Pour les Conformistes

I figure that it's high time that I got out the rant that I've been saving for a rainy day. Nothing really preempted this, [well, now some things have, but nothing preempted the first draft] but I just feel like writing right now. So here it goes:

To All You Conformists:

I am proud to be a Goth. Or a punk. Or whatever you decide to call me. I do not dress the way I do to impress people or to shock you. You all are really not that important to me. The truth is, my black clothes and chains and blue hair and neon accessories come from my personal ideas.

That's right. I have ideas and opinions just like the rest of you.

When I get dressed in the morning in my gothpants and chains--you may not believe it--but that's when I feel pretty. Yeah, pretty. To me, pretty's not looking stick thin in Ugg boots and a North Face jacket. Pretty's not a ruffly shirt or skintight jeans. Pretty's not poser-fashion in sack shaped shirt-dresses or whatever the hell's in fashion magazines lately. I feel prettiest in black, when my arms are sheathed in studs and when my feet are clad in combat boots. I don't dress the way I do for anyone but myself. Ever since I was just a tot (probably around seven years old) and I first saw goths/punks/whatever you want to call them, I knew that's what I wanted to look like. I couldn't believe how pretty the girls looked in their studs and chains--that's what I was missing when I looked at myself in the mirror! I had never been satisfied with my appearance until I went «goth». Now, I look in the mirror and can smile, because I finally look how I want to.

And you know something else? [I'm going to be a bit conceited now, watch out...] I like to think that I can design fashions better than most. And you know why? Because I CAN THINK FOR MYSELF. I'm not another lame poser trying to play the fashion designer, I'm doing my own thing, creating my own look, drawing out my own ideas. I don't copy what's been successful in the past, but draw out my own ideas for a new look in the future.

But the best part of the punk style is the part that nearly nobody knows about. I've found that out of any style group I've ever met (and I have met many), the darkest dressers are the nicest people. Walk into any Abercrombie or Juicy boutique, and the clerk will turn up their nose at you in a display of their obvious fashion superiority. Being snubbed is part of the couture experience, I guess. But walk into a Hot Topic, and the clerk will actually get up and greet you, asking «How are you?» like they really mean it, and enthusiastically chat about fun stores or good music with you. Even my Brooklyn grandmother's noticed this--she's learned that the kids I hang out with (despite their senior-citizen-shocking looks) are actually the «good crowd» (and the most accepting, friendly crowd I've ever met), while the kids who sleep around, do drugs, and all sorts of other unsavory practices are the ones who look so «nice.»

It's time that my studded, spiked, chained brethren were given the good rep they deserve. We should be appreciated for our inherent individuality, our devil-may-care attitude, our surprisingly friendly nature. Just because we have a taste for metal and ink doesn't mean that we're bad people. It's been said for centuries, «don't judge a book by its cover.» This should apply to every cover, even the ones with pictures that are a little «unsettling» to look at. Because we think our covers are beautiful.

FBT OUT.