I received a hard-copy lookbook for a recent Gucci collection last week, and was struck by its color.
Judging by the number of likes and comments it garnered, my assumption is that we, the people, were on the same wavelength, wondering the same thing — which is to say: Is Fran Drescher pink about to eclipse millennial pink? Everyone has been talking about the latter since the exhaustive, if not entertaining, deep dive that New York Mag‘s The Cut ran last month. Millennial pink — that muted shade native to Glossier and the inside of Mansur Gavriel bags and the huge stuffed flamingo inside Sky Ting’s Tribeca yoga studio — is interesting. It does everything that feminism is expected to do in 2017, in that it acknowledges what it is (a gendered color), but also exists independently, popularly and outside the stereotype. Millennial pink is for everyone! It is amorphous; you can make it mean whatever you need it to mean.
It is nothing like the pink that Gucci used to bind its lookbook. That pink is vulgar and so clear about who it is for — the Peggy Bundys, the Fran Dreschers, the loudmouth women who signal liberation in a different way. I know the appropriate fashion terminology for this color is probably “Schiaparelli pink,” but the point is, it is brazen, does not apologize and it turns the art of subtlety on its head. Maybe it is the antidote to millennial pink. Maybe I’m reading too deep into this. It’s too late now, though; I already conducted a brief case study to determine the aforementioned question: Is Fran Drescher pink poised to eclipse millennial pink? While I did not consult a single person because I am profoundly lazy, I did style three looks in an attempt to check my own gut. The result was this:
A hot-pink silk trench over a bathing suit with lucite slides and ankle bracelets. Apparently, I am now a desperate housewife, location: Palm Beach. I have really got to stop walking around Manhattan without pants on. But seriously, I would totally wear this.
For case study part B, I styled a gold tie-up bodysuit under a sequined skirt that frankly errs on the side of millennial pink, but didn’t stop there — nautical stripes to conceal my nippleitis and gargantuan pink sunglasses because it’s not a Friday unless someone yells, “Where the fuck are you going in that?” Amiright? Anyway, I felt the most comfortable and confident in this ensemble. It made exactly no sense, which is probably what I loved most about it, but didn’t really serve the purpose of trying to determine whether Fran Drescher pink is the new thing.
Frankly, by look 3, which included a neon-pink mini skirt in addition to the bathing suit (freckled by a floral brooch, thank you very much!), I was so uncomfortable in the outfit that I insisted we shoot only from the torso up. What’s cool about these pictures is that you really get to see my self-tanner on display (my chest is legit a different, much lighter color), but I digress. That I could not even show you what the rest of me looks like feels like a clear indication, in my opinion, that we’re not (sorry, I don’t want to speak for you, I’m not) quite ready for Fran Drescher pink.
But that doesn’t mean it ain’t coming.
Shot by Edith Young.