CARLTON FLETCHER: Adult coloring books for the inner child

I’ve put away childish things.

— James McMurtry

I’m as OK as anyone with folks getting in touch with their “inner child.” But the latest trend that marketers are trying to foist on the American public goes a little too far.

Adult coloring books.

Knowing American consumers as I do — at least the ones who live in this part of the country and the ones who beer makers and fast-food restaurants target — the term “adult coloring book” immediately brought to mind images of scantily- and/or non-clad women. And men. (Women these days have proudly claimed their right to be just as sleazy and juvenile as their male counterparts, plus, marketers being marketers, there’s also that sizable percentage of the male population that might take a quick gander at one of their own.)

You can imagine — or at least I can, which is probably not a good thing to admit — what a field day the more prurient-minded might have coming up with new colors needed for the crayons that would come with these kinds of adult coloring books. (Passionate purple, make-out magenta, ooo-la-la orange, pucker-up pink, and things with blues and yellows that we won’t touch with a 10-foot pole because we like our jobs … plus, of course, burnt sienna, which has always been my favorite color because it’s not a real color.)

But I digress.

No, the adult coloring books that are something of a rage among a certain segment of the population now are the same coloring books that your kids and grandkids are coloring in. Simple illustrations of animals, flowers, landscapes, super heroes, all devoid of any color other than dark black line drawings. And, just as the young ones are encouraged to do, you — a grown person who drives a car, pays bills, has a cocktail out in the open without worrying about a police raid, goes to work each day — are supposed to find comfort in supplying the color.

This is, they tell us, a wonderful stress-reliever.

Maybe so. But the only grownups I see having their stress relieved by coloring books are the people who manufacture them who made too many to sell to their target audience. They jack the price up to an “adult” level, convince that bored segment of the big boy and big girl population that doesn’t work for a living that their lives will be more fulfilled and a certain element of their youth will be restored by coloring in these pictures, and, voila!, a lot less stress. (Color them get-rich green.)

Somehow, though, I don’t exactly see this latest fad catching on. Even though I’ve been known during my adulthood to color a few pictures to amuse the kids — and, yes, I’m one of those who colored in the whole page, not just the picture itself, so I could show my kids how artistic I am — I don’t think there will come a time where I say, “I’ve been stressed out a bit lately. Wonder what I can do to relax. Hmmm … maybe I’ll get me one of them 64-packs of Crayolas, a spellbinding Green Lantern coloring book and create some art.”

Next thing you know we’ll have some yahoo telling us Silly Putty is perfect for controlling symptoms of diabetes, Slinkies lower cholesterol and hula-hoops — when used properly — help stave off Restless Leg Syndrome. Maybe Pet Rocks will get rid of warts and Mr. Bubble will realign your Scoliosis-ridden back in addition to gettin’ you cleaner on the double.

Sometimes I think Don Henley had the right idea: “I’d like to find your inner child and kick its little ass.”

Now pass me the burnt sienna.

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_Fletcher on Twitter.