Writing has become something of a routine to me. Typically, I have a tall glass of something or other beside me (lemon water Sunday mornings, a deep glass of red wine Monday nights), I'll be wearing moccasin slippers, and I will be carefully ensuring the keys touch only the pads of my fingers as I will have just painted my nails and will be trying to prevent smudges.

As I write this, OPI's Mimosas For Mr. and Mrs. is drying on my nails into a lovely pale pink shade. This was a much-needed change from Queen of Hearts, a bright reddish pink by Essie I took off right before choosing OPI's neutral tone.

Going against the advice of many, I sport bare nails only for the brief lapse of time it takes to swipe one shade off before painting on another. This practice has led me to own a nail polish collection that rivals those of many salons. As new seasons come and new collections of colours become available, I excitedly anticipate the deeper or brighter shades that will evoke a feeling of elegance or carelessness, depending on the hue.

Curiously enough, when I reach for a colour, it's not the visual appearance of the shade that I instinctively perceive, but the name of the colour chosen by the brand that's created it. Red isn't simply red, it's Vodka & Caviar; black dotted with flecks of glitter is better known as My Private Jet; and peach is imminently more recognizable as Orange Fizz. Perhaps the names of the shades are so well known to me as I have so many bottles of polish that many look similar, and although nearly identical side by side, knowing Ballet Slippers is sheer while Makes Men Blush has a slight iridescent shimmer is a convenient way to decipher the difference.

Although recognizing names of colours is useful, it's advantageous in other ways. Recently, I was at work assisting a lovely young and stylish woman with a pair of jeans and noticed the dark, blackish-teal shimmer shade on her nails. After she confirmed it was indeed Chanel's much-buzzed-about Black Pearl, and admitting she was wait-listed for the ultra-popular shade, she bought the jeans. The kicker for me was how utterly notalone I am in being colour name savvy.

Speculating that myself and the stylish lady are far from the only ones who succumb to the name game, I decided to do some impromptu (and arguably amateur) research and headed to beauty heaven: Sephora. My mission: to conclude whether beauty product colours are recognizable to others apart from a traditional definition, and instead by using the names given to them by a brand.

Greeted by the always cheery and helpful staff, I started off easy. "Where can I find Orgasm?" requesting NARS' famously naughty-named and insanely popular peachy-golden blush. As expected, the salesgirl knew I was referring to makeup and not something completely inappropriate for a perfect stranger to inquire about. Turns out, products ranging from cellulite cream (one popular brand's version is tactfully known as FatGirlSlim) to makeup (terracotta is not just a colour anymore; it's debatably more often used to describe Guerlain's cult bronzers) and everything in between have cleverly used memorable names to create customer recognition as a branding strategy.

As witty names have become conventional, some brands are using more noteworthy monikers. Take Urban Decay's borderline crassness, for example: taking lip gloss to a whole other level, their risqué version, dubbed Pocket Rockets, has a lid displaying a male model and the shades are named after men. Their shimmery palette, (tamely named in comparison) Cowboy Junkie, was only the beginning. Alternately, Benefit cosmetics have long been using tongue-in-cheek names, albeit in a cute, cheeky way that leans towards humour and not shock. The quintessential BADgal Lash mascara's badass brush is as widely known and loved as its aforementioned name, while their glowinducing Take A Picture … It Lasts Longer body balm imparts a knowing smile as much as a radiant sheen.

As much as I relish the results of a gorgeous new nail polish colour or appreciate my cheekbones when highlighted, I credit the enjoyment in part to the name of the product. Surely, you feel more beautiful when using That Gal instead of simply calling it primer, although essentially that's all it is. And with that, please excuse me as Mimosas For Mr. and Mrs. is dry.