Let me just say this up front: eating one color of food for a whole damn month is not as cute as it sounds on TikTok. I thought I’d end up looking like a whimsical Pinterest fairy with perfect skin and a glowing gut.
What I got instead? A rollercoaster of regret, confusion, and some really weird poops.
So why did I do it?
Because I’m curious.
And, honestly, because I saw this girl on social media eating all-white food for a week and claiming she felt lighter. Girl, lighter where? In the soul? In your bank account from buying cauliflower everything?
I picked yellow. Don’t ask me why. Maybe because it felt happy. Like sunshine. Like turmeric. Like… fried things. I figured, how hard can it be? Bananas, corn, mango, eggs, cheese, pasta, turmeric rice, butter — yellow foods got range. Until they didn’t.
Week One: “This Is Kinda Fun” Phase
The first few days felt like a novelty. Breakfast? Scrambled eggs and a banana. Lunch? Grilled corn and cheesy mac. Snack? Dried mango. I felt like a sunbeam walking through the grocery store. People stared at my basket like, “Is she okay?” No, Karen, but thanks for asking.
By day four, though? I started questioning reality. You’d be surprised how fast you get tired of yellow. That banana? Mocking me. The corn? Suddenly too loud. Even turmeric, my golden child, started tasting like a dare.
Week Two: The Descent
I started dreaming in color — not yellow, though. I dreamt of green beans. Strawberries. BLACK COFFEE. You know what’s not yellow? Coffee. I was spiraling. I tried convincing myself that oat milk with turmeric was “close enough.”
Spoiler: it was not. It was trauma in a mug.
Also, I was bloated. Like, aggressively. Maybe it was the overload of starch. Maybe it was the lack of fiber diversity. Or maybe my body was just screaming, “Girl, stop playing!”
My friends started avoiding me because I kept talking about the color of my pee like it was a personality trait.
Week Three: I Became One With the Color
At this point, my body had given up. It just stopped expecting variety. I was functioning on autopilot. A friend handed me a purple grape and I flinched like it was contraband.
I googled “Do people actually die from mono-color diets?” The search results weren’t comforting. I was low-key malnourished. My skin got this weird undertone — not quite jaundice, but like… too much Simpson energy. Not cute.
Week Four: Rage, Revelation, and Rebirth
I hit the breaking point when I tried to make yellow soup using chickpeas, squash, turmeric, and yellow bell peppers. I looked down at the pot and thought, I would rather eat drywall than one more yellow thing.
My body didn’t just crave other foods — it craved contrast. Texture. Bitterness. Sourness. Spicy. The whole damn rainbow.
On day 29, I caved. I bit into a cucumber like it was forbidden fruit. I’m not exaggerating when I say I cried. Real tears. That crunch? That green? That LIFE? I felt reborn. Like a lizard shedding its sad yellow skin.
So, what actually happens when you eat one color of food for a month?
Your gut hates you. Your brain starts short-circuiting. You learn how much food color = nutrient diversity. You realize variety isn’t just nice — it’s necessary. Also, you probably develop an unhealthy relationship with bananas.
But most of all, you start to see food as something deeper. More human. Food is emotion. Culture. Memory. One color is one note in the symphony. We weren’t built for monotony. We were built for spice. For funk. For acid. For surprise.
If you’ve ever thought about doing this for clout, don’t. Or do, and then call me when you’re crying over a grape like it’s your ex who just apologized.
I’m off to eat a salad the size of my head, in full technicolor glory. Yellow? You’ve been great. But I’m done with your monochrome bullshit.
Peace, love, and all the damn colors.
