Monochromes are my favorite type of New Yorker. They aren't New York specific, but given rules of population and proportion, I think there are more of them here. I don't see them all the time, but it is a rare week when I don't spot one. Reds, Purples and Pinks are the commonest, but I've seen a Yellow, an Orange, and a particularly memorable Stripe (very ambitious). Blues pop up from time to time, and I sat across from a rare Green last week on the train.
Plenty of people wear color, but not like Monochromes. Their color is singular and sedimentary. Everything matches. Any single outfit appears to be the work of years. Shoes bought in '84, socks found in '91, coat acquired in '05, handbag found today. They wear a color's whole life span, from unfaded youth to gentle age. In the visual noise of the city, they are whimsical soloists.
When I see one, I wonder about living life in a single color. Would it be boring? Freeing? Do they have some well of maniacal childish glee that makes their color the best? Do they have closets like crayon boxes, and change their color every day?
Labels: imaginary outfit