“THIS, children, is puce.”
I know that this question has been causing many of you out there a lot of anxiety, so I want to put it to rest once and for all.
Puce is a colour that is difficult to define, (except see picture above for the OED’s definition); few have heard of; and seldom passes colour forecasters’ lips today except in reference to nineteenth century fashion. In these days when dark purple is aubergine, deep red cranberry and blue cloud, puce has no place. Who wants to paint their house flea colour? Or worse, wear it next to their face? It is difficult, period.
But today we shall attempt to clear up the mystery somewhat.
Puce is a colour that … seldom passes colour forecasters’ lips today except in reference to nineteenth century fashion.
I first came across this strange hue in Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances. I imagined – in error – that puce was a pale purplish-grey. Heyer’s stories take place during a period when puce was the high kick of fashion, although it apparently suited few. Here are some quotes*:
Miss Milborne, whose striking beauty could well support the trying colour, was wearing a new gown of pale puce satin and net to the ball, and with this George's violets could not be said to agree. (Friday’s Child)
And:
…she wore a high-gown of an unbecoming shade of puce; and carried a reticule in one bony hand. (Cotillion)
And:
He was magnificently attired in puce satin, with an embroidered waistcoat. His wig must surely have come straight from Paris. (The Masqueraders)
It is not stated in the caption, but this gown looks suspiciously like it was made from puce coloured silk. J. A. D. Ingres, The Baroness Rothschild, 1848. From ‘A History of Costume in the West’, François Boucher, Thames and Hudson, 1987 ed. I once owned a lovely Obüs millefeuille skirt in a muted shade of green; as puce is to violet, my skirt was like moss is to emerald. I could not like it. I originally wanted it in scarlet (not red), but Alice Euphemia did not have the scarlet in my size, so I had to make do with moss. One day I decided to dye it. I knew whatever came out in the wash, it was certain to be odd, but I thought it was worth the attempt. I am not quite sure what I was aiming for – perhaps chocolate brown – but with the addition of two different colours, the end result was more than merely odd. It was eccentric.
Years later I realised it was actually puce.
Sadly I could not photograph it for this journal entry as I donated it to charity shortly after the dyeing episode. (I was too disheartened to try again for charcoal.) Fortunately for this exercise I was able to locate another skirt (coincidentally also in the to-be-donated-to-charity bag) in puce, albeit in a less startling shade than my Obüs mishap.
Perhaps it is time for puce to explode back into the world of fashion? I am sure however it will be under another, more marketable, name.
* More literary delicacies here.