Princess Diana’s famous “Revenge Dress” is heading to auction again on December 9, 2026 courtesy of Sotheby’s New York (first auction was back in June 1997 via Christie’s New York to raise money for cancer and AIDS charities), which got me thinking, not about the auction, and not even about the dress itself, but about revenge. More specifically, what constitutes appropriate revenge attire?
Suppose someone has thoroughly annoyed you. Not enough to warrant a dramatic confrontation, but enough that you would like the universe to observe that you are thriving despite their best efforts. Is there an officially sanctioned colour for that? Is there a Feng Shui-approved shade for “Thank you for the character development”? More importantly, would revenge dressing backfire? If one deliberately chooses a colour to project a particular energy, does one risk creating a boomerang effect? Could an outfit intended to communicate confidence accidentally invite conflict? Could clothing chosen to make a statement reveal more about the wearer than the intended audience?
These questions sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of colour symbolism, where I discovered that humanity has spent thousands of years assigning remarkably strong opinions to three colours in particular: black, white and red.
An orange cat arrived halfway through this investigation. He jumped onto the desk, stared at the screen, stared at me, then stared back at the screen. The look suggested quality control.
Today, black is the undisputed champion of Western funeral attire. Wear bright pink to a funeral in London and people will notice. Wear black and nobody thinks twice. Yet black’s relationship with death is far older than Victorian mourning customs. Long before fashion houses, black-tie galas and little black dresses existed, black belonged to the realm of mystery. It was the colour of night, caves, fertile soil, the unseen world and the great unknown waiting beyond the edge of certainty.
It is tempting to assume black became associated with death because of ashes, charcoal and what remains after the fire has burned itself out. There is likely some truth to that. More fundamentally, black represented the unknown. Death was not merely an ending but a journey into territory nobody could map and no traveller could fully describe.
Ancient Egypt offers a fascinating paradox. While modern Western culture often links black with loss, the Egyptians viewed it as both death and rebirth. The rich black silt deposited by the Nile after its annual floods brought fertility and renewal to the land, while Osiris, god of the underworld and resurrection, was closely associated with the colour. To an Egyptian, black did not necessarily mean death. It meant what came after.
The orange cat looked up from his grooming and fixed me with a stare that suggested a factual correction was imminent.
“You do remember,” he said, “that my ancestors were worshipped as gods in Egypt?”
“I’m aware.”
“And what colour were the pyramids?”
This was not the question I expected.
“The pyramids were tombs, yet archaeological reconstructions suggest they were originally covered in polished white limestone. Brilliant white. Practically glowing.”
Unfortunately, the cat was correct. The pyramids we see today are merely their exposed cores. When newly completed, many were encased in smooth white limestone from the quarries of Tura, polished so carefully that they reflected the Egyptian sun and could be seen from great distances.
The cat blinked slowly.
“So humanity’s most famous tombs were white. Interesting. Did the Romans steal that idea for their temples?”
History, as usual, proved less straightforward.
The Romans certainly admired Egypt and borrowed liberally from cultures they conquered. Egyptian obelisks found their way to Rome. Egyptian religious imagery influenced Roman art. Roman elites developed a fascination with Egyptian symbolism. Yet the Roman preference for gleaming white buildings was not borrowed directly from the pyramids. Greek temples had already established many of those ideals. White conveyed sacredness, prestige and divine presence long before Rome expanded across the Mediterranean.
The cat appeared disappointed.
“So not stolen.”
“Influenced, admired, borrowed, adapted and occasionally repurposed.”
“That sounds like stolen with extra paperwork.”
I decided not to pursue the matter.
Professor Cat, however, was not finished.
“Besides,” he said, flicking his tail with the confidence of someone who had recently acquired a historical fact and intended to use it repeatedly, “the Greeks and Romans had their own reasons for liking white.”
“Such as?”
“Politics. Intellect. Respectability.”
Annoyingly, he was not entirely wrong.
In both Greek and Roman society, white became associated with civic life, public virtue and intellectual authority. Roman citizens seeking public office wore specially whitened garments known as toga candida, from which we derive the modern word candidate. Priests, philosophers and public officials frequently appeared in light-coloured garments that conveyed dignity, clarity and social standing.
The cat looked pleased with himself.
“So while Egyptians were using white for tombs and the afterlife, the Romans were using it for politicians.”
“That is a considerable oversimplification.”
“And yet technically correct.”
Unfortunately, it was.
That exchange reveals why white may be the most contradictory colour in human history. Depending on where and when one lived, it could signify birth, death, purity, authority, mourning, wisdom, spiritual devotion or public respectability. In India, white has occupied a unique place for thousands of years, representing simplicity, renunciation, peace and detachment from worldly concerns. Hindu widows traditionally wore white, relinquishing the bright colours associated with married life, while the same colour appeared at the beginning of life in swaddling cloths, purification ceremonies and sacred rites. White therefore encompasses both arrival and departure, birth and death.
Similar associations developed throughout East Asia. In China, Korea and Japan, white became the traditional colour of mourning because it represented completion, spiritual purity and the return of the soul to its source. While Western visitors often associate white with celebration, many Asian cultures historically viewed it through the lens of farewell and transcendence.
The Western white wedding dress, by comparison, is surprisingly recent. Before the nineteenth century, brides typically wore their finest dress regardless of colour. Everything changed in 1840 when Queen Victoria married Prince Albert in a white gown. The image captured the public imagination and gradually transformed white into the dominant bridal colour throughout Europe and North America. Over time, white became associated with purity, innocence and new beginnings, even though its older associations with mourning never completely disappeared elsewhere in the world.
The cat tilted his head.
“So funerals can be black or white. Weddings can be white.”
He glanced back at the screen.
“What about red?”
An excellent question.
If black belongs to mystery and white belongs to purification, red belongs to life itself. For thousands of years it has symbolised vitality, passion, prosperity and celebration. Ancient peoples associated it with blood, fire and the force that animates all living things, making it one of humanity’s oldest sacred colours.
In China, red dominates weddings, New Year celebrations and milestone birthdays. Red envelopes convey blessings and prosperity. Red decorations invite luck and abundance. A Chinese bride wearing red is surrounded by symbols of joy, success and good fortune.
India shares many of these associations. Red bridal saris represent fertility, prosperity, marital bliss and divine feminine power. The colour is closely linked to Shakti, the creative energy that sustains life itself. To many Hindu brides, red is not merely decorative. It is a visible expression of auspicious energy.
From a Feng Shui perspective, red belongs to the Fire element. Fire represents transformation, vitality, visibility and abundance. It is active Yang energy at its most vibrant.
Western traditions often interpret red differently. While it remains associated with romance and passion, it may also suggest boldness, seduction or a desire to attract attention. Wearing bright red to someone else’s wedding may therefore be viewed as competing with the bride rather than celebrating her. The same colour that invites blessings in Beijing or Mumbai may raise eyebrows in London or New York.
The world’s religions add another layer to the story. Christianity has long embraced both black and white. Black became associated with monastic life, humility, penitence and contemplation, while white symbolised resurrection, purity and divine light. Islam similarly incorporates both colours into its spiritual symbolism. White garments are worn during pilgrimage and burial, representing purity before God, while black appears in various historical and religious contexts associated with dignity, scholarship and authority. Hinduism follows a somewhat different path. While white remains important in mourning and spiritual renunciation, saffron often occupies the highest symbolic ground. The colour of sacred fire, sacrifice and spiritual awakening, saffron represents the quest for enlightenment and transcendence beyond worldly concerns.
By now, the orange cat appeared satisfied. Black, it seemed, was not merely the colour of funerals. White was not merely the colour of brides. Red was not merely the colour of romance. Each carried centuries of stories, contradictions and cultural baggage accumulated by generations determined to assign cosmic significance to whatever happened to be hanging in their wardrobes.
Perhaps that is the real lesson. The question is not whether black, white or red is lucky or unlucky. The question is whether the colour reflects the energy of the threshold being crossed. From a Feng Shui perspective, black invites reflection, white invites purification and red invites life. None is inherently good or bad. Each serves a purpose. Problems arise only when we assume that one culture’s symbolism applies everywhere.
A wedding and a funeral may appear to occupy opposite ends of the human experience, yet both mark profound transitions. One celebrates an arrival. The other honours a departure. Both ask us to step into a new chapter, and colour becomes one of the ways we signal our intentions for the journey ahead.
The orange cat jumped down from the desk, apparently satisfied that the reputations of both black cats and Egyptian civilisation had been adequately defended.
Professor Cat had earned his tenure.
A movement at the window caught my attention. Throughout the entire discussion, a black cat had been sitting outside, quietly eavesdropping. He stretched, yawned and regarded us with the expression of someone who had listened patiently to a conversation that was missing the obvious point.
“So let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said. “The Egyptians worshipped cats, built statues in their honour and associated dark-coloured felines with protection and divine favour.”
“More or less.”
The black cat considered this carefully before flicking his tail.
“Then why exactly did we stop? Honestly, humanity has made some questionable decisions.”
Neither Professor Cat nor I had an immediate answer.
With that, he disappeared into the garden, presumably to contemplate the decline of standards since the Bronze Age.
Professor Cat watched him leave.
“He does have a point.”
“Let’s not encourage him.”
The orange cat nodded.
“Fair.”
After all, once a black cat starts lobbying for the restoration of ancient religious privileges, the conversation has probably reached its natural conclusion.
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