Ever since I was a child, the idea of a favorite color has seemed absurd. To rank, judge and classify something as abstract and intangible as a color meant little to me even then. Despite this, I fell into the trap of forced choice: my pick of favorite was blue; a deep, masculine shade that represented little more than a pressured decision in order to fit the bill. It was only later on that favorite colors began to take on some meaning.
[For a second, there I thought you were gonna do an argument on how choosing a color was morally unjustified. Then you caught me in surprise by going of on a tangent about how colors resemble people's dispositions. EXCELLENT TOPIC. THE ONLY PROBLEM? You need to define the transition better. 'It was only later on that favorite colors began to take on some meaning' just doesn't cut it as a transition to monumental shifts.
So, while a favorite color may be a predisposition to aesthetics; one may prefer the cheery brightness of yellow to the solemn tranquility of purple, and another may prefer that same solemn tranquility to the scathing scorch of orange, "favorite" colors can be derived from the specific qualities of a person, whether they are based on
(deep blue eyes or dark brown skin) or personality (a lighthearted, cheery "yellow" disposition). For some, these colors shape and mold experiences, exerting enough influence to seep into and tinge the canvas of life with their hue.
The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius said "The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts."I agree with Roman Emperro Marcus Aurelius when he said that the soul becomes "dyed with the color of its thoughts."
My color is red.Nice transition, caught me by surprise
Externally, the first thing
[a stranger would] notice about me
is the shiny red (
or orange, it's debatable and pointless
orange, if you were curious about the shade) hair that bounces atop my head. My red hair has put me through many hardships and brought me many smiles.
I have been ostracized, criticized, told that I have no soul, and that soon "my species" would be going extinct. My various nicknames encompass Shaun White, Napoleon Dynamite, Ron Weasley, and Carrot Top.A touch of humor, good job.
But there is an upside to this: the fleeting stranger takes notice. "Oh, I wish I had your hair!" many say. The compliments and comments I receive usually take on this tone of friendly envy. Alhough they often
shower me with praise,
can be reminiscent and nostalgic, "when I was your age, my hair looked just like that!"
I named myself with my redness. Before I was born, my parents were set on the name David, but when I emerged from the womb, soft orange follicles sprouting from my head, they immediately discarded their plan and changed it. "He's Rory," my mum (another redhead) said, stroking my hair gently. In fact, Rory is an anglicized version of Ruaridh, a Gaelic name that translates into "the red haired one" or "the red haired king." My mum's maiden name, McElroy, also translates into "the son of the red haired one," indicating that this has been an
[defining trait] in my family for generations.
I carry with me the connotation of my color. Red is symbolic of passion, fiery enthusiasm, and sharp, biting wit. I am well-read, well red
[the paralleism is confusing], and well-spoken. The world around me is fascinating, and I am thrilled to explore it; through staying active with my own pursuits of pleasure as well as academic discipline. I attend plays and concerts regularly, and am as ready and eager to immerse myself into a Great American Novel as much as into the mishmash of a mosh pit.
Being redheaded is my dissimilarity that has allowed me to continue down the path of the idiosyncratic and unconventional. It is the color of danger and warning, and of the barriers that must be ignored in order to take risks, and exceed intellectual and social norms. Moreover, I am red because I choose to be. It is not a predetermined set of recessive genes that create my personality, nor is it that my hair follicles actually seep into my brain and tint the hue of my thoughts. My bright red hair, my flushed face, and my undesirable tendency to turn bright pink under the red hot sun only serve as metaphors for the internal. It is the emotional intensity and vitality of life I possess, and my desire to succeed in my studies and my life.
So now, if anyone dares to ask me my favorite color, I will lock eyes with them, and respond challengingly, "Red. But it is much, much more than that."