1. Stop the madness

My mom suffers from it, dad definitely suffers from it, and I’m certain that if you were to take a journey through my family tree you would see that practically all my ancestors had experienced it at one time or another. What is it? It is the unspeakable horror of Random Color Scheme Syndrome.

Random Color Scheme Syndrome is akin to color blindness, only instead of being a person’s private inability to distinguish colors; it’s a disorder inflicting those with normal color perception who use color through their home with reckless abandon. It’s not a matter of having bad taste per se; it’s a matter of not knowing what to do with your taste. In an effort to make things homier they randomly pick out colors that you sort of like and toss them up on the wall without another thought or care in the world, and therefore assaulting their visitors sense of sight through their stunted decision.

When I was a child growing up in Rochester, we lived in a duplex apartment. The modest little house felt homey because, having been born into it I suppose I didn’t know any better. The color palette, I’m told, was the brainchild of my father. Cool mint green in the kitchen, Pepto-Bismol pink in the bathroom, Kelly green in my sister’s and my shared bedroom, and a deeply opaque medium blue for the master bedroom that my mother claimed to be the cause of her vertigo and migraine headaches. The living room remained white; the colors of the burnt umber carpet, gold curtains, Halloween orange rocking chair, and multi-tonal brown flower couch had already captured the attention of the room; I guess dad felt that color on the wall would have taken the color palette in an ugly direction.

After moving to our house in Upstate NY’s countryside, the random color palette followed, as did the hideous brown rug that remained ill fitted, in our new living room for the next 19 years. The 30’ kitchen participated in a rainbow of self-expression going from a gentle teal to peach to its current butter yellow. To this day, the kitchen is the only room out of the five rooms on the first level to be graced with color on the walls. The bathroom, living room, den, and my bedroom are all various shades of off-white, ecru, or egg shell; once again lending way to that room’s carpeting and/or tchotchkes to define its personality. (Although when I was at 15 years old, I was obsessed with creating murals on my bedroom walls (which was really just an acceptable way for me to draw on my walls at such an old age) and so I drew the only thing that I was inspired by: Disney characters. There was Beauty and the Beast, the genie from Aladdin, a scene from Bambi, and a crude sketch of Mickey Mouse who, in his simplicity, is actually harder to draw than you would think, and when I ran out of room I tacked the Little Mermaid onto my door. To give you additional insight to my mom’s way of thinking: those drawings are still there. She’s convinced they add to the value of the house. Oh mom, you sentimental fool, you!)

Upstairs is a bit of a different story. The upstairs houses the bedroom my sister and I shared when we first moved in, the master bedroom and a half bath (largely ignored because come on, only bedrooms and kitchens are supposed to have colors). And man oh man did they ever have colors. My sister’s room was purple. Purple walls, purple carpet, purple bedding. And what is the appropriate accessory to all that purple? Unicorns. Because kids are supposed to collect something and unicorns go with purple. Mom must have had a say in the color of her room this time because their room was pink. Pink with a mauve carpet, multi-pinked flowered curtains, maroon satin sheets, and pink butterfly accessories. And because dad needed some masculinity in the room, they had a waterbed. The bag type. Sweet.

Some people would change where they grew up, who they grew up with, or added more money to the picture. If I could change just one thing about my family, it would be their relationship with color. Seriously. My reason is this: when you understand color, your understanding of everything else tends to broaden.

Relationships of all kinds seem to make sense: why your daughter is dating that loser, that buying a couch the color of Rusted Corvette to match the burnt umber carpet wasn’t the bright idea you first thought it was, and the reason why all these years you’ve held a grudge against your old-country Polish mother.

Light filters through your house a little better improving your mood. Suddenly you feel like maybe you should wash the carving knife instead of chasing after your sister with it.

A good color palette can also calm your senses. Instead of unconsciously having to fend off the confusing combination of teal walls, rustic red carpet and plastic floor runners; now you can focus on more important tasks at hand like, “is it just me or do I smell natural gas leaking from the stove?”

See how much better life could have been if we had a place to channel our confusion?

How can you avoid these painting monstrosities? It’s not as hard as you might think. Mostly you just have to give it a little bit of attention. Colors, like stories, are supposed to make sense. Even eclectic, eccentric, and bohemian styles need to make sense. True, their rules are a little more relaxed but they’re still there.

You have to push through and think of the bigger picture. Stand in your earth-toned living room and notice that you can see the bathroom wall from the doorway. Hmm… maybe fluorescent pink IS a little jarring from this perspective. Don’t be afraid of seeking professional advice, and by that, I mean those kids that work at the paint store. They’ll be able to ascertain what other color besides pink will work for the bathroom. Then maybe you should seek out a psychologist to help figure out why you think fluorescent anything is good for the bathroom.