My 8-year-old daughter, Christina, recently drew a self-portrait. After doing an outline, she studied the crayons to find skin tones.
Slowly and methodically, she held up each crayon to her hand, looking for a color that most closely resembled her skin. Sometimes she went to a nearby mirror and pressed a crayon against her cheek. Then she used a separate sheet of paper to see how the color appeared on the paper.
Mahogany was too dark. Salmon seemed too light. Tan and apricot came close. Peach offered the best match. Her fingers flew across the page, turning a cold white oval into a warm peach-colored face.
When it comes to skin color, maybe journalists could take a cue from kids.
After all, when journalists create a word picture of the people they cover, they strive for accuracy. And when kids create color pictures of themselves, they also want to get it right.
In fact, when kids expressed a desire for crayons that would more accurately reflect their skin tones, they got Crayola’s attention. The company explored what hues it had that could correctly capture the skin colors of people around the world, said Stacy Gabrielle, a Crayola ® marketing public relations manager. And in 1992, the company came out with a 16-pack of Crayola ® Multicultural crayons, which they marketed to schools.1
With skin tone colors of apricot, tan, sepia, mahogany, salmon, raw sienna, and burnt sienna, white was used primarily to alter shades and create a layered tint. Cerulean, olive green, and periwinkle were used as additional colors for the eyes. And goldenrod, silver, black, and burnt orange were included as hair colors.
What appeals to me about these color designations is that they offer a more specific way to describe people. And I think they could be especially helpful in painting a more accurate picture of suspects.
Many news accounts of suspects use race or ethnicity as a description. But referring to someone as a white male, Hispanic female, Asian male, Native American or American Indian female fails to make clear what color the person’s skin is.
No one, for example, is actually white or black in color. And Hispanic, Asian, and American Indian all refer to ethnicity, not skin tone. Such descriptions force viewers, listeners, and readers to rely on their own stereotypical views of what color they think the person might be.
In truth, within the racial and ethnic designations, an array of colors and tones might exist. Here’s a contradictory description that appeared in a recent newspaper article:
A man wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun has walked into several local businesses, demanded money and walked out with the cash, sheriff’s officials said Tuesday. The white male, whom witnesses say is about 5 feet 9, weighs about 150 pounds and has dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, struck four times last month.
From the description, the man appears to be both white and tan. I assume that white is being used as a racial designation, and tan is being used to describe skin color. But nowhere in the story does it explain what his “whiteness” had to do with the crime. And race doesn’t help you see the man more clearly.2
So if race is not a factor in the above story, I’m left to wonder if white is also referring to his color. Was the man white or tan? For a profession that prides itself on being as accurate as possible, such questions leave the reader on faulty and fuzzy footing.
Here’s my simple, if quixotic, response to this. If race is not a factor, why don’t we start describing suspects, and people in general, with skin tone designations that are more accurate?
In the above example, the newspaper could use the following description: “The male, whom witnesses say is about 5 feet 9, weighs about 150 pounds and has dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, struck four times last month.”
How would it sound if we said that all the salmon-colored people seem to get the best jobs? And the mahogany-colored people have rhythm?A suspect also might be described as peach-colored, salmon-colored, or the color of mahogany. Even people who aren’t suspects could be assigned colors that capture them better. My Poynter colleague Chip Scanlan wrote a story profiling a Catholic priest, Padre Alberto, whom he described as having an “apricot complexion.”
Such specific descriptions avoid the labeling and grouping associated with indiscriminate use of stereotypes. After all, how would it sound if we said that all the salmon-colored people seem to get the best jobs? And the mahogany-colored people have rhythm? Or the raw sienna-colored people seem the model minority? It sounds funny because these colors don’t represent a racial or ethnic group. They refer to one thing: color.
But we don’t have to restrict ourselves to Crayola’s color designations. We could refer to the mocha-colored man, or the café au lait-colored woman, or a child with the skin tone of a Starbucks caramel frappucino.
For Christina, a Starbucks fan, caramel frappacino is a color she’d be proud to call her own.
[ What Crayola color are you? ]
1In 1962, the company replaced its “flesh” crayon with a “peach” one as the result of the civil rights movement. For a brief history of Crayola ® colors click here.
2For a more comprehensive and eloquent analysis of this point, read “The Language of Race” by Keith Woods, my Poynter colleague. Our diversity links also offer other perspectives you may find interesting.
