It was truly never about hating pink
From kindergarten all the way to grade seven, I found myself saying I hated pink—I didn’t really know why. The color itself was pretty; pink reminded me of cherry blossoms blooming in spring, of my mom’s dress as it twirled in the sunlight. And yet, I despised it. From a young age, I noticed how other girls around me were split into two groups: the ones who adored pink and the ones who mocked it. The girls who loved it wore pink head to toe—bows, backpacks, even shoes—while the others wrinkled their noses and pointed, “Ew, pink, that’s such a girly color.” It didn’t help that boys joined in, laughing at the very sight of pink hair clips or frilly skirts. I was perplexed. I didn’t love pink, but I also couldn’t understand why it deserved such hate. I stood on the sidelines, quietly observing, never understanding why pink was treated like a weakness. On the first day at a new school, I found myself sitting with a group of fashionable girls, dressed in the latest trends. During rec...