Once, when DIY was all the rage, and I couldn't afford to pay someone else to do it, I painted an entire living room Snickerdoodle.
The sample card thingy at the paint store looked to be exactly what my roommate at the time and I were looking for - a colour that wasn't beige, that had some earthy tone to it, and would be a restful backdrop to our eclectic (but tasteful) mix of stuff.
Think: Rachel's apartment on Friends.
We wanted khaki but not drab. Desert but not grey. We wanted one of those non-colour colours that look just perfect in design magazines. And when paired with good (aka: gay) lighting, it makes your stuff look expensive.
And also that somehow you have your life together.
After finishing the job, ceiling included, we discovered Snickerdoodle was absolutely not any of the above. In fact, it was more of a yellow tone that had hints of a chain-smoker's apartment. It was a colour more of decay and sadness than style and coolness.
It was also a hateful moment of having to admit to being wrong in our selection - but worse - having actually known it was wrong two coats ago.
"Maybe the ugly yellow beige from underneath is coming through," I said to myself through each consecutive coat.
I think DIY Denial is truly a thing. Like when Dad wood-panels the bathroom and everyone pretends it looks great and ignores the future risks of slivers in tender places.
What would that annoying friend in HR call this?
Oh yes. A teaching moment.
It was a moment of learning for sure. Learning about why they say to sample a patch. To try it in all the different light that hits each wall. To live with the sample a few days before committing.
And to not paint the ceiling too.
We hadn't thought it through.
What we also hadn't considered was if we were actually snickerdoodlers at all? We were two young gay guys, relatively new to the big city. Ready to conquer it all. We wanted a stylish pad that reflected our urban cool lifestyle!
Yet, we'd selected Snickerdoodle.
A colour that evokes, at best, a plate of cookies, and at worst, something like your grandma's kitchen. Snickerdoodle was a huge visual disconnect. I mean, Grandma's kitchen is perhaps a cozy place to visit, but I certainly wouldn't want to live there.
Would you?
Too many dusty (yet greasy) knickknacks and spoon collections.
I do distinctly remember sneaking a smell of the paint just to check if it smelled like cookies as I opened the can.
It did not.
That's when I started thinking about what we had actually bought into. I'm not sure either of us was aware of the psychology behind the colour names or had thought much about it. We were focused on the colour, not its vibe. But when it was on the walls, we soon learned how the two were related.
I also remember returning to the paint store the next day to buy more paint to do it all over again. I forget what our ultimate paint choice was. Something along the lines of Savannah something…breeze maybe?
Memories of Savannah?
Savannah dirt? Probably not. Not elegant enough, despite how accurate it may be. Dirt would be "sands" anyway.
Savannah Sands. Hotel name, or paint colour, you decide.
Despite never having been there, the words sound like it would be a warm, calm place where only lovely things happen.
That said, it could also be a seniors' residence…
Regardless, you get the intent. People buy paints, candles, and air fresheners around this psychology.
For a master class in this, check out Yankee Candle sometime. Those people deserve an award for their naming skills (Sidebar: there is quite a hilarious piece written on exactly that here).
Their craft has become so intricate there's a very good chance you could buy a Snickerdoodle scented candle to go with your paint. They know how to tap into your brain in such a way that as you stand looking at the candle label, in your mind you are thinking "Yeah, I think I'll like 'Lakefront Lodge' - and you open it for a sniff. The smell somehow links what your brain thinks a lakefront lodge should smell like and what your nose is experiencing.
And should your bathroom smell like a lakefront lodge?
Or Grandma's kitchen, maybe?
The same goes for paint. The words are meant to trigger a feeling as you look at the colour in the paint store and think, "yeah, that's it. I want my bedroom to be November Rain."
Much has been written on the psychology of paint colours and the cultural shorthand communicated through them, so I won't. I will say that my living room today is painted a colour named: Simply White.
And if that's not a name created by a naming team at the end of their rope, I don't know what is.
I chose it because I wanted a calm, soft white space. So, what does that say about my evolution as a paint buyer? Are my Wrought Iron or Kitten Whiskers days behind me? I do know I'll forever suspect baked goods references, which, I do think, points to where my head is nowadays in the paint store.
I'll pass on the Snickerdoodle, thank you, but may I get a sample of Glass of Milk?