Utility Shades

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Utility isn�t the sexiest word in the English dictionary. It might not be as uncomfortable to say as moist or secrete, but there's something so painfully banal about it. My eyes feel heavy and my mind sinks into images of a beige tiled utility room with a noisy washing machine and a spare freezer filled with surplus fish fingers that went out of date 5 years ago. Or a middle aged plumber with bad breath wearing a grey boiler suit and a utility belt slung under his beer belly.
But utility shades are the unsung heroes of the rainbow. A bold statement for such stereotypically tame hues, I know, but who needs aquamarine and neons when military khaki, smokey grey, and milky beiges are so perfectly understated in their borderline boringness? They are the ideal foundation for blocking with bolder colours and flashes of fiery orange and citrus shades (or if you want to really embrace the staleness of utility shades like me, you can wear all black and a splash of fire-engine red lipstick). The natural earthiness take glittering gold and gunmetal grey metallics and jewellery to a dimension where such high shining accessories look classy rather than Paris Hilton-esque bling circa 2005.
Sometimes it�s the fact that something isn�t sexy that makes that something sexy. The same way something not cool becomes cool because it wasn't cool (culottes, double denim, chokers, anyone?) It's the circle of fashion life.
Sure, I'm pretty sure that nobody is going to start professing their favourite colour is "oatmeal beige!!" anytime soon, but it's always a little bit satisfying turning something so lacklustre into something that makes some form of statement.