My driver’s license expires in a few months, which means soon I will have to give up the vibrant rainbow card in exchange for the dull and controversial pastel version. While I don’t particularly care for the new design, others have felt downright insulted by it.

Illustration: Danica Bates

It was a point of pride for many locals to have the prettiest ID in the nation, something to show off to old friends who’d since moved to places like Washington or New York and had to trade in something eye-catching and colorful for plainness. When the new design debuted, the backlash against it was major, and more than 6,000 people signed on to a petition encouraging the state to reconsider. “Many of us feel that the current design does not reflect our home’s rich beauty, culture, or identity,” the petition says. “One big middle finger to all of us living in Hawaii,” writes one commenter. “Don’t let them push us around. If the government wants to escalate this we will push back harder.”

The new design is the first in 17 years.

Honolulu Mayor Rick Blangiardi didn’t budge, so we’re left with the plain version.

But no matter what it looks like, my driver’s license will always remain a source of pride.

I got my first license, with the bright rainbow, in 2014, when I was 24. Finally, I could pay my friends back for all the rides I’d bummed since high school. I could go places myself without spending forever on TheBus. And I like to think that having my own license made my parents happy, though I don’t know if they were glad for me or just relieved they no longer had to drive me around. Either way, they seemed satisfied their last-born had hit a milestone many others achieve eight years sooner.

It was only a few weeks ago that I found my driving log. I got my first permit a couple of days after my 22nd birthday, a senior in college who knew the real world was coming fast. In fact, I still have all three of my driving permits, found in my nostalgia (not junk!) drawer, buried under drawings from my niece; tickets to the Pro Bowl, Gabriel Iglesias and The Flying Dutchman; hand-lettered envelopes from friends far away; blood donation certificates; fortunes from the Buddhist temple I used to visit every New Year’s Day until it closed; birthday cards from my grandmas; and the receipt for my first car. All things too precious to throw away.

These little plastic rectangles remained largely unchanged year to year, my hair a little longer, my weight a little heavier, but the all-caps PERMIT taunted me from behind my signature, no rainbow to brag about yet. Marred by a hole punched through the top as each one expired and was replaced, they remind me that sometimes growth takes time.

The new design is the first in 17 years. It might not be as eye-catching as it used to be, but the glow-up beneath the surface—improved security features and durability—make the upgrades worthwhile. I’m on board with that, and I actually like the humuhumunukunukuāpua‘a on the back. It’s still prettier than almost every other state’s licenses (Georgia’s has a cute peach). Plus, I’m sure anyone passing their driving test for the first time will be just as thrilled as I was for the next part of their journeys.

I’m just glad it no longer looks like I have a Hawai‘i Island-shaped hole in my neck.

Katrina Valcourt is the executive editor of HONOLULU Magazine.