The Truth Comes Out
November 11, 2007

Pinot Evil

The boyfriend often accuses me of being a closet "goth". I deny it every time, because he's mostly basing this declaration on the fact that I used to have some gargoyles around my apartment and that I kept my blinds closed a lot of the time (people walked by my apartment all the time! I didn't want them to see in!).

The truth is that while I have never at any time considered myself goth, there was a time when I SO wanted to be. I discovered the Smiths, Depeche Mode, the Cure, and other similar bands in junior high school. And shortly after falling in love with the music, I realized that my peers who were also listening to the same music were wearing all black, applying lots of eye liner, and getting asymmetrical haircuts. Just like a little sheep, I wanted to duplicate their wardrobes and hairstyles. I wanted to be like the goth kids, but I had a big old road block called MOM.

She wouldn't even let me start with what I considered to be the fundamental to the goth look. I think her exact words were, "A girl your age shouldn't be dressing completely in black!" She would let me do weird stuff to my hair (I dyed a black streak in my bangs for YEARS), jewelry wasn't an issue (I had quite the crystal collection), and I wasn't interested in wearing eye liner. So the one thing I wanted to do, I wasn't allowed. My solution was to wear black and navy blue, which didn't have quite the same effect. So I was the dorky wannabe goth. Have I mentioned that I kind of hated high school?

Eventually she softened a little. I bought my first pair of Dr. Martens a couple years later (and wore almost nothing but docs for the next 5 or 6 years), and she bought me a long black wool coat for Christmas, but I still don't remember the "all black" rule being lifted.

By the time I was able to buy my own clothes, my desire to replicate the "goth" look had pretty much faded. I bought a lot of black clothes (and still do), but never ended up wearing an all black ensemble. I suppose I made up for it by buying gargoyles and things with skulls and crossbones on them.

When we moved into the apartment we're in now, I didn't put any of the gargoyles on display, in the hopes that the boyfriend wouldn't make any closet goth comments. And up until Halloween, the goth jokes were few and far between. It was the bats that finally reminded him. More specifically, the fact that the bats are still hanging from the ceiling weeks AFTER Halloween.

While there's a little part of me that may always want to be "goth" (I've been listening to a lot of Siouxsie and the Banshees lately), there's really only one reason those bats are still hanging around. I'm lazy.


I'll probably take them down tomorrow. (Though I'm kind of getting used to them.)



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© Whitney Brandt-Hiatt: All writing, images, and photogrpahy are the property of Whitney Brandt-Hiatt unless otherwise noted.