Brad and I have one major disagreement which has been consistent through our relationship. It has persisted even though we are both reasonable, rational people with good vocabularies and similar world-views. It has continued when approached empirically. It has even continued after our good friend, Tasha, polled her 5th grade class (who given their culinary habits are experts on this subject) and came back with a resolute answer. The disagreement: is macaroni and cheese orange, or is it yellow?
I’m not going to tell you which of us is on which side, because that would spoil the fun of having you weigh in in the comments. But it has proven to be an intractable problem for us.
However, it does provide an excellent hook for me to talk about a subject that I find really fascinating: how people perceive and talk about colors.
This issue has flared up in the public consciousness time and again, recently through the dress incident earlier this year. (I saw white/gold, Sage saw blue/black, in case you’re wondering.) I thought it would be fun to share a little about a book I read, recommended by my Dad, Through the Language Glass: Why the World Looks Different in Other Languages (affiliate link – read our policies) by Guy Deutscher.
I read most of this on the train home in the evenings after a full day of work, usually exhausted and ready to veg out. Still, this book on linguistics was enthralling, mostly because of the author’s obvious enjoyment in regaling you with tales of the wild characters who studied this obscure branch of academia.
The book wasn’t entirely about color and language – instead, it was about language and the various ways that it does or does not impact culture and perception. But, while the book as a whole is an extraordinarily fun read, let me spare you the book report and instead share a bit of what I learned in the part that focused on color, which was most interesting to me as someone who is interested in writing and thinking about aesthetics.
Guy Deutscher opens by explaining how words for different colors developed in languages over time. Did you know that the language in which Homer wrote the Odyssey and the Iliad had very few descriptors for color? Further, those words that it did use grouped things together that we would consider very different colors today – honey the same color as leaves, the “wine-dark sea.” Also, in a narrative with beautiful descriptions, there was no mention of the color of the sky!
This led some people to believe that humans actually evolved the ability to see color during recorded history, but this was not the case. Instead, languages developed these words over time. Even more interestingly, according to this book, words for color developed very predictably in each language – starting with a light/dark division, then adding the color red, then usually yellow, then green, and then finally blue.
This might seem absurd to us now, but think about it this way: if the only time you ever see yellow is in a particular flower, why would you need a word for it? Why don’t you just say “it is light like a daffodil?” And why do you need a word for blue, if you can say that something is “dark like the ocean at dusk,” and everyone knows what you mean?
Maybe that seems EVEN MORE ABSURD, so Guy offers up a thought experiment to help us see the other side of things. He asks us to imagine the future, when humans have finally created something like that food replicator from Star Trek, and can create any food we want from nowhere. But he imagines it a world even stranger:
It is by no means limited to the few “legacy fruits” that were available in the early twenty-first century. The machine can create thousands of different fruits by manipulating the taste and consistency on many different axes, such as firmness, juiciness, creaminess, airiness, sliminess, sweetness, tanginess, and many others that we don’t have precise words to describe. Press a button, and you’ll get a fruit that’s a bit like an avocado in its oily consistency, but with a taste halfway between a carrot and a mango.
Guy then asks us to imagine that an anthropologist comes to study a people much like us with a tray of 1,024 little fruit taste samples, and asks us to try them and tell us what that flavor is called, and “is astonished by the abject poverty of our fructiferous vocabulary.” Our abstract taste concepts, like “sweet” and “bitter,” are terribly crude when faced with all of these new, unnatural options.
For a while you struggle to remember, then it dawns on you that this taste is slightly similar to those wild strawberries you had in a Parisian restaurant once, only this taste seems ten times more pronounced and is blended with a few other things you can’t identify. So finally you say, very hesitantly, that “it’s a bit like wild strawberries.” … Doesn’t it feel odd and limiting, she asks, not to have a precise vocabulary to describe tastes in the region of wild strawberry? You tell her that the only things “in the region of wild strawberry” that you’ve ever tasted before were wild strawberries.
Okay, Naomi, that’s all very interesting, but what does this have to do with decorating?
Well, it doesn’t really, but I think about it a lot as I peruse paint decks and all those names we’ve invented for the colors we’ve found. We now live in a world where we manipulate color with all the mastery of our food-and-taste-replicating future selves. We ACTUALLY have access to that tray of fruit samples, only for color. This is one of the first times in history that we have needed such an intense and precise color vocabulary – and it is entirely cultural and pretty amazing.
Those in the “Emily Henderson Culture” have truly immense vocabularies dedicated to discussing gray (and Ryan Gossling). Those who were YHL fans understand the importance, and danger, of grellow. Also, I am going to bet that for 95% of the people reading this, I don’t need to add any additional description for you to know just what color Revere Pewter is. (And are you as sick of it as I am?)
But what is really interesting about this book is that Guy Deutscher pushes us to think about how the words we use influence the way we think. In the end, in my opinion, the influence he finds is pretty minor. But this is really a book in which the stories and the new ways of thinking are rewarding enough.
However, when you think about it, our language for color definitely influences how we perceive colors. I doubt marsala would be the color of the year if it had the name of it’s close cousin, puce. And paint companies surely believe this is a big deal, given all the effort put into finding pleasing, evocative, association-inducing names for every shade in every paint deck.
I haven’t even scratched the surface of how much interesting stuff there is out there about this very broad topic. If you found this post interesting, rather than profoundly boring, you should totally check out Through the Language Glass (affiliate link – read our policies) and/or a few of my favorite links on related subjects:
- Ridiculous paint color names – Buzzfeed
- The color pink doesn’t exist?! – Today I Found Out
- Color survey results – xkcd (who also adapted the Doghouse Diaries comic, with a much stronger scientific basis)
- When boys wore pink – Smithsonian
- More about the wine-dark sea – Clarkesworld
So, now that you know how much cultural weight is behind the question: do you think Macaroni and Cheese is orange or yellow?
(Sharing at Create Link Inspire, Totally Terrific Tuesday, Two Uses Tuesday, Create It Thursday, and Tip Me Tuesday)