One would expect being female and even surrounded by the female gender – two daughters, a sister/bestie – that she would be familiar with, if not attached to, more girly colors and habits. Like pink…

But she herself has a different opinion and explained it in detail in a long post.

“Thoughts on pink: Having been told for years that I’m too pushy/sour/cynical/whatever you want to call it, and having donned this handy survival suit, one of the (many) side effects is that I unconsciously avoid pink.

Not because I don’t like it, on the contrary I love pink, pink for women, pink for men, pink for trees (my favorite is the almond tree), pink for furniture (I’ve painted the radiators in the house pink and so on), but because I feel a girlish discomfort wearing it, sort of like the armor is falling off for a while.

Identified with the vulnerable and the weak (let’s discuss at some point what a funny euphemism the “weaker sex” is, i.e. we bleed, we give birth, we do it all and we benefit, we cry later than men but OK, the sex is characterized by a lack of vigor), the pink is not for the faint of heart – or so I’ve been told.

But come on, in my tender adolescence I stole from my dad’s library and read, misled by the title, “Roz Pou den Xehasa” by Yannis Xanthoulis, where pink did not symbolize love and flowers, but the color left behind by scars?

And come later, in my second adolescence (let’s not define it in time), I was listening to Mano Hadjidaki and I learned that he had said “don’t underestimate sensitivity by considering it something fragile. It is the most cruel force in the world, with which you conquer it.”?

This is about pink and its semiotics and of course I am fully aware that Xanthoulis and Hadjidakis under selfies is immoderate, but I found an occasion to report them to you.

If you prefer, I’ll write Pretty In Pink in the captions so we don’t have to worry at lunch, it’s hot too.”