Bell, Book, and Candle

Today, I had an odd moment of regret. Now that I'm 23, I'm past the age were I can dress like a goth without feeling immature. As a sullen teenager, I was drawn to the complicated, ornamental, fantasy-esque vestments. Not the culture; Clove cigarettes taste like incense, The Cure puts me to sleep, and my disillusionment doesn't dramatize well. But all the black and the layering and the jewelry and the opportunity to wear fingerless arm warmers ... it hits every one of my buttons at once, like a ten year old jerk kid in an elevator. There's something about the ritual, the fetishism of the clothing that appeals to me. I wear a tacky little necklace that I jokingly refer to as my phylactery, but if I went goth I could have an actual phylactery! It's like LARPing every day and getting away with it.

Thing is, when I was an appropriate age to go goth, I was fat. And still, you know, in confused boy mode. Goth is not a look that translates well across the gender divide. You go from looking like this:

to looking like this:

For me, a kid with low self-esteem and body issues, sticking with the T-shirt and jeans was an easier choice, though so much less rewarding. If I could go back now ... well, who cares? I don't want to be a teenager again. Steampunk is the socially acceptable goth-analogue for adult nerds, but I don't really dig it. Maybe, if I lose some weight, I'll go gothic lolita. While writing this, I've started browsing Hot Topic's website.

This blog is eight years old. Dear lord!