As a child of the 80s, I recognize a recent resurgence of the elements of my teen culture... Jellies--shoes and bracelets; leggings, which have evolved into a scary thing called "jeggings;" and side ponytails/updos. Those of you who made it through the 80s and came out the other side sans scrunchie may agree that there are some things that should be laid to rest forever. For exclusion from future trends, I present to you the color peach. Here it is on the wall that divides our foyer and dining room:
^The color peach has me so thoroughly riled up that I find it annoying that it translated rather inoffensively in this photograph.
I'm not sure why peach was so big in the 80s, but oh how it was, and our home is swathed in hues of pallid salmon as evidence. At some point, every single room was peach. I found traces of it under the A/C register in the only non-peach-painted room (which is, thanks to the previous owner's change in taste, now a flat blue that shows every Magic Eraser mark the G Family has made--and with four kids and a bucket of markers, that's a shocking number, people).
Peach + darkness = dingy. In my first post, I mentioned the lack of windows on this house, save for the casements on each side of the front door. This results in a pretty weird aesthetic, first and foremost, and a void of natural light once you get over the initial "Why the hell would someone build a house without windows?" perplexity.
The G Family is a lot of things, but dingy ain't one of them.
In order to create a fresh, crisp entry, I did something I never thought I'd do. I intentionally bought a bucket of white paint. White, like what's in the space below this paragraph:
As a courtesy, I will give us all a moment to mourn the absence of color.
Now let's celebrate the clean look of Martha's Tailor's Chalk white, as pictured below, following one coat of primer and two coats of paint.
[You may notice in the photo above that our wood blinds are installed. Yay! BG did a fantastic job getting them in place. They are Levolor, real wood, Cinnamon finish (Auburn was a might too red, as it turned out).]
Please ignore the missing switch plate in that photograph. I am planning to hit the Home Depot's switch plate aisle pretty hard this afternoon. "Why not reuse the originals?" you may ask. And I answer. Just as any good bridesmaid in the 80s matched her dye-able shoes to her taffeta dress, when the walls of this house were drowned with vomitous pools of anemic apricot, so too were the switch plates.
Chant with me now: DEATH TO PEACH.