My Year of Blue

At fifty, I had a revelation: I was turning half a century old, and that meant one thing — I needed a challenge. Not just any challenge, mind you. Something symbolic. Something meaningful. Something that would stretch the boundaries of both fashion and reason. So, in a moment of what I can only describe as a mid-life crisis wrapped in denim, I decided to wear nothing but blue for an entire year.

Why blue? Well, for one, I’d lost several dear friends, and blue just seemed to capture the mix of sadness and gratitude I felt. It was like the ocean — deep, ever-changing, and a little unpredictable. Plus, I happened to look phenomenal in blue. It really brings out the color of my eyes. It was an aesthetic choice and an emotional one. Plus, no one could accuse me of being indecisive; blue is one color, and I was sticking to it.

March 26, 2012 to March 26, 2013, I thought. Simple, right? Oh, how naïve I was.

The first few days were fun. I walked around feeling like a color-coded superhero. Blue jumpsuit? Check. Blue socks? Check. A blue hat that looked like it came straight from a 90s boy band. Double check. I was practically a walking Crayola Box. The clothes were easy to find, too. Turns out, blue is everywhere. It’s like the universe was prepared for my fashion experiment. I never had to search hard for matching outfits. It was as if I’d accidentally joined some underground "blue people" cult.

But then, as the days wore on, things started to get... weird. My wife, who had enthusiastically joined in picking out new outfits for me, started treating my wardrobe like it was a blue-themed game show. “What do you think of this?” she’d say, holding up a blue leather jacket that looked suspiciously like something a 70s rock star might wear. “I’ll take it,” I’d say, ever the obedient subject of my own fashion experiment.

The best part?  My wife started matching some of my ensembles with my then three-year-old son on some of our outings.  He looked cute; me, creepy.  Here I was, a grown man looking like an oversized Smurf, and he was a mini-me in matching blue sneakers and a denim jacket. People would stare, then smile. I’m pretty sure they were wondering if we were part of some bizarre family trend or if I was a failed comic book villain.

But then came the unsolicited advice. Text messages. Emails. Strangers on the street. Everyone had an opinion about my blue period. “Blue jeans don’t count,” a friend texted one night. “It’s too easy. You need to wear real blue.” I shot back, “Blue-shit, any denim’s in!” I wasn’t about to let anyone ruin my blue streak. And really, when you’re wearing head-to-toe blue, who’s going to notice if your jeans are in the wrong shade?

As the winter months rolled in, I started to realize that, despite my blue commitment, I was starting to feel like a walking mood ring. Blue was supposed to represent change and possibility, but it also represented me being too cold to wear anything else. The novelty was wearing off. I looked like a mix between a sad clown and a man who had forgotten how to dress.

When February hit, I knew my time was up. My Blue Period, much like Picasso’s, was coming to an end. The question became: What’s next? How does one transition from 365 days of blue? How do you go from feeling like an art project to just... a guy who likes colors?

And that’s when it hit me — the White Period. Yes, I decided to cleanse myself by wearing nothing but white for 30 days. “Purity,” I told myself. “Spirituality.” “Cleansing.”

There was only one issue: it was March. And the fashion world is clear about one thing — you cannot wear white before Memorial Day. But hey, rules were made to be broken. For a month, I was a walking seasonal faux pas. I wore my white outfits with the confidence of a person who knew they were doing something absolutely ridiculous.

By the time my year of deliberate color was over, I was back to wearing whatever the hell I wanted. All colors were now available to me. I had earned them. The blue clothes didn’t disappear, though. No, no. They now lived in the back of my closet, occasionally reminding me of that year when I was a Smurf for 12 months straight.

And while I now wear a broader palette of colors, I still have a soft spot for blue. It's my reminder of a year that didn’t just change my wardrobe, but how I saw the world. Sometimes, when I need a little blue moment — a moment to reflect, to be grateful, or just to really bring out the color of my eyes — I reach for that blue jumpsuit or those blue socks. Because let’s face it: blue is timeless.