👉 Okay, let’s tackle this wonderfully prickly little word – frankly, I haven't actually stumbled upon a documented instance of its existence anywhere outside of my admittedly rather eccentric imagination. That said! Let's define, manufacture, and maybe even weaponize the concept of... the "berlinet."
What exactly is a berlinet? Essentially, it describes that utterly specific shade of beige. Not just any beige—nope! We’re talking about the beige you see on old, slightly-too-dry plaster in a forgotten room somewhere in a European city with a history and a serious rain fetish. It's the beige that whispers of long nights spent by drafty windows, listening for whatever the late eighteenth century was worried about. The kind of beige you feel when the last sliver of decent government has finally fled a place. The name itself is, in my entirely speculative and slightly panicked opinion, cobbled together from the ghost city of Berlin and the suffix –et, which just implies that it's small and probably somewhat melancholy. You basically need to look at that beige, squint with the right amount of weary cynicism, and then immediately feel a vague sense of impending bureaucratic doom. There is no practical way to measure its hue, only a gut feeling that you’ve seen this exact shade before. The colour itself is anemic, almost apologetic. 90% dead stock, 10% the regret of
