The colour purple — how I learned to love a hated hue

Have you ever worn an outfit so terrible it triggered a phobia? I have. When I was about seven, I wore a velvet co-ord to a school disco. Its colour was purple. I envisioned myself as a grown-up; my outfit glam. But then I saw a snap taken with a flash. With long, wavy white-blonde hair and a ghostly pale complexion, in this bright purple get-up I looked like a witch — and I wasn’t at a Halloween bash.

Later, the colour’s connotations evoked further dislike: part frilly scatter cushion in a stately home, part Glasto-going hippie in harem pants, part pensioner with a purple rinse hair-do. People with loads of cats wore purple. As a colour, it was just uncool. I swore it off for life.

I’m not the only one to feel this way. Purple is one of the most “divisive” colours on the wheel, according to Joanne Thomas, head of content at Coloro, a branch of trend forecasting agency WGSN. One company I have worked for goes as far as to ban staff from wearing it in the office; I can only assume that its aesthete of an owner finds the hue offensive.

Historically, it’s been associated with wealth, worn by Alexander the Great, Egyptian kings and Queen Elizabeth II — no surprise the Elizabeth Line is purple on the TFL map, or that Prince sang about “Purple Rain”. Back in the Bronze Age, 10,000 molluscs were crushed to create just a single gramme of dye. Only royalty could afford it. “It was difficult and expensive to create . . . [imperial purple] is not common in nature,” says Thomas.

Stella McCartney AW22 © Getty Images

These lofty, affected origins have since turned into negative associations. Charlotte Rey, co-founder of London-based interiors specialist and creative consultancy Campbell-Rey, says she thinks of poison when contemplating purple. Cartoon villains often wear darker shades, from Dick Dastardly in Wacky Races to Ursula in The Little Mermaid.

But something shifted when I came across the lilac cover of the Booker-nominated Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi last year. Contrasted against a deep jungle green, that particular shade, with its cornflower-blue undertones, appeared warm, tranquil and clean — like a bathtub full of fresh fabric softener that I was keen to bathe in. It initiated a chain reaction. I not only began to notice purples, but actually enjoy them too.

The touchpoints were surprisingly plentiful. The lilac cans of cold Minor Figures coffee. Bars of dark-milk pretzel toffee Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate in aubergine purple. The lavender and red labels on a bottle of de‑alcoholised red wine from Wednesday’s Domaine. The orchid graphic for the pop-culture podcast Still Processing. Mission’s turmeric and lavender Sleep tea; Tesco’s Free From packaging; the myriad pastel hues of British Turner-prize winner Lubaina Himid, currently on show at the Tate.

Soon, my retinas were registering age-old purples in a new light. Wisteria-flanked doorways; lilac hydrangeas in West Cumbrian gardens; the @scenic_simpsons Instagram account; Monica from Friends’s living room wall; Freddo chocolates. During an interview for the FT last year, when researching a story for how certain colours go mass, Leatrice Eiseman, executive director of Pantone’s colour Institute, told me certain shades become more palatable the more we see them. This purple affection is proof.

Prince in 1984 © Richard E Aaron/Redferns/Getty Images

The cast of ‘Friends’ in Monica’s apartment © PictureLux/The Hollywood Archive/Alamy

Pantone made Very Peri its colour of 2022. “It represents a sprightly, joyous attitude” that feels right for now, “as we move into a world of unprecedented change”, says Eiseman. Purple, a formerly unpopular shade, became a symbol of newness — one ripe for reinvention, much like our pandemic-era selves.

Today’s purple is a sartorial solace: it’s a visible shift in the status quo. Fashion brands, forever in pursuit of freshness, have adopted it in droves: Studio Nicholson, Giorgio Armani and Issey Miyake each offered takes for spring. “Our starting point for the collection was this idea of unlearning, of challenging ideals and exploring new perspectives,” says Karin Gustafsson, creative director of Cos, who used vivacious shades in her SS22 collection.

It’s a persuasive notion that sounds a lot like retail therapy. But it worked for me. A former colour-phobe, I purchased my first ever piece of purple clothing from Cos earlier this year — an oversized turtleneck sweater with slouchy sleeves, in a dusky hue. It’s soft and slightly fluffy, looks good with pale blue jeans and every time I shrug it on, I feel renewed. “Purple is unexpected, but it’s bold and impactful, engaging the senses and sparking optimistic emotions,” says Gustafsson. It’s uplifting to wear shades you’d once-over never be caught dead in.

Seb Beasant, the Swedish founder of running brand Torsa, introduced a lilac tee to his minimalist and otherwise-monochromatic kit offering this year. He wanted to change the tempo by “straying from traditional sportswear colours”, he says. Today, it outsells the black. “People no longer want to blend in, or play things safe.”

Elizabeth Line roundel © Chris Ratcliffe/Bloomberg

Next, I bought On Running’s Cloudmonsters, which are bright purple with mauve laces. Every other shoe in my closet is either black, brown or white; a bright sneaker feels apt for my newfound jogging ritual. They’ve also come to signify something deeper. I’m currently training for my first marathon, something I never thought I’d do; now, mid-sprint, when I look down and see my Technicolor feet pounding the pavement, purple feels like an opportunity. A vivacious gateway to a 26-mile realm.

The psychology of pigment is oft-discussed. During the pandemic, dressing in colour was touted as a mood booster. But colour symbolism is on the up: younger generations who are big on spiritualism are increasingly attaching meaning to hues. Purple — an intermediate between a zealous red and a cool, calm blue — is a happy medium; a symbol of balance between two dominant primaries. It’s come to represent gender neutrality; amethyst, its crystal counterpart, reportedly promotes feelings of peace and understanding. Cast your mind for a second back to President Joe Biden’s inauguration in 2021. The most-worn colour was purple — a bridge between red and blue.

A rare hue in nature, it’s also come to evoke an ethereal mood. For AW22, purple appeared in sci-fi silhouettes at Loewe and Stella McCartney — the latter offered midi dresses and bulbous skirts with space-age pleating, and fitted, ribbed-knit catsuits. They wouldn’t look out of place on Futurama’s Turanga Leela, the earthling with a purple ponytail.

Purple is commonly used in animation: for cartoonists, it’s easily shaded, creating nuance and three-dimensional depth on screen; black, in contrast, looks flat. And it’s a hue that translates well digitally: apps such as TikTok and bingeable series such as Euphoria and Stranger Things all use the mauve tones. “They use it to elevate fantasy worlds,” says Thomas.

Softer lilac shades, akin to those used in warm, ultra-violet meditation lights, help combat the melancholic blue-tint from screens and promote a feeling of wellbeing. The average Brit spends four hours, 48 minutes on their phones alone every day, according to app monitoring firm App Annie: purple’s online presence is significant. “The internet can be cold and unsympathetic, but tech companies are recognising the need for products to be inviting,” says Thomas. Web developers and graphic designers are using lilacs to enable customers to “connect and interact with [a brand’s] technology on an emotive level . . . it helps, rather than hinders, as it’s a therapeutic shade”.

From one dimension, to another. Interior brands Ceraudo and Hay and designer Matilda Goad each offer parma violet-coloured accessories, while Farrow and Ball’s Calluna paint is inspired by Scottish heather — it has a black undertone that creates a pared-back, more relaxing hue. I’m currently painting my hallway with it.

“In the home, it [Calluna paint] strangely becomes neutral,” says Liza Laserow, co-founder of Nordic Knots, the Scandi purveyor of pristine, ecru rugs; she was converted to the shade when she introduced a mauve and green iteration into her collection in collaboration with Campbell-Rey. British painter Hester Finch uses lilac as an alternative to flesh-tones in her nude artworks. She says it doesn’t distract the eye. But it’s also more inclusive than a peachy tone; an antidote to the whiteness depicted in art for millennia.

Lilac today offers a newfound focus — one that “speaks to tranquility and peace . . . and is escapist and otherworldly,” says Thomas. In today’s polarising world, perhaps we’d all benefit from a bit more purple.