It’s commonly known that pink is associated with girls and blue with boys. Well, I was never a pink girl. Growing up, my favorite color was blue, and if I’m being honest, I would’ve despised being associated with pink. I never had an interest in makeup or nails and preferred wearing clothes that made me feel comfortable rather than stylish.
Maybe I envied the girl who was effortlessly close with the guys, the one who fit into the classic “tomboy” trope. She made it seem so easy to befriend boys, to hang out without judgment or teasing. She was “one of the guys,” sharing their interests and, most of all, not caring about appearances.
Eventually, most of my close friends were guys. Maybe it’s because my brother was my first best friend, so male friendships felt natural. Or maybe it was because I had grown tired of the drama that sometimes followed my girl friendships. Either way, I found comfort in my independence.
Part of me resisted femininity because of how girls were often perceived—fragile, in need of rescuing, reliant on someone else to take charge. That was never me. I was raised to be self-sufficient, to get things done on my terms rather than waiting for someone, especially a man, to do it for me.
But despite my rejection of pink, I can’t deny that I had once embraced it. As a child, I adored Barbie movies, played with dolls, and loved putting cute accessories in my hair. Pink was everywhere during those years—before I hid myself in oversized T-shirts and sweats. But as I grew older, I began to feel like I didn’t fit into the mold of a “girly girl.” I wasn’t thin and delicate. I wasn’t effortlessly cute. So, over time, pink disappeared from my closet and my mindset.
Then puberty hit, and so did the reality of self-care. With breakouts covering my skin and my hair finally growing out, I started using skincare products and occasionally styling my hair. For the first time, I became aware of how I looked under the male gaze, judged for my weight and appearance. But even then, I never felt the need to wear makeup for validation.
Now, as an adult, I’ve come full circle. In many ways, my journey of embracing femininity reminds me of Olivia Rodrigo’s song “Lacy.” The song explores a deep admiration and envy toward an idealized version of femininity—one that feels unattainable yet mesmerizing. Similarly, I once viewed traditional femininity as something distant, something I didn’t quite fit into. It felt like no matter how much I admired it, others embodied it effortlessly while I struggled to find my place. Just as Olivia describes in “Lacy,” there was a time when femininity felt like a double-edged sword—both intoxicating and frustrating. It was something I wanted to embrace but also felt so distant from. I envied those who seemed to embody it so naturally, yet I still had a lingering admiration for them. But instead of letting that feeling consume me, I have learned to embrace my own version of femininity. I no longer see it as a weakness, but as something that makes me feel confident and empowered. I’ve realized I no longer need to fit into a societal box and feel trapped by comparison, whether that means rejecting femininity or conforming to a specific idea of what it should look like.
I’ve fallen in with all things girly, from fashion trends to aesthetics like coquette, soft girl, Y2K, clean girl, and normcore. I’ve embraced habits that bring me joy and confidence—curating my wardrobe, prioritizing skincare, working out, and indulging in self-care routines that make me feel good in my own skin.
Being an adult who loves pink might sound silly to some. Maybe people will see it as childish or assume I’m a “typical girly girl,” but I no longer care about what others think. Embracing the pink is about embracing myself. I’ve learned that femininity and strength are not mutually exclusive. I take care of myself—not for validation, but because I deserve to. And if that means indulging in fashion, skincare, working out or soft, beautiful things, then so be it. And yes, I now have pink in my closet again.
At 20, pink is no longer just a color to me. It’s a celebration of who I am and who I’ve become.