A Brief Treatise on the Colour of Tuesdays

If Monday is a jarring, fluorescent red and Friday is a warm, celebratory gold, then Tuesday is, without a doubt, beige. Not a cozy, cashmere beige, but the specific shade of a 1990s office computer that has yellowed slightly over time. It is the colour of lukewarm tea and spreadsheets that go on forever. It possesses a unique gravitational pull that makes good ideas feel just out of reach. Scientists have yet to study this phenomenon, presumably because they are too busy experiencing it.

Stuff to know

Tuesday’s beige-ness stems from its position. It lacks the fresh-start-panic of a Monday and the hopeful glow of a Wednesday, the week’s halfway point. It is the structural middle child of the work week’s beginning; its only job is to connect Monday to Wednesday. This is the day for the tasks you put off because you were “easing into the week.” It’s the day of maintenance, of refactoring, of doing the necessary but unglamorous work that is the spiritual essence of beige.

The sensory profile of a Tuesday is similarly muted. The sound of a Tuesday is the low hum of an air conditioner. The taste of a Tuesday is a slightly stale biscuit you found in the office pantry near the sad-looking succulents. Its official bird is the pigeon—ubiquitous, functional, and largely ignored. Writing this on a vibrant Saturday here in Pune, the memory of last Tuesday is already fading into a featureless taupe haze.

Conclusion

We should not fight the beige-ness of Tuesday. We should embrace it. Schedule your most boring meetings for Tuesday. Wear your most unremarkable outfit. Let the day be what it is: a quiet, unassuming bridge to the more interesting parts of the week. There is a strange, understated beauty in its utter lack of drama.