Most of my life I've been a pastels kind of girl, who would no more choose hot colors than fly to the moon. OK to slightly clarify that, I would TOTALLY fly to the moon if offered the chance, and hot colors did once have a place in my life, when I was about 7 years old or so and the Raging 1960s were going strong. I was all about COLORS, and even had a Stingray bike with a sparkly hot purple banana seat and tassles on the handlebars.
|An exact replica of my bike...think it's in the Smithsonian by now?|
|Coordinating with the bike.|
And sometimes they did not.
|That is my mother in the rear. How did she allow me to leave the house dressed this way?|
Yet we still have options to make a statement with, if we wish. If you wear a hot pink collared shirt or lime green suit people will sit up and take notice of your bad-ass-ness. The world is your freakin' oyster once again.
|WOW! No further comment needed.|
I don't think The Queen would have been caught dead in this color 20 or even 40 years ago, but at her age she probably figures why the f*ck not? I concur. And so what's been happening subconsciously is now exploding into my waking hours, and I find myself looking for bright yellows, pinks, oranges and greens to augment both my wardrobe and my life in general.
I may not be "hot" anymore (except for hot flashes of course), but perhaps that's the perfect time to let hot colors make the statement that I've still got some color -- some "hot" -- in me.