The first time I noticed it was on the Manly ferry, a winter afternoon when the sky over Sydney Harbour had turned the colour of wet concrete. A young guy in a perfectly pressed navy suit stood near the railing, clutching his phone like a flotation device. Everything on him was controlled: hair, shoes, even his expression. But what caught my eye was the colour story—muted blues, pale greys, the faintest hint of washed-out teal in his tie. He was dressed like he was trying not to be seen, and somehow, that made him more noticeable than anyone else on the deck.
Later that week, I was reading about a new series of studies from psychology teams in Australia and overseas. They weren’t just asking people what colours they liked; they were quietly tracking how those choices lined up with patterns of self-esteem, anxiety, and self-talk. Over hundreds of participants—from uni students in Brisbane to professionals in Melbourne—they kept finding three recurring colour preferences that lined up, again and again, with fragile self-confidence.
When Colour Stops Being Just Colour
We like to pretend we choose colours purely for taste: that shirt is “just nice,” that phone case “just looks cool.” But psychologists will tell you that our favourites often double as coping strategies—tiny, daily attempts to shape how the world sees us, and how we see ourselves.
In these recent studies, people were first asked to pick their favourite colours from a broad spectrum—digital swatches, physical cards, everyday objects. Later, they completed anonymous surveys about how they felt about themselves, their social lives, their bodies, their achievements. The researchers weren’t hunting for party tricks like “if you like red, you’re bold.” They were mapping patterns: which colours popped up, over and over, in people who quietly admitted to shaky self-esteem.
Three clusters of colour came up so consistently that the teams started calling them “fragility palettes” in their internal notes: muted blues and greys, hyper-brights, and soft pastels. None of these automatically mean you’re insecure. But when they become your default—your safe zone, your “I don’t feel right in anything else”—they often sit alongside a particular kind of inner wobble.
The Quiet Armour of Muted Blues and Greys
Think of the quiet offices in Sydney’s CBD, or the early train out of Parramatta: a low-tide sea of navy, charcoal, steel blue, faded denim. For many Australians, this palette feels safe, neutral, respectable. The psychologists found something interesting: people who strongly preferred these subdued blues and greys, and rarely ventured outside them, were more likely to describe themselves as “not wanting to cause a fuss,” “trying not to stand out,” or “worried about being judged.”
These weren’t people who hated colour. They were people who seemed to use colour to protect themselves. Muted blues and greys became a kind of soft armour—less about style, more about invisibility. On paper, many said they didn’t think highly of themselves. In interviews, some admitted they felt “wrong” or “too much” in anything bolder. A deep royal blue might make an appearance for a special event, but day to day, they clung to the safer shades, like a psychological hoodie pulled tight around the edges.
In a culture that often rewards being “chill,” especially in Australia where tall poppies get cut down quickly, it’s easy to hide self-doubt behind understatement. “I just like simple things,” someone will say while wearing the same grey hoodie for the third week running. Maybe that’s all it is. Or maybe, sometimes, it’s fear dressed as minimalism.
Hyper‑Brights: The Loud Colours That Whisper “Please Like Me”
Now picture Newtown on a Friday night: neon sneakers, highlighter-pink hair, screaming orange nails. The second colour cluster that emerged was almost the opposite of the first—hyper-bright colours, especially in clothes and accessories, that practically begged for attention: electric yellow, acid green, fire-engine red, ultra-violet.
People who leaned heavily into these colours, the studies found, were more likely to describe big swings in how they felt about themselves. One day, they were unstoppable; the next, they felt hollow. Their favourite colours often appeared in bursts: a bright jacket, a neon bag, a vivid pair of runners. For some, the colour was joy, pure and simple. But for a noticeable subset, the colour felt like performance—a way to project confidence they weren’t sure they actually had.
One Brisbane participant described her wardrobe like this: “If I don’t wear something loud, I feel like I disappear.” Underneath that sentence is a quiet fear: that without visual fireworks, there’s nothing worth looking at. The researchers noticed that among Aussies who preferred flashy brights and also scored high for social anxiety or low self-worth, colour sometimes became a desperate amplifier. A way to say, “Look at me, I promise I matter,” while internally bracing for rejection.
Pastels and the Wish to Soften the Edges
The third pattern was softer. Literally. Soft pastels: blush pink, baby blue, mint, lavender, gentle peach. These colours showed up over and over in people who described themselves as “sensitive,” “easily hurt,” or “terrible with conflict.” They often feared being seen as too harsh, too demanding, too loud—even when, objectively, they weren’t loud at all.
Psychologists noticed that for these participants, pastels functioned like emotional bubble wrap. A pastel drink bottle, a powder-blue jumper, a cream-and-rose phone case—they softened the wearer’s presence, signalling “I’m gentle, I’m safe, I’m not a threat.” In some cases, this reflected genuine temperament—kind hearts who simply like tenderness in all things. But when combined with very low self-assertion and chronic people‑pleasing, the love of pastels began to look less like a preference and more like an apology wrapped in colour.
In Melbourne’s inner north, one young woman told interviewers, “I don’t want to come across as intense. If I dress in softer colours, people are nicer to me.” The research teams began to see a pattern: fragile confidence often tries to manage rejection by becoming visually softer, more agreeable—like an emotional cushion, hoping no sharp edges will appear.
Comparing the Three “Fragility Palettes”
These patterns aren’t diagnoses, and they don’t define you. But they offer a mirror—one more way to notice how you move through the world. Here’s a simple comparison:
| Colour Preference Cluster | Typical Shades | Common Inner Theme (When Confidence Is Fragile) |
|---|---|---|
| Muted Blues & Greys | Navy, steel blue, slate grey, faded denim | “Please don’t look too closely; I’d rather blend in.” |
| Hyper‑Brights | Neon pink, electric yellow, vivid red, lime green | “If I’m bright enough, maybe I’ll feel as confident as I look.” |
| Soft Pastels | Blush, baby blue, mint, lavender, peach | “If I stay soft and pleasing, maybe no one will push me away.” |
Why Australian Life Makes These Colours So Tempting
Australia has its own colour psychology baked into the landscape. The searing cobalt of the summer sky, the bleached yellows of dry grass, the metallic shimmer of the ocean. Our suburbs are built from brick reds and concrete greys, our footy teams fly bold primary colours. In that backdrop, our personal colour choices carry a particular weight.
Muteds fit the office and the commute; they whisper “reliable” in a culture that quietly punishes being “too much.” Hyper‑brights dovetail with festival culture, Pride marches down Oxford Street, and the brightness of surf brands shouting from Bondi shopfronts. Pastels float through baby showers and brunch spots in Adelaide, dripping off menus and into wardrobes.
So no, liking these colours doesn’t automatically flag a problem. What the psychology teams found, though, is that when someone’s entire personal world is built from just one of these palettes—wardrobe, bedroom, phone, stationery, even car—and when that sits alongside chronic self‑criticism or fear of rejection, the colours start to look like coping strategies instead of just preferences.
Letting Your Colours Grow With You
The point isn’t to ditch your navy suit or your neon sneakers or your pastel mug. It’s to ask a gentle question: Am I choosing this to express who I am, or to hide who I am?
Some Australian therapists have begun using colour exercises in sessions, based on this expanding body of research. They’ll invite clients to bring in a favourite item—hoodie, scarf, piece of jewellery—and explore the story attached to it. A man in Perth realises his endless rotation of grey tees matches the voice in his head that says, “Stay small, don’t get in the way.” A young woman in Hobart notices she only feels “allowed” to be noticed when she’s dressed in neon, as if her natural self isn’t enough. Another in Canberra realises her pastel obsession is tied to never wanting anyone to be angry with her.
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From there, they experiment. One tiny step outside the palette. A muted-blue lover buys a single rust-coloured beanie and notices how it feels to be mildly visible. A neon devotee tries a day in earthy tones and discovers they don’t vanish after all. A pastel‑only dresser picks one bold, clear colour—emerald, cobalt, crimson—and learns that strength can look kind, not scary.
None of this is about becoming “better” at colour. It’s about letting your internal world have room to breathe beyond your fears. Your confidence doesn’t magically solidify because you swapped grey for green. But each small, intentional shift can be a quiet vote for a broader sense of self—one that isn’t forever glued to hiding, performing, or placating.
Listening to Your Own Palette
Next time you’re on a tram in Melbourne, a bus in Brisbane, or that windy ferry to Manly, look around. Notice the moving patchwork of colour. Ask yourself, not with judgment but with curiosity: What story are my colours telling about me?
Maybe your muted blues really are just a love of the sea. Maybe your neon trainers genuinely spark joy every time you pull them on. Maybe your pastels feel like sitting in a sunlit café, soft and peaceful, and that’s all there is to it. Or maybe—just maybe—there’s some part of you huddling behind those shades, waiting for permission to try something different.
The psychologists behind these studies aren’t saying, “Change your favourite colour, fix your life.” They’re inviting us to see colour as one more language the psyche speaks. When the same hues show up over and over where confidence is most fragile, we can take that as an invitation, not an indictment.
In a country where the light can be harsh and the social climate can be quietly unforgiving, colours can be refuge, camouflage, megaphone, or blanket. The real work is not about judging your palette, but about asking whether it still fits the person you’re becoming.
And maybe, next time you stand in front of your wardrobe, you’ll reach, just once, for the colour that feels a little bit scary. Not because a study told you to, but because somewhere inside, your future self is already wearing it, comfortably, on a morning where your confidence feels like it finally belongs to you.
Frequently Asked Questions
Does liking these colours mean I definitely have low self-confidence?
No. The research only shows that certain colour preferences often appear alongside fragile self-confidence. Many people love muted, bright, or pastel colours for simple aesthetic or cultural reasons. It’s the combination of a very narrow colour range plus ongoing self-doubt or anxiety that suggests a deeper pattern.
Can changing my colours actually improve my self-esteem?
Colour by itself won’t fix self-esteem. However, experimenting with different colours can support psychological change. It can gently challenge old beliefs about needing to hide, perform, or please, and can act as a daily reminder of new, healthier narratives about yourself.
Is this research specific to Australians?
Some of the teams included Australian participants and context, but the broad findings line up with international work in colour psychology. What’s unique in Australia is how our light, landscapes, and social norms shape what certain colours mean or signal in everyday life.
What if I genuinely just like a simple, neutral wardrobe?
That can be completely healthy. Minimalism and neutrals don’t equal insecurity. The question is whether you feel
How can I explore this safely if colour feels confronting?
Start small: a different coloured pen, socks, phone wallpaper, or accessory. Notice any stories that pop up in your mind when you wear or use it. If strong emotions or old wounds arise, talking them through with a psychologist, counsellor, or trusted friend can be helpful, especially if self-esteem has been a long-term struggle.
