I came across the most fascinating article about the world losing color, and I can’t stop noticing it now. An analysis of more than 7,000 photographs of objects in the UK’s Science Museum Group collection found that everyday objects have become less colorful over time. Now I find myself looking at houses, cars, appliances, even children’s toys, and wondering where all the color went.
Don’t get me wrong, every time I see a Nancy Meyers movie I want to crawl into my TV so I can be in the rooms she creates, and many of them feature a neutral palette. I think two things can be true: neutral and bright design can each be extraordinarily beautiful in their own right. One look at my Pinterest page will tell you I love both.
These days I’m just noticing less and less of the bright, and I’m wondering if these colorless-world theorists are onto something.
My dad has three sisters (hi you three!) who all have my grandma Joey’s impeccable, self-assured taste. Spending time in their houses and my grandparents’ shop (more on that here) helped shape my eye. Much of my childhood was spent in whimsically bright rooms. Corals, rich blues, greens that make you feel like you’re in a garden. They’ve never been afraid to try color, and somehow those rooms have always felt as inviting as they were bold.
I keep coming back to that self-assuredness. The willingness to choose something because you love it without needing everyone else to agree.
Recently, a friend of mine was second-guessing a design decision she had made after a friend of hers, who happens to be an interior designer, told her how he would’ve done it differently. She hadn’t asked. The thing is, the choice she made was both lovely and meaningful to her and her family.
It made me wonder how often we talk ourselves out of something we love because someone else would have chosen differently. A color, a pattern, a piece of furniture that we can’t quite explain but keep coming back to.
I don’t know that this explains why things seem to be getting more neutral. But I do think there’s something worth holding onto in the way my grandma and aunts made their homes. They trusted what they liked. And all these years later, I’m still thinking about those rooms.