Before I learned to code my own Myspace page, I liked the names of colors. Cerulean blue, and yellow ochre. I didn’t actually paint; no one did, just as no one smoked or pretended to have sex. “You have a blue iris with a hint of burnt sienna,” went the lyrics to my favorite song. My love of paint names was the high-school equivalent of being a wine snob. 

My Myspace background color wasn’t really me. #FF00FF was the version of me I thought other girls would find more fun-loving and approachable, that would shock and impress boys. I had as much faith in #FF00FF to boost my public image as I’d once had in make-up to alter my entire appearance.

#FF00FF had two names: one that belonged to the calm, elevating world where lovers courted by exchanging lines from Epipsychidion; and one that threatened to betray me, crush me, destroy me forever.

The question I dreaded was “What’s that color called?” A safe reply would have been “magenta.” I thought about all the words for sex I would rather die than utter. “It’s called, I think, fuck-see-ah or maybe fuck-she-ah?” 

It was not long after that I embraced the blue-and-white theme of Facebook, friended people who didn’t know me, never needed to say “fuchsia” again.