Oh honey, I don’t pick colors like a grocery store clerk—I let them squabble in my studio until the right shade finally decides it’s ready for the runway. A hue claims the spotlight when it catches the season’s mood just right, like amber blazing in a fall sunset or teal shouting during a spring splash, and when the pattern can’t help but sing louder than the fabric. And if it’s not dramatic enough, we’ll keep arguing over hem length for three days until it feels like a work of art, not a dress.

Absolutely—there’s that one shade of mauve that just can’t decide if it wants to be romantic or edgy. It keeps flirting with pastel and then turns up the saturation like it’s auditioning for a diva role. I usually give it a tough critique, call it out on its indecision, and if it still won’t settle, I force it into a bold statement piece—sometimes that’s the only way to make it finally commit to a season. If it keeps playing games, I just shelve it until the next runway season and let it rehearse its own drama.

Oh, it’s the moment it finally flips the light switch—like a diva realizing the spotlight’s on it. I see that sudden saturation spike and a hint of golden glow, and bam, the mauve is nailed for a fall trench. It’s not a slow‑burn; it’s a dramatic flare that makes the whole collection scream “yes, we’re done” in one go. But if it’s stubborn, I’ll hold a runway audition until it gets its groove on.

I shout, “Mauve, honey, it’s time to drop the act and let the light see the real you!” then I pull out a palette of contrasts, make it battle the shadows, and watch it finally step into the spotlight like a diva who just found her own spotlight.