Gray.

Within recent memory, I declared to anyone who reads the sidematter on my blog that I would buy no more gray clothes forever (earlier in the sidematter: gray is the new black, in case you needed to track the twists and turns of the style advice from me). So it will no doubt surprise all readers to hear that I have, within the last several weeks, purchased

• gray flats
• a gray and white striped tee shirt
• a gray skirt
• another gray shirt
• another gray shirt
• gray espadrilles
  
• a sheer gray sweater, and
  
• a scarf that is striped black and white, which two colors, as any student in a seventh grade art class can tell you, when mixed together, turn into . . . gray.

I don't know what this says, except that gray--so pearly, so silvery, so moody, so very like weather, one thing and then another, so not black and not white but possessing the loveliest qualities of each--calls my name. It is, apparently, my neutral. I'm not even sure I understand why I decided no more gray in the first place. Why not gray? Why not an all gray, white, and black wardrobe? with only silver jewelry?

Because in addition to having a gray fetish, I am also a fool for colors, that's why--lately, navy blue and yellow. However, I feel the world has only recently caught up with my gray madness--lovely gray things everywhere I turn. If you run into me, the chances are very good that I will be dressed like a cloudy day. Like a cloudy day, about to rain. I sort of hope, however, that if you run into me, I am not shopping. Like style advice, my stance toward shopping sparkles and fades a little.