In Power Ranger RPM (2009), the blue ranger is asked a question by his opponent: āRed is the perfect one, black is the brooding bad boy, green is the clown and yellow… well, she’s the girl, so what are you supposed to be?ā. He proudly exclaims,Ā āIām Scottish!ā. The comedic moment that highlights the characterās pride towards his home became clipped and circulated to become a viral meme in the 2020s. However, it made me think about the prescribed ārolesā that creators project onto their characters through designated colours. Although there are instances outside of this, a lot of movies and shows went through an era where assigning characters to a colour was common to simplify viewership; these colours acted as visual markers, telling us who to root for and how to perceive them. I saw this frequently in the childhood shows I used to watch, and admittedly still catch it in the media I enjoy now.
I feel like you donāt need to have watched Star Wars to know who is on the āDark Sideā; do not be fooled by the character that has a red lightsabre, as opposed to the more commonly used blue one. SPOILER ALERT: I suggest that you watch out for them.Ā
This is due to colour psychology which is a term that refers to the study of how certain colours can impact human emotion due to the associations attached to them. With red symbolising aggression, danger, violence etc, it would make sense for characters to worry for the protagonist when the āred villainā makes an appearance. Red is also known for being an emotionally powerful colour, causing physical reactions such as ‘elevated blood pressure‘ and ‘increased heart rate‘. On the other hand, blue signifies ‘stability and reliability’ which is probably why that colour is frequently used to portray the heroic ”leader” character. The physiological impacts that these colours have is why creators often turn to colour psychology during character sketches; they are indirectly communicating through colours to tell you who they are to the story.
This kind of implicit messaging is also something that features a lot in anime. Shonen anime is a genre targeted towards teenage boys, often featuring a young male protagonist that goes on a journey of personal growth through friendships and adventures. However, in ‘Jujitsu Kaisen’, I have seen that the fanbase goes outside of the target audience – especially since new episodes are being released weekly.
Commonly in these shows, the male protagonist has distinct hair; the bright and bold colour sets them apart from the antagonists who have a more monochromatic palate. This contrast immediately conveys to viewers who to root for in the story – in ‘Jujitsu Kaisen’, the protagonistās hair is pink. The main character in Jujitsu Kaisen, Yuji Itadori, is possessed by the ‘King of Curses’ named Ryomen Sukuna; as the latter inhabits his body, the artists need to somehow present when we are looking at Yuji and when it’s Sukuna. When Sukuna takes over, Yujiās body physically changes with cursed marks on his face and body materialising during the transformation. The markings are coloured black, a stark contrast to the bright pink of Yuji’s hair. It acts as a visual cue that immediately informs manga readers and anime watchers that chaos is about to ensue.
Part of the creative decisions about colour also has a lot to do with marketing and promotion. I was obsessed with ‘My Little Pony’ when I was younger and would see the merch for each character stylised predominately in their given colour: Twilight Sparkle was purple, Apple Jack was orange, Pinkie Pie was Pink and so on. Kids could recognise their favourite pony just by a glance which makes the designation colours more understandable in this aspect.
However, there are some instances where I feel that creators lean considerably into colour stereotypes and use those expectations to define their characters, sometimes resulting in using the colour to paint the character with a bad reputation. We can see an example of this if we analyse āpinkā which has been impacted by a gender division of colours. History saw the labelling of āpink collar jobsā, a term popularised in the 1940s, when men returned from the war and were once again back in the labour force. Women were pushed out of the male-dominated spaces they once occupied and ushered towards care-orientated occupations. Despite its obvious importance, these jobs were seen as less demanding, paid lower wages and lacked future career prospects. āPinkā has routinely been seen as “feminine” and therefore lesser in a world that caters to men.
Furthermore, the media upholds these perceptions of pink being a symbol for what is seen as trivial. Characters associated with pink used to not be taken seriously and were instead positioned as a voiceless backdrop to a more heroic and āmasculineā figure. On the other hand, when the āpink characterā does have a significant vocal role in the main plot, the internalised misogyny still persists – Hollywood makes sure that women can never win. Think about it; these characters are often demonised, presented in the form of an āultrafeminised mean girlā. āUltrafeminisedā, in the film world, has no proper meaning and is usually just any empty, simplified term for a woman who they dress as the visual embodiment of the colour pink – Regina George and Sharpay Evans to name a couple.Ā
Male actors can mirror the “meanness” of these characters and be loved for their “realness”, whereas the female characters are often criticised for being āannoyingā or āpettyā. Even when you are the āvillainā of the story, society has a hard time viewing women as multifaceted and instead they are condemned to suffer from this cruel double standard of not being taken seriously just because they are viewed as āfeminineā. This is constantly reinforced with the use of pink as a binary code for putting characters into a dehumanising bracket.
I am glad to see authors redefining colour stereotypes in recent novels. One of the most popular YA fantasy books at the moment is the āOnce Upon a Broken Heartā series by Stephanie Garber. The protagonist, Evangeline Fox, is characterised by her emotional depth and admiration for the world around her. In terms of her dress – she is rarely seen in anything other than pink. Where I could see this character being overshadowed in a Hollywood film by a brooding, physically strong male main character, that is not the case here. Evangelineās character is portrayed in a positive light because of these emotions with her compassionate manner being a drive for the narrative. However, the book community do see this as an exception; having a strong and impactful female character, who is sensitive and loves pink, is unfortunately not something we see quite often.
These stereotypes are so ingrained in creative mediums that they are seen as an āanomalyā if creatives do not follow these guidelines. If the creative sphere keeps giving āpinkā the recognition it deserves, we will be able to divert from these regressive colour stereotypes.