Color Of The Month: Nude
Here at Bunny Ears, the Color of the Month is a great honor. The recipients are rewarded with a solid 30 seconds alone with a lock of Mack’s hair. I’m thrilled to be chosen for this month’s honor considering that I may be actually colorblind, not in the “I want to pretend racism isn’t real” way, but the “I have pretended most of my life to understand that red and purple are different colors” way.
This excitement waned when I discovered my color of the month was “nude,” however. While “nude” is in the spectrum of colors I can detect, it’s hella gross. Fuck nude. Nude isn’t what anyone looks like naked. I once tried to wear a nude lipstick, and I looked like I went down on a powdered doughnut. “Nude” pantyhose, bras, and nail polish don’t look like anyone’s soft meat. I’m, like, six different colors in the buff.
A Nude Band-Aid
A Band-Aid has never, in the history of the mankind, ever camouflaged itself against someone’s body. No one has ever seen a Band-Aid on a finger and thought “Wow, that guy has a smooth cloth knuckle.” I’ve never put a Band-Aid on my knee and cried for hours because I can’t find it anymore. They simply don’t blend in unless your skin looks like … a salmon? Peach?
This is a little closer to nude. It’s also the only thing on this list that’s actually flesh. It’s a perfect swatch for most faces, my upper arms, and the butt of that man who mooned me on the subway, but the gatekeeping fashion industry will never market bras as “Various Uncooked States of Chicken.” That’s the great crime committed by the industry since the shaming of leggings as pants. (I’m actually, like, a shade lighter than a supermarket rotisserie chicken, so I’m not trying to dream big.)
Chewing gum is almost the same color as N.P.R. listeners when they get cold. Do you choose the sounds of soft mumbling as your source of news? Is it slightly chilly? You’re slightly pink. This is also the closest match for my face when I’ve had red wine, am about to vomit, or just cried a bunch over the first two things.
Oh, my god, I’m the exact same shade as slightly cooked bread. Do I just go up to makeup counters and tell the salespeople my skin color is “a slice of Wonder Bread with the dial to turned up to about four?” Does Sephora color-match to a crouton? Because I’m absolutely a golden slice of wheat toast.
I’d like my time with the lock of hair now, please.