Orange: A Tale of Power, Warnings, and the Spirit of Rebellion
Reader caution: This color may inspire a coup or two
“The world itself seemed awash in an orange glow, a color that felt both rich and strange. Like fire, but more playful, more forgiving. It was not the red of blood or danger; it was the red of warmth and the yellow of joy mixed together in a new and peculiar language.” - A.S. Byatt, A Whistling Woman
It’s hard to imagine now, but there was a time when oranges meant more than a piece of fruit to eat. In the heart of Versailles, King Louis XIV built something that was less about necessity and more about making a statement—a space where the air was thick with the scent of citrus and the power of the king’s will. L’Orangerie. A greenhouse, yes, but also a playground for Louis to indulge in the exotic, the rare, and the untouchable.
Picture walking through rows upon rows of orange trees, their bright fruits glowing like little suns against a verdant backdrop. The sweetness in the air, the perfectly manicured symmetry of the trees—this was not nature left to its own devices. This was nature, tamed and shaped by royal hands (or more rightly, by André Le Nôtre, the king’s personal gardener and one of the most famous landscape architects of the time). Nevertheless, it was Louis’s way of showing the world: “I command even the seasons.”
I sometimes wonder what it must’ve been like for the 17th-century noble, standing there in the Orangerie, breathing in the heady citrus scent, knowing full well how rare it was to be in the presence of such a thing. In a time when oranges were a luxury, this was spectacle at its finest. But it wasn’t just about the fruit. It was about control, about Louis’s need to bend nature to his will. Even in winter, when everything else was dormant and cold, here was a reminder that life could thrive.
The Orangerie was at once a botanical feat, a symbol of status, and a place to flaunt the impossible. The orange, a fruit we take for granted now, was then an emblem of opulence, a living, breathing piece of art that reminded the court just how far removed they were from the rest of France, where hunger gnawed at the bellies of the king’s subjects.
In those golden, glowing trees, the king’s wealth and power were on full display. And for the rest of the world, orange became the color of envy.
To my surprise, the term ‘orange’ as we know it today wasn’t originally associated with the color itself. In the 17th century, while the word itself existed in reference to the fruit—borrowed from Old French orange and Arabic nāranj—it did not denote a distinct hue.
People described shades of orange using terms that combined red and yellow, such as copper, gold, saffron, and most aptly, “red-yellow.” This blending indicates the struggle to give orange its own identity, leaving the color in the shadows of more prominent hues like blue, red, and yellow—primary colors that dominated European art and literature at the time.
While the fruit was just beginning to ripen in European markets and the color played a supporting role in Western art, orange had long been revered in the East as the color of all colors—a centuries-old symbol of spirituality, reverence, and tradition.
In India, orange wasn’t just seen—it was lived. Saffron, a sacred hue derived from the crocus flower, stained the robes of monks and holy men, called kasaya, which have been worn for over 2,500 years by Buddhist and Hindu ascetics. The color signified renunciation, a spiritual life, and a dedication to higher truths.
The very act of wearing orange was a declaration of one’s inner journey away from worldly attachments. Orange seeped into the everyday; from the marigold flowers adorning temples to the vibrant saris worn in ceremonies, orange reflected the profound connection between the people and their traditions, and still does to this day.
Even the spice trade, with its sought-after saffron and turmeric, helped cement the color’s importance outside its Eastern roots.
Orange moved quietly at first, hidden in saffron-laden bags, and carried alongside cinnamon and turmeric. Spices that set tongues (and imaginations) on fire. As they moved through the markets of Venice and Lisbon, deep golden hues whispered of distant lands—where the sun baked the earth and life burned bright in orange.
It didn’t just arrive in Europe; it was carried by trade winds, in the hands of merchants who peddled spices, factually speaking. But what they were really selling—knowingly or not—was the essence of another world.
Before long, our fiery nomad would transform Renaissance fashion and art. Mughal emperors donned sumptuous orange silk brocade, signaling power and prosperity, while artists like Titian scooped up saffron and turmeric, splashing canvases with bold Eastern vibrancy in works such as The Assumption of the Virgin. While the Spanish court celebrated orange in the elaborate gowns of their noblewomen.
Speaking of the Spanish, orange emerged as a powerful emblem of royalty and national pride for the Dutch House of Orange-Nassau. This dynasty played a pivotal role in the fight for independence from Spanish rule, with William of Orange, the leader of the Dutch Revolt, donning the color as a banner of resistance. As a result, orange became synonymous with Dutch royalty and identity.
The rise of the fruit coincided with advancements in dyeing. By the 14th century, dyers in cities like Venice, Florence, Bruges, and Nuremberg had learned to extract more vibrant oranges using imported woods from South Asia and later from the New World.
Brazilwood from regions such as Ceylon and Sumatra, and later Campeche wood from Central America and Pernambuco wood from South America, provided the resources for creating brighter, more saturated hues. Nobility, like French nobleman Duke Jean de Berry, eagerly embraced the color in their wardrobes. The fruit’s name was eventually borrowed to describe the color itself, marking the birth of orange as a distinct category in fashion, arts and language.
Orange’s rise didn’t end with the Renaissance; as you’ll recall, it carried into the 17th and 18th centuries with King Louis XIV and his famed L’Orangerie at Versailles.
Picture sumptuous banquets where the sweet citrus graced the tables of nobility, its aroma mingling with roasted meats and fine wines. The fruit's stunning color adorned exquisite porcelain, enhancing the very aesthetics of wealth itself. And yet, that very beauty became a point of contention, sparking the flames of political strife among those who were hungry, both for food and for change.
Revolutionaries looked to dismantle the symbols of privilege, and thus, the orange had come full circle—starting as a marker of luxury and ending as a spark in the revolutionary war, where the fruits of privilege quite literally fueled the fires of rebellion.
Although knocked from its high standing in the French court, orange continued to evolve. By the mid-18th century, advances in dyeing techniques ushered in a new era for this color. As yellow waned and red faded from favor, orange surged into the spotlight.
Think of the subtle dawn tones creeping into elegant gowns, the muted hues that adorned the elite as they strolled through gardens. Orange had become a statement. The quiet sophistication of these shades echoed the rising desire for individuality.
In art, orange became a symbol of energy and passion. Artists like Vincent van Gogh and Henri Toulouse-Lautrec wielded this vibrant hue as if it were a brush of life itself. In Van Gogh's sun-soaked fields, golden hour envelops the landscape as day yields to dusk. Meanwhile, in the lively dance halls of Paris, Lautrec’s dancers shimmer in vivid orange, standing out brilliantly against a backdrop that often felt drab and gray.
Another era ubiquitous with orange is the 1970s; the quest to “brighten up life” prompted architects, decorators, stylists, and designers to enthusiastically embrace this bold hue. Frequently paired with avocado green, chestnut, and violet (woof!), orange helped create a whimsical palette that felt inventive and joyful in its time.
As Michel Pastoureau explains in Yellow: The History of a Color, discussions about yellow naturally lead to its warmer counterpart, orange. He comments on its use during the Disco Era, stating, “the idea that a color or color combination can ‘brighten up life’ is very naive,” and many designs from that time now strike us as tacky. Yet, this bold embrace of orange in the 1970s embodied the optimism and creativity of the era, infusing homes and public spaces with a sense of cheer.
I can picture my uncle, grandmother and brother lounging on their iconic brown-orange couch sometime during this “cheery” decade. The rise of orange and plaid during this era clearly illustrates how our 'likes' are dictated by the cultural ethos—because nothing screams ‘I’m living my best life’ quite like a bold orange couch covered in plaid.
Today, orange has primarily occupied a pragmatic space in Western culture. Just think of safety vests on construction sites and the bright hues of life jackets at sea. But even in its utilitarian roles, orange evokes playfulness in advertising, as seen in the Nickelodeon splat logo. This chaotic, vibrant splash perfectly mirrors the brand's commitment to fun and creativity, turning orange into a herald of youthful exuberance.
In today's fashion landscape, orange is often viewed as a difficult color to pull off. It’s vibrant and undeniably attention-grabbing, yet not commonly embraced. This underutilization stems from its boldness, which can easily overwhelm when not styled with care. Designers may shy away from it, knowing it can be a risky choice for everyday wear.
However, those who can chicly incorporate orange into their wardrobes deserve commendation. It’s almost as if they belong to a secret society of style—a select few who navigate this color with finesse and confidence. All eyes on you, Hermès.
Also consider these iconic orange looks in film. From Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) to Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun (2003), when you see someone in orange, it feels like a bold proclamation: “I’m here, and I’m not afraid to stand out.”
Orange does it all. It nourishes us, both literally and metaphorically. It can start wars—whether in politics or fashion—and turn heads in the process.
We may no longer stroll through Versailles marveling at the extraordinary sight of orange trees in winter (greenhouses are far from rare nowadays). Yet, the story of orange lingers in every peel.
Orange thrives on the edge of uncertainty. It never fears going out of style. It’s a color that has outlived kingdoms, crossed continents, and meant so many things to so many people. From indulgence for kings to sacred robes for monks, from the catalyst of revolution to the signpost of safety. It’s ancient yet always new, and just when we think we’ve defined it, it reinvents itself again.
Perhaps that’s its enduring lesson: Power shifts, sentiments change, but orange—it remains, poised to be born anew.