreaker: “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” Except… there are so many flavors to choose from that now I have to start the whole overthinking process all over again. I’ll probably have to settle for cappuccino ice cream—at least the caffeine will keep me awake long enough to contemplate my favorite ice cream flavor and my favorite color.