Pink Print was never just about the color pink.
Because for a long time…
I didn’t even like pink.
It wasn’t a color I reached for. It didn’t feel like me. And looking back now, I understand why.
Sometimes when girls say they don’t like pink…
it’s not about the color.
It’s because something in them has been hardened.
Something soft was taken, or buried, or pushed aside.
And without realizing it…
you stop reaching for softness altogether.
But Pink Print…
was my way back to it.
The name itself came from layers.
From music.
From structure.
From identity.
Jay-Z had The Blueprint — foundation, design, legacy.
And my middle name… is DeShawn.
So that connection always sat with me. Quiet, but present. Something about the idea of a blueprint — of designing something from the ground up — always meant more to me than just a concept.
Because I didn’t just admire it…
I studied it.
In high school, I took classes in architecture. I learned how to draw blueprints. How to measure. How to calculate. How to understand that before anything is ever built… it has to be designed first.
Every line has intention.
Every number matters.
Every structure starts with a foundation you can’t always see.
And I loved that.
Then there was Nicki Minaj — The Pinkprint.
Her version. Her expression. Her imprint.
And somewhere between those two…
I found mine.
Pink Print became my version of a blueprint.
A feminine one.
Not stripped down.
Not hardened.
But still structured. Still intentional. Still built with purpose.
And what’s powerful is…
Pink Print wasn’t just a name.
It became the foundation.
It was the very first Wet Gloss I ever made.
Not the only one… but the first.
Which means every gloss that came after it…
came from it.
That alone means something.
And out of all of them…
Pink Print is the only one I ever photographed on my lips.
And that means something too.
Because without even realizing it, I was marking it.
Documenting it.
Placing myself in it.
The color itself told the story before I could.
It wasn’t a flat pink.
It carried iridescence — hints of blue, touches of purple — like I couldn’t fully step into pink without bringing every version of myself with me.
And maybe that’s exactly what I was doing.
Trying to find my way back to softness…
without losing the strength that came before it.
Pink Print wasn’t loud.
It didn’t scream femininity.
It held it… carefully.
Like I was learning how to hold it again too.
It was architecture.
Not just in design…
but in rebuilding.
Rebuilding my relationship with softness.
Rebuilding my understanding of femininity.
Rebuilding something I once pushed away… into something I could stand in fully.
Pink Print isn’t just a gloss.
It’s the foundation.
PINK PRINT
