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"Wow,” my colleague uttered, as I arrived at the office one morning. He was looking at my outfit – a black leather skirt, black Dr Martens with black socks and a white shirt. I thought he was impressed. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, trying not to laugh. “But that’s a bit bright for you.” It was a friendly dig in the ribs about my consistent, but slightly morose wardrobe. Most days, I wear a creative mix of black, black leather, or a combination of the two almost exclusively, especially at work. I own myriad black dresses, trousers, skirts and T-shirts. Occasionally, on more adventurous days I go for (wait for it) navy or… grey.

Dreaming in colour

Secretly, I do own colour. Sporadically I buy a dress or a blouse I’ve fallen for: there’s the red handmade dress I bought before a date from my favourite vintage haunt in Greenwich. The secondhand orange cashmere sweater that’s so soft I swore I wouldn’t be able to take it off and a pink shirt from Kenya. I have a pair of blue flares to my name and a psychedelic skirt I just thought was cool.

I buy them when I’m on the cusp of change – a new house or job, and a new start; a physical manifestation of the optimistic future I crave. And I love them all. I just have trouble actually wearing them. Because colour makes you stand out. And being six foot tall I feel like I do enough of that already.

As a teen I caught myself hunching my shoulders over, trying to shrink myself to deflect the attention my height commands. Soon enough, my clothes began to reflect that. On the plus side – practically speaking – wearing black most of the time makes for an easy life. I can’t remember the last time I had to divide my washing into separate loads, and getting ready in a morning is so simple it facilitates my lazy nature. I rarely waste time trying to piece together an outfit (black with black or… black?) and shopping is easy when you narrow down the perimeters so severely.

A brighter outlook

It’s not lost on me that black has aural and societal connotations with the word ‘bleak’. At work, where I’m fortunate enough to be able to wear more or less what I feel like (within reason), it doesn’t really scream enthusiasm. It’s not a happy look. It’s not fun. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, as I was scrolling through the Pinterest app as I prepared for a shopping trip that I realised just what a rut I was in – and that, finally (terrifyingly), I actually wanted to break out of it.

In need of colour: we turn to Pinterest for fashion inspiration