Grey is Going Extinct & 'Critics' need a Dictionary
Ariana Grande is dressing in muted pastels. Ayo Edebiri stopped posting on Letterboxd. Joan Rivers is dead, but me? I'm still standing
Not so long ago I sat on a boat somewhere off Sydney’s shoreline, pseudo-listening to a conversation between people who have a lot more money than me. It sounds like the start of a joke; an architect, a CEO, and a landlord assembled at the helm. Unfortunately, this post doesn’t have a witty punchline… yet.
All silver on top with cheeks rosy from G&T, they spoke of the trials and tribulations of all their money and where to put it (my hands cupped just metres from them). As the yacht swayed to-and-fro, the chatter of these men cradled my ears with white noise. Before my nap could whisk me away some place steadier, something interesting penetrated the lull;
“Well, when we build in Melbourne we have to be wary of the low contrast. The shadows there are different.”
“The shadows?”
“Edges are sharper in Melbourne and softer… everywhere else. It’s to account for where the sun sits.”
“Huh.”
And then I’m sure they spoke about why they hate their wives after that. I was far too preoccupied with shadows. I was the kind of freak who thought mine was following me as a child, so this neurological pathway was familiar to walk down.
In my experience, the lighting in Melbourne is abhorrent. Everyone likes it better at nighttime because it’s reasonable to use flash-photography for a more flattering image. Whereas in Queensland, a raw shot of the crystal coastline is enough to render a few likes from your aunt and that failed talking-stage-who-still-follows-you. Effort and human-intervention are not requirements because the high-contrast ensures the shadows are black and the sun is a bright, white bulb.
This is not the first time I’ve spiraled about colour, and I’m not even talking about my hair (for once). A little while ago, Neptune lost it’s blue. In 1989, the Voyager 2 photographed Neptune in it’s signature deep azure. In grade 3, I was in charge of shading-in the planets on the class poster wall. I distinctly remember taking my time with Neptune - her distinct marine atmosphere and periwinkle clouds.
However, our fancy space cameras in 2023 revealed Neptune to be much paler than we thought. A sickly green. Like Uranus (I’m serious). And as technology gets “better”, our blue beauty turns to grey.
Now would be a great time to discuss Ariana Grande. Alas, I have yet to make my point.
Politically, the pendulum swings back and forth taking the culture along for the ride. To quote Maxine Bisera on media illiteracy:
“[We] only have time to skim over the basic premise of a video/article before we must keep scrolling to maximise media consumption. We’re forced to sort things into a binary just to quickly make sense of it; all actions are either good or bad, all opinions are either right or wrong.”
As critics on Broadsheet and similar guides so frequently pageant, everything is a “flop” or “The Best Vanilla Slice in New South Wales”. Every film, restaurant, and person either wears a crown or is banished into exile, subsequently leaving the two opposing sides idle and meaningless. Meanwhile, the masses are appalled by anything that opposes their belief - leaving no middle-ground for reason or constructive discussion.
Like the architect, we have built ourselves a cityscape of sharp corners and blunted rotundas - ensuring no time is wasted squinting, no energy squandered on understanding. We want to cram it all into a binary and it is making us stupid. It’s also making the red carpets profoundly boring.
None of these dresses are fashion “fails” - a term the Daily Mail would so lackadaisically throw around, but they do make a greater problem incarnate. The pendulum strikes again!
A profoundly elegant emptiness; garments that hang inoffensively and without declaration. The only loudness that resounds from them is “we are in an economic recession.”
As history repeats itself and not even Instagram is safe from Ozempic (the rectangular grids), plank silhouettes assure the curvature of a woman’s hips and bosom does not offend. Again I emphasize, the rotunda is softened and the corner gets tapered.
Ultimately, I yearn for the grey to return. Our discomfort with the obscure and shadow needs to be felt to be overcome. I beg for us to welcome the grey with open arms. Have a thought you reasoned with yourself - not one you’ve deducted from TikTok.
ahhh to create something so masterful in the space of one afternoon
adored this !