🖤 Goth, Thots, and the Who-Doo-Doo About Nothing

 Thoughts From an Old Guy Who Apparently Missed a Meeting

Okay, I’m sorry.

I’m old.

There. I said it.

But somewhere along the highway of American culture, I apparently missed the exit where Goth became something requiring an instruction manual, a dress code, seventeen approved bands, and a tribunal of pale people deciding who is and is not sufficiently gloomy.

When I hear “gothic,” my brain goes considerably farther back.

I’m thinking STONE CHURCHES.

Cathedrals.

Gargoyles.

Pointed arches.

Stained glass.

Monks wandering around holding candles while somebody in the basement is definitely translating a book they were specifically told NOT TO TRANSLATE.

That’s Gothic.

Then popular culture got hold of it.

We wandered through the dark theatrical swagger of the Doors, the glorious mutant rockabilly madness of the Cramps, the chilly post-punk and new-wave years, the Cure looking beautifully miserable, and eventually Marilyn Manson arriving like somebody had detonated Halloween inside a record store.

And somewhere along the way, “Goth” became a culture.

Fine.

I can live with that.

What I cannot understand is the amount of paperwork apparently involved.

WHO IS A REAL GOTH?

Apparently this is important.

Very important.

Someone wears the wrong shirt?

NOT GOTH.

Likes the wrong band?

OUT.

Smiles too much?

SUSPICIOUS.

Actually appears to be enjoying life?

REMOVE THEM FROM THE CATHEDRAL IMMEDIATELY.

😂

And now along comes another generation of young women playing around with the whole dark-fashion aesthetic, being goofy, giggly, theatrical, self-aware and generally carrying on like young people have carried on since the invention of teenagers.

Naturally, the Internet has convened a congressional hearing.

Are they authentic?

Are they ruining Goth?

Do they understand the music?

Are they merely performing an aesthetic?

Is this Goth?

Is that Goth?

WHO DOO?

VOODOO?

WHO-DOO-DOO ABOUT NOTHING?

People.

Please.

I survived the 1980s.

Half the people walking around back then didn't know what subculture they belonged to either. We were just trying to get our hair to remain six inches above our heads without violating local fire codes.

That’s the part I find funny.

I watch these younger creators and mostly see people having a good time.

They joke around.

They exaggerate things.

They play characters.

They understand perfectly well that the Internet itself is theater.

And honestly?

There are considerably worse crimes against civilization than laughing while wearing too much black.

My sympathy actually goes toward the young people getting hammered by strangers because they supposedly haven't earned membership in some sacred subculture.

Good grief.

When did being an outsider develop this many entrance requirements?

Wasn’t that supposedly the POINT?

Maybe none of this is authentically Goth.

Maybe all of it is.

Maybe Goth died in a medieval cathedral 700 years ago and the rest of us have simply been borrowing the gargoyles.

I don't know.

I'm Coconutdaddy.

I’m not the Commissioner of Goth.

And I refuse to become one.

So enjoy your black clothes.

Enjoy your spooky music.

Enjoy the Cure.

Enjoy the Cramps.

Enjoy your gargoyles.

Dance in the graveyard metaphorically, please. The groundskeeper has enough problems.

And if somebody tells you that you aren’t a REAL GOTH, simply stare thoughtfully into the middle distance and whisper:

"Neither were the Visigoths."

Then walk away.

Preferably through some fog.

Good night, my strange little creatures of darkness.

And yes...

Love will tear us apart again. 🖤