Starting 2026 in the RED.

January has always pulled me toward red. Not in a loud or performative way, but in a way that feels instinctual, almost physical. Over time, I’ve stopped questioning that pull and started listening to it. This year, that instinct became the foundation for a new practice: a Color of the Month series. For twelve straight months, I’ll be grounding myself in color—not as trend, but as symbolism, history, energy, and lived experience.

Red was the only place to begin.

January asks something different of us. It doesn’t invite softness for softness’ sake. It asks for stamina. For circulation. For momentum after depletion. Red meets that moment honestly. It doesn’t whisper reassurance; it signals presence. It acknowledges what came before without pretending it didn’t cost anything. In that way, red feels like a reset that refuses denial.

Across cultures and throughout history, red has carried meaning far beyond aesthetics. It is one of the earliest colors humans ever used. Long before synthetic dyes or mass production, red ochre—iron-rich clay—was used to mark bodies, paint caves, and bury the dead. These were not decorative choices. They were ritual acts. Red symbolized blood, rebirth, continuity, and the belief that life extended beyond the physical moment. If blood represented life, then red became a way to carry life forward, even in death.

That lineage matters.

Across many African cultures, red has long represented life force, spiritual protection, warrior strength, and connection to the earth and ancestors. Maasai warriors wear red shukas not as ornamentation, but as a signal of bravery, unity, and protection. In West and Central Africa, red pigments appear in masks, textiles, and ceremonial markings tied to initiation, fertility, and ancestral reverence. In Ancient Kemet, red symbolized vitality and danger simultaneously—powerful, energetic, never neutral. Red was respected, not softened.

This is why red often feels less like a choice and more like a memory. Cultural memory doesn’t disappear when it’s disrupted; it adapts. It shows up in instinct, in preference, in what feels grounding without explanation. When red calls, it’s rarely about fashion. It’s about embodiment.

Historically, red has also been restricted. In Ancient Rome, only generals and emperors wore red-dyed garments, signaling dominance and conquest. In European monarchies, red dyes were expensive and regulated, reserved for those closest to power. In China, red symbolized luck, celebration, and protection, anchoring weddings and New Year ceremonies. Across cultures, the pattern is consistent: red was never casual. It was earned, guarded, or feared.

Which makes it telling who is labeled “too much” for wearing it now.

For women—and especially Black women—red is often framed as aggressive, unprofessional, or excessive. That framing is not accidental. It reflects a long discomfort with visible power and unapologetic presence. Choosing red intentionally becomes an act of reclamation. It’s a refusal to mute oneself for the comfort of others.

In my own life, red shows up where it feels most natural. In eyeglasses, when I want clarity with edge. In workout gear, because strength deserves to be seen, not hidden. In nail polish, where discipline and expression coexist. In lipstick, only when I’m really feeling it—because red lips have always been a declaration.

None of this is about trend forecasting. This series is not an attempt to chase color cycles or aesthetic predictions. It’s about interrogating them. Asking who they center, who they erase, and what assumptions they make about what we all need. For me, red is a signal. A grounding force. A reminder that embodiment matters just as much as presentation.

January didn’t need softness from me this year. It needed honesty. It needed momentum. It needed blood memory.

That’s why we started with red.

Watch me in living color here.