About two weeks ago, my 12-year-old niece told me that, “everyone knows if you wear all black, you’re goth.” And then my head did this:
:::Sigh::: kids, am I right? Silly, silly, per-pubescent children … how little do thy know. Right now, my niece is all about neon. Neon everything. The more color, the better. So I can understand why she looks into my closet and thinks, “holy shit (although she best not be cursing :::back of my hand:::), my aunt is goth.”
When I was her age, I would have never worn all black anywhere for fear people would have thought I was goth. Goth wasn’t something cool to be in middle school, or even in high school. They were the scary kids who shopped at Hot Topic, had KORN patches (backwards R and all) on their book bags and rocked a lot of chains everywhere. Their hair was either black, or spiked in different colors of the rainbow, and they invested in black lipstick stock. I would only threaten to go goth when my mom made me do something I didn’t want to do. I mean I worshiped the book of Britney Spears and wished I was in the Gap commercial swing dancing in khakis, for crying out loud. In no way shape or form did I associate myself with the “goths.”
So as the words were coming out of my mouth to shame my naive niece, “Ummm black is chic, you know nothing,” I kind of understood where she was coming from. In kid-teen world, all black everything means uncool and goth. In adult world it is dignified and chic …Karl Lagerfeld and Kanye West says so. The more black you wear, the cooler you are (well, um, that’s what I think, at least).
And if I was forced to go back to middle school, right now, as a 27-year-old woman, Billy Madison-style, I would most definitely be considered “goth.” 97.4% of my wardrobe is black … or some dark color. I like my neutrals, what can I say. My jewelry is always statement-worthy (I have a cuff that most certainly could be used as a weapon). My nails are Lincoln Park After Dark (aka close enough to black as I will go). My hair is one shade away from being black. Anything with studs on it makes me insanely happy. I rarely leave the house without liquid black eye liner, and I’ve recently become obsessed with dark burgundy lipstick. Preppy bitches would most definitely be yelling, “go back to the crypt, goth!” as I strutted down the hallway.
But I’m not goth. I don’t wish I was married to Satan. I’m definitely not depressed. And never once have I ever nor will I ever own or download a KORN album. I wear black because it makes me feel good and comfortable. Black is chic, and that is something you learn over time. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. I wear blackish nail polish because I think it rocks. I feel naked without my liquid black eye liner as I feel it makes my blue eyes pop, and the color pink makes me want to vomit. But hey, that is just my style. If you want to walk down the street looking like a God damn highlighter … go for it, people. Style is about self expression.
I suppose the age-old saying is true, “don’t judge a book by its cover.” Those “goth” kids in high school that I used to avoid were probably not as freakish as I made them out to be. They were just doing something I didn’t have the balls to do … which is to be true to themselves. One day I looked at my colorful closet and realized I was only wearing the same two black shirts I owned over and over … and decided to say, “screw it,” and wear what I liked without worrying about some jerk giving me a stupid title like, “goth.”
So yes, I don’t enjoy color, but no, kids, I’m not “goth.” And even if you do ID yourself as a said “goth” … that, again, doesn’t mean you beckon Satan on the reg. If only kids knew how cool the color black was sooner. :::Sigh:::
Great, now I feel old.