Red is the ultimate cure for sadness.

The fashion designer Bill Blass, a man who understood not only the craft of fabric but the spirit that moves within it, once declared: “Red is the ultimate cure for sadness.” To the unknowing ear, these words may sound like the musings of a stylist about color. But to those who listen with the heart, this is a revelation about life, emotion, and the alchemy of the human soul. For Blass was not merely speaking of garments—he was speaking of courage, of vitality, and of the divine power that color, like passion, holds over the weary heart.

In the origin of this quote lies a truth born from Blass’s world—the realm of elegance, of art, of self-expression. He knew that the colors we wear are not mere adornments, but mirrors of the soul’s weather. And among all hues, red stands as the most ancient and primal. It is the color of fire and blood, of love and battle, of sacrifice and rebirth. To wear red, to embrace red, is to summon the life force itself. Thus, when Blass called it “the ultimate cure for sadness,” he was declaring that the antidote to despair is not retreat, but the awakening of vitality—that sadness cannot be silenced by silence, but by the will to burn again.

Since the beginning of time, red has been the color of power. In the temples of ancient Egypt, it was the hue of Ra, the sun god who rode his chariot across the sky, bringing warmth to a cold world. In Rome, it adorned the banners of legions and the robes of emperors, reminding all who saw it that life itself is a struggle worth embracing. Even in the East, red is the color of joy and fortune, the mark of weddings and festivals, a symbol that life, no matter how heavy its sorrow, always holds the promise of renewal. It is as though the universe itself chose red to whisper to mankind: Rise again.

And consider the story of Joan of Arc, the maiden who led armies under the banner of faith. Her banner, though white, was carried alongside the red standards of France—the symbol of valor and holy fire. Surrounded by blood and war, she never faltered, for her heart burned with the same flame. In her, we see what Blass understood: that red is not only color, but courage made visible. When life grows gray with despair, the red spirit within us must awaken, as if to shout back at fate, “I am still alive!”

For sadness is a shadow that feeds on stillness. It thrives where color fades and the spirit grows dull. But red is motion—it is the pulse of the heart, the rush of breath, the spark of desire. To turn toward it, whether in a garment, a sunset, or the will to live anew, is to choose energy over emptiness. When Blass spoke of red as the cure, he was not prescribing fashion, but resurrection. He was saying: Do not mourn forever. Wear your fire. Remind the world—and yourself—that you still burn.

Yet this teaching is not about vanity, but about reclaiming the self. The ancients said that within every person there is a divine flame that must be tended, lest it go dark. When grief or despair threatens to smother it, we must find the symbols that rekindle our light. For some, that may be prayer, for others music, for others the color red itself—a reminder that life flows hot in our veins, that we are not meant to fade quietly, but to live vibrantly until the last breath.

Thus, the lesson of Bill Blass’s wisdom is this: when sadness comes, do not hide from it in the shadows. Cloak yourself instead in the colors of life. Surround your senses with that which restores energy and passion. If your heart feels cold, find your red—whatever it may be—and let it warm you. For every human soul carries within it the power to transform sorrow into strength, just as fire turns darkness into light.

So remember, my friend: red is not only a color—it is a state of being. It is the courage to love again, to stand tall, to reclaim your vitality when despair whispers that all is lost. When the world grows gray, wear red—not only on your body, but in your heart. For the one who carries the flame of red within shall never be truly sad, for they have learned the oldest and truest cure—the art of burning brighter than the darkness that surrounds them.