Page 17 of Tilly in Technicolor
People often associate brown with muddy. Bland. Dull. That is, objectively, false. Browns are the backbones of some of the most beautiful moments. It’s the curve of Mona Lisa’s lips. Nature’s celebration of autumn. Fluffy splotches of a cat’s fur. An architectural complement to the stunning blue of Spain’s seas. Brown is bold and devoted to emphasizing the vibrancy of other colors around it. It’s one of my favorite hues. How does it make you feel?
There are hundreds of comments where people talk about how the color gives them a sense of calm or makes them feel cozy, while others say they hate it or it’s boring. A few argue over if a different spot on the cat’s tail is also the same shade or actually has more influences of red.
I live for these comments.
I’m always asked what I wantto dowith my rather nichefield of study. The truth is, I don’t have a concrete answer. But I like what I’m doing now so much, why wouldn’t I pursue it?
I once asked my mums if I should consider myself directionless because I didn’t have a job title at the ready when an adult asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. They told me it’s okay to not know exactly where I’m going, as long as I’m happy where I am.
What I do know is that there are conversations happening out there right now about color and feelings and design and influence, and I want to be a part of them.
Tilly stares at me like she expects me to say something.
“Do you expect me to say something?” I ask. I’m not sure why she’s showing me my own photo.
“You wrote this?” she asks, jabbing her finger at the caption. Her tone seems… accusatory?
“That’s generally how social media posts work.”
“Like, those are your ideas? You noticed those colors?”
“Well… yeah. Why?”
She’s quiet for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as she studies me. “It’s very insightful and… lovely.” Her frown deepens.
“I’m sorry?” I say, looking for clarification.
“I forgive you.” Tilly sighs, looking back at her phone and scrolling further.
She starts walking again, and I trail a step behind, feeling like a needy puppy when I ask, “Does my work offend you?”
“No. The fact that your pompous attitude is justified by how good you are at it does.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Thank you. I think?”
After a few minutes of blessed silence, we catch up to Amina standing outside a Pret. Mona emerges a moment later with four drinks in hand.
“Sorry, Oliver,” she says, handing one to me. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with black coffee.”
“Thanks,” I say. “That’s usually how I take it.”
“Same for me, I’m assuming,” Tilly says with a tinge of desperation as Mona hands her the next to-go drink.
“Again, not happening. It’s herbal tea,” Mona says. “And don’t drink it yet,” she adds, the rim already halfway to Tilly’s lips.
“Why? Did you poison it?”
“It’s a prop for the photoshoot. It will look obvious by the way you hold it if it’s totally empty.”
Tilly rolls her eyes and takes a defiant sip. My gaze bounces between the glares Mona and Tilly are giving each other.
“Take it this one’s for me, then?” Amina says, breaking the silence.
Mona blinks, then looks at her business partner. “Coffee, no cream, two sugars.”
Amina winks at Mona before taking a sip. I glance at Tilly, who’s watching the entire interaction with a massive grin.
“Right,” Mona says, giving herself a little shake. “Oliver. You’re up. What do you want her to do?” she adds, thrusting her thumb at Tilly.
