A few years ago, my sister and I were in a musty office building overlooking a grey river. We were both trying really hard not to laugh.
I was sitting in a chair while Carrie, a color-based image consultant, was swirling blush on my cheeks while a cough drop clacked around her molars. I had just watched Carrie paint my sister with garish blues and knew that my face would be similarly mucked up, albeit in more normal brown and rose tones. The makeup was old. I could tell because of the way the eyeliner dragged along my lash line, the cracks in the blush, and the fumes of alcohol coming off the foundation. But, Carrie promised, when she was done making us up, we would look in the mirror and see a glowing new girl. She was going to transform us.
Our mother had gotten us appointments with Carrie as a Christmas gift. Our mother went to Carrie herself a few months ago, and since then, she had been singing Carrie’s praises. Carrie had dubbed my mother a “warm spring.” This meant that in order to illuminate the warm undertones in her skin, her golden hair, and green eyes, she must wear ivory, light camel, aqua, and coral.
Carrie had declared my sister a “true spring” and me a “warm autumn.”
Carole Jackson, the author of the color analysis book Color Me Beautiful, introduced this system of using seasons to describe people’s coloring to a wide audience in 1980. In the book’s introduction, Jackson writes, “A Spring blossoms in clear, delicate colors with warm yellow undertones, like the first daffodil that blooms each spring.” And, “An Autumn person radiates in the warm, rich autumnal colors, with their golden undertones, as crisp and colorful as the October leaves.” By declaring us a spring and an autumn, Carrie was giving us the key to evoking daffodils and fiery foliage in our everyday lives.
We walked out of our appointments with a booklet that contained swatches of all the colors that harmonized us. Carrie assured us that if we committed to wearing these colors, we’d be drowning in compliments from strangers. In Color Me Beautiful, Jackson wrote that even people you know personally will subconsciously decide to pay you a compliment, depending on whether or not you’re wearing your colors: “Why did your friend look fabulous on Monday, yet why did you walk right past her on Tuesday without saying hello because you didn’t notice her?”
Carrie was right when she said that we’d be drowning in compliments whenever we wore our colors. Whenever I’m wearing royal blue, camel, red, or emerald, strangers compliment me. I’ve been wearing mauve blush since I started wearing makeup, but Carrie told me that an orange-leaning blush, like peach or terracotta, would complement me better. She was right. I switched to a terracotta blush in the autumn, and a peach blush in the spring, and now my makeup makes me look like I have just come inside from a glorious, bracing hike instead of evoking a dusty porcelain doll.
On a trip to a charity store in Greenwich recently, I found someone’s old hoard of Color Me Beautiful literature. There was the original book, Color Me Beautiful, and then an accompanying book about incorporating color analysis into your make-up routine. There was a book geared toward men, and a book called Bigger Ideas from Color Me Beautiful Organisation that outlined ways to dress for the “fuller figure.”
I imagine that the original owner of these books was a woman who found confidence using the Color Me Beautiful system, and then tried to get the men in her life to follow the system too. Presumably, she was a woman of a “fuller figure,” who had a difficult time seeing her own beauty reflected in women’s magazines, and the Color Me Beautiful organization offered her a simple way to enhance her beauty.
I’ve found that color analysis as a fashion tool is a quick fix to feeling beautiful. Once you’re told what colors complement you, it’s extremely easy to transform. The transformation doesn’t require a doctor or an expensive procedure. It doesn’t necessitate the purchase of luxury goods. It doesn’t echo the societal screams that berate women for not perpetually living in, or actively dieting and exercising towards, the bodies they had as teenagers. Even on the days when I have felt my ugliest, if I was wearing gold hoops and a scarlet blouse, I was comforted in knowing that my natural beauty was shining through my feelings of inferiority. Wearing my colors makes me feel as if I’m in harmony with my physical being, and that harmony translates to the confidence I exude in public.
Color analysis delineates between wearing what’s “wrong” and what’s “right.” This delineation, however, can come with feelings of guilt. When I learned that I looked better in gold jewelry rather than silver, I felt like I had been cheating myself because I used to wear almost exclusively silver jewelry. When I learned that silver washed me out, I thought of all those years I could have been wearing gold earrings that would make the green flecks in my eyes and the amber tones in my hair pop. It felt like I had wasted years of elevating my natural beauty.
So despite this accessible, inclusive method of building confidence, I still feel guilty if I am not committing to it one hundred percent.
I love a few colors that aren’t in my palette, like mulberry, cool teal green, and black. Carrie had said that black was a big no-no for me. I had to keep it away from my face at all times; I should even be wary of black pants. But sometimes when I’m shopping, I encounter a black article of clothing that is elegant in its simplicity, or in a style I can’t find in any other color. I determine how flattering the piece will be on my body and weigh that against the color itself. Most of the time, black loses because I don’t want to spend my money on a piece of clothing that doesn’t make me look as good as I possibly can.
When I am shopping and my color palette is blinking in the back of my mind, I am optimizing. In Trick Mirror, Jia Tolentino writes in her essay “Always Be Optimizing:”
“These days, it is perhaps even more psychologically seamless than ever for an ordinary woman to spend her life walking toward the idealized mirage of her own self-image. She can believe - reasonably enough, and with the full encouragement of feminism - that she herself is the architect of the exquisite, constant, and often pleasurable type of power that this image holds over her time, her money, her decisions, her selfhood, and her soul.”
If I am always walking toward the idealized mirage of my own self-image, then my color palette is the carrot on the stick.
But it’s not the only carrot on the stick.
There’s the skincare carrot that promises me the idealized mirage of clear, dewy, smooth, and bright skin if only I buy the correct serums, assess their viscosity, and then layer them properly (because yes, there is a proper way to do it). None of the skincare counts if I’m not wearing SPF, even if I stay inside all day, because computer and phone screens can age my skin too. So, in order to ensure that I do not get a wrinkle and the money I used to buy expensive serums isn’t being wasted, I must be consistently applying greasy, smelly sunscreen all day. And to be completely honest - I hate sunscreen.
Then there’s the curly hair carrot that promises the idealized mirage of bouncy, frizz-free curls only if I sleep on a silk pillowcase, massage my scalp every day, spend twenty minutes shaping each curl with a Denman brush, diffuse my hair for an hour, and then never touch the curls until the next wash day, which, ideally, should be in seven days. My curls, however, get greasy and limp if I don’t wash them every other day. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel an infinitesimal amount of guilt when I am shampooing. Because if I am not committing to all of the expert curly hair tips, just like if I am not committing to perpetually slathering sunscreen on my face, then what’s the point? If I truly wanted my hair to gleam and bounce like the girl’s in the tutorial did, then I would not have twirled my hair in moments of boredom. If I truly wanted to protect my skin, then I’d spend a fortune on sunscreen creams, mists, and powders. If I don’t commit to these routines one hundred percent, then I am doing myself a disservice. Because if there is a system that gives me the skin of a goddess and princess curls, why wouldn’t I commit?
I put so much effort into researching the perfect toilette because if I am at lunch with a friend, and I have a constellation of fat pulsating whiteheads on my chin because I hadn’t gotten around to buying a new vial of niacinamide yet, then I won’t truly be enjoying the company of my friend. I’ll be thinking about my acne the entire time. If I’m in a job interview, and my curls are unkempt, then I will be worrying that the frizz is subconsciously telling the interviewers that I may not know how to keep things under control.
This beauty anxiety prevents me from being my true self.
In Colour Me Beautiful, Carole Jackson writes about that same phenomenon:
“Perhaps the biggest joy in finding your personal colors is the freedom it brings. Using your colors, you will spend less time and energy shopping, yet you will have more confidence than ever that you look your best. Shopping will become quick and easy, because you will know what to look for and what to leave on the racks. You won’t waste money or clutter up your wardrobe with mistakes. Your palette can be a tool that will simplify one aspect of your life, leaving you free to pursue other interests. It works for me. It works for others. It will work for you.”
I believe that in 1980, this promise of having more freedom because your wardrobe is uncluttered was appealing to women because they were beginning to assert themselves in the workforce. In the spirit of Lean In feminism, optimizing your wardrobe can only help you achieve the career that you want. If a woman is personally responsible for her success in the office, and all success takes is simply raising one’s hand, then why not raise it while wearing your colors? As Carole Jackson has said, you may be passed by if you’re not wearing your colors.
Color Me Beautiful offers specific advice for “Dressing for Business:”
“At the office, regardless of your type, classic is best. A business suit or a conservative dress is appropriate, especially while you are striving to establish yourself. Be sure your suit is one of your colors, however. The popular grey suit theory is fine for Winters and Summers, but an Autumn or Spring in a charcoal grey suit will not create her best impression. You can achieve the same look in your own colors. Keep your makeup and jewelry modest. Be well groomed, but not flamboyant.
Even in a business environment, you can express your individuality to a degree as long as you do it conservatively…Once you have proven yourself as a budding executive, you can take more liberties in expressing your clothing personality. But never dress too romantically at work unless you are aspiring for the boss rather than a promotion.”
Jackson extolled the benefits of color analysis for the working woman by telling the story of one of her clients, Helen:
“Helen came to me right after her divorce. She had gone back to college, at fifty, to prepare herself for re-entry into the job market. Her colors, makeup, and a wardrobe plan for a working woman brought her up-to-date. She later wrote: ‘Getting my colors is the nicest thing I’ve done for myself in years. I felt so good during my job interviews, and I am sure that my new boss thinks I’m ten years younger than I am!”
Color Me Beautiful equated corporate success with a woman’s appearance. If a woman was passed up for a promotion, it may be because she was an Autumn wearing a charcoal grey suit, or perhaps because her jewelry and makeup were not modest enough. Helen got her confidence in interviews not from her education, but from her colors, and her youthful appearance helped her ingratiate herself to her boss.
When I was sitting in Carrie’s chair, she held up swatches of fabric under my chin and would flip between them.
“See the difference there?” she said said about a swatch of royal blue. “That one is gorgeous, and the other one washes you out. If you ever see a piece of clothing in this color, you have to buy it immediately.”
I nodded yes, but in reality, I couldn’t tell the difference. But that doesn’t really matter to me because when I wear my colors, I feel confident knowing that I am doing all I can to harmonize my appearance. I do genuinely feel better about myself when I am doing everything in my power to manifest the idealized mirage of my own self-image. And when strangers compliment me, I am vindicated. It feels like if I were to raise my hand, people would notice.
Whenever I think about my color analysis experience, I feel a pang of sadness. The second we got in the car, my sister and I looked in the mirror, looked at each other, and laughed uncontrollably. I feel bad for laughing at Carrie’s makeup job, even though it was horrendous and made us look like a 1980s Jersey girl (which coincidentally, is what our mother used to be). It felt wrong to laugh at someone who dedicated her entire life to giving women confidence.
The saddest thing about my appointment with Carrie was that at the same time as she dedicated herself to giving confidence to women of all ages, she limited herself to an ideology that seemed stuck in the 1980s. Carrie also offered individual style consultations, which included grouping a woman’s style under words such as “romantic,” “classic,” or “ingenue.” Her consultation room was plastered with blown up images of women from the eighties or nineties wearing hats, puffy sleeves, massive gold buttons, and frills. They were flaunting the style that this SNL skit used to convey a stilted working-girl life. Cecily Strong and Kate McKinnon don’t look that different from Carole Jackson herself, as she appears in this instructional video from the mid-1980s.
This promise to women that they can achieve their highest form of confidence by fine-tuning their appearance is nothing new, and it hasn’t gone anywhere. In addition to contemporary color analysis influencers on TikTok, I have seen articles and videos about Kibbe body types, which offers a body typing system that teaches you what cut of clothing is most flattering on you. The cult of skincare and of curly hair routines offer the same illusion: by working towards the idealized mirage of your own self-image, all of the opportunities in the world will open to you, and your dreams will be in closer reach than they ever were before.
But in Color Me Beautiful, Jackson encourages the reader to study her own image. She can observe herself in test colors, but “This is best done in a group because it is difficult for people to see themselves objectively and other opinions are helpful.” She gives a step-by-step explanation of how to study your body in the mirror to determine your body type. “Do you have even, regular features or a prominent nose or chin or perhaps high cheekbones?...Now check out your body. Is your neck long, short, or average? Are you buxom or flat or somewhere in the middle?”
I can’t help but think that this militant approach to analyzing one’s body is reductive. In picking yourself apart in order to build yourself back up with the correct presentation, you are obscuring your own insecurities with objective opinions. You are presenting yourself in the manner in which is most appealing to outsiders. The confidence that Jackson and her clients feel seem to me like a facsimile of true confidence. That confidence does not stem from their heart or their accomplishments. Rather, it is nurtured by the opinions of others.
That true confidence, however, is hard to grasp. I feel it slipping out of my fingers whenever I am choosing an outfit for the day, or washing my hair, or in the minute after I apply my Vitamin C serum so that it can absorb fully before I apply niacinamide, or when I forget to apply SPF before putting on my make-up. There is always the hope that harmonizing my appearance will give me the freedom to build that true confidence in my own time.
And if there is no time, then at least I can project that confidence with the right shade of red.