Nothing about the color pink said, "you are welcome within my home". More like, "you're not from around here, are you?"

As time went on, I equated pinkness with weakness. Here I am, the girl who sports ankle boots instead of high heels, jeans instead of miniskirts, and wears nail polish maaaaaaaaybe once a year. No. Pink isn't for me. Pink doesn't want me. I rejected pink because all those years ago, I felt rejected by the "Pretty Posse" - that invisible society who decides who is beautiful and charming and worthy of pinkness. I wanted no part of pinkness - careful to distance myself from the Pretty Posse. Gray is OK. If it's not Black, Then It's Wack.

Screw you pink. I don't want you, either.

But something changed. It wasn't the color, of course, it was me. I realized my views on pink were just as limiting as I perceived the color pink to be. Pink is more than a color, it's a state of mind. I apologize to all you wearers of pink who I assumed were tiny, when you are most likely giants. I'm sorry for placing my hangups around your neck, like a clunky necklace.

You wear your pink. And I think I will, too.

I wear pink whenever I want. I only have a few pink items in my wardrobe: a pink t-shirt, a pink cashmere sweater, a pink scarf. I wear them with my jeans and ankle boots and I still don't wear fingernail polish.

I'm creating my own version of femininity, right alongside the traditional model. I'm doing it my way, and you do it your way.

Claim your pink. What's yours?