Some shade names describe a colour. Others hold onto a feeling. 1997 belongs to the second kind. It is a year, but it could just as easily be a memory you cannot quite place. A photograph whose colours have softened with time. It was named for the way certain shades seem to arrive with a memory, as though they have always belonged.
1997 is a warm pink-mauve shimmer with a gentle glow that shifts as the light moves. Across the lid, it leaves behind a soft wash of colour. Worked through the crease, it deepens without turning heavy, holding its warmth even in shadow.
It is the sort of shade that earns its place by being endlessly wearable. A light wash gives you the barest flush of colour, the sort you could wear to make coffee and still look like yourself. Built slowly, it becomes richer without losing its softness. It flatters rather than transforms, a colour you reach for almost without thinking.
Perhaps that is why it feels familiar. A pressed flower between the pages of a book. A small thing, almost forgotten, until you happen upon it again. Colour works much the same way. It stays with you, even after the moment itself has faded.
1997 appears across four of our colour stories: Crush Hour, Love Note, Meet Cute, and Postcard from Août. It takes on a slightly different character in each one, while remaining recognisably itself. Quiet, warm, and still carrying a memory.
Written by Urvi Rokde