Synaptic

“Six Feet Deep into the Gothic Subculture” is an immersion memoir, which means that it approaches the world as a means to illuminating the self. 6 traces her transformation from girl who dressed in all colors of the rainbow into a veteran Goth with laugh-out-loud humor (such as her opening observation that the Goth scene in Iowa is “deader than Bela Lugosi”) and incisive reflection on the nuances of Goth bands and attire. A good memoir often shows change in a character and, by teaching us about that character’s life, manages to teach us about our own. 6’s journey throughout this essay is remarkable –a true coming-out story–but it also renders Goth culture comprehensible in ways that all readers can relate to their own friend groups and communities. It is ultimately an enduring and universal story.

– Joshua Dolezal

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Goths. You’ve probably seen them somewhere. They’re scattered across just about every country, higher concentrations congregating in some areas more than others. They’ve been around for over four decades, and no matter how their numbers may dwindle, regardless of how negatively the outside world may see them, they’re still alive and kicking and will continue to do so for a very long time.

The Gothic subculture was a mystery to me for years, mostly because Goths are hardly ever represented in media (and when they are, it’s often as the stereotypical gloomy teen that thinks moping around is synonymous with having a personality), and because the Goth scene in Iowa is deader than Bela Lugosi. When all you have to go off of is portrayals on TV and parent’s disapproval of anything resembling an alternative lifestyle, it’s no wonder that I, like many others, misunderstood this subculture.

“I can’t believe someone would dress like that!” My narrowed eyes scrutinized the woman on the TV screen. Her hair must have been at least three different colors, none of them natural, and her face shined with piercings, each one like a beacon begging for attention. My dad echoed my complaints with a disapproving “Yeah.” He used that tone children know so well, the tone parents use to describe someone unsavory, a tone often followed by “Don’t ever turn out like that, dear. Those people don’t go far in life.” I was eleven at the time.

Eleven-year-old me was as girly as they came. You could count the times I wasn’t in pink on one hand. My favorite place to beg Mom for new clothes was The Children’s Place, which sold color-coordinated outfits in brilliant tones from every part of the rainbow. When I made my way to middle school, I lamented the fact that I was now too old to get my clothes there anymore. However, not only did the color-coordination stick, but it developed into themes as well. Kids from the early 2010s will undoubtedly remember Nyan Cat, the singing toaster pastry cat that left a trail of rainbows in its wake. I had a Nyan Cat t-shirt, Nyan Cat bracelet, four different Nyan Cat pins, and a Nyan Cat bottle cap necklace (that I made myself, no less). I wore all of them in the same outfit. Multiple times. To school.

Matching themed outfits made up the entirety of my wardrobe throughout middle school.This led to me wearing many different styles, from neon eighties nightmare to sophisticated nerd. My art teacher made note of this when she signed my eighth-grade yearbook, finding delight in my whimsical self-expression. Fourteen-year-old me had one problem, though—she described one of my looks as “Goth.” I was ticked. Sure, metal and their arms covered in ink. Sure, skulls were one of the many things I had as a theme, and if a shirt I wore only had black, white, and red, then I only wore those colors for that outfit, but that didn’t mean I was “Goth.” I wasn’t like those people. I didn’t like drugs or worship Satan. I wasn’t some stupid teenager with their face full of metal and their arms covered in ink. At least, that’s what my parents thought of them, and as I’d never met one, who was I to argue?

I can’t quite remember what kicked off my interest in Goth, but I think the vampire trend was to blame. No, I never read Twilight or its sequels, but nonetheless, its popularity sparked a wave of vampire books, romance or otherwise. Vampires were usually depicted as wearing glamorous dark clothing, occasionally with a leaning towards Victorian fashion. Some were even explicitly described as being Goth. I explored this aesthetic through a Nintendo DS game called “Style Savvy” that I played religiously as a pre-teen. The object of the game was to run a boutique and pick out clothes for customers, whom all had a certain fashion category they fit into. One of these was Gothic lolita (labeled simply as “Gothic” for the Western version) and another was a bit of a cross between Emo and Goth. I dressed my character exclusively in these styles and even dyed her hair black. I spent more time on this game than I should have, given its limited gameplay, but it made me realize that I adored Goth fashion and wanted to dress that way in real life.

My second motive for adopting a spooky style was that it made me feel like I finally found a group where I fit in. Throughout middle school, I had been picked on for being annoying, loud, and hyper. Making friends was like casting a torn-up fishing net and hoping to catch something. Even though I settled down and traded my outspokenness for a quiet nature, the damage done to my reputation couldn’t be repaired, and the boys who bullied me in middle school didn’t seem to notice I had become less of a nuisance. Putting on black clothes and studs was like adorning armor. Although Goth kids do tend to get bullied for their nonconformity, my logic was that if I looked cool, and kind of scary, I would be left alone, because who wants to mess with the badass who wears a studded leather jacket with a safety-pin-skull on the back?

One day, I wore a black dress that had a white lace panel made to look like vertebrae at the back. I received two compliments, one of which was from the guy who had picked on me the most. He wasn’t the type to give fake compliments, and his tone bore no resemblance to sarcasm. The other was a conversation I overheard between two boys in the hall as they walked behind me.

“Whoa, that girl has a spine on her dress.”

“That’s so metal.” My smile lit up the hallway.

Of course, it takes more than black clothes and thick eyeliner to be a Goth, but that was a lesson I wouldn’t learn until I did further digging online. Goth is a music-based subculture, not fashion-based as many outsiders believe. It all started with the song “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” released in 1979 by Bauhaus. This song would define the genre of post-punk, which, as the name implies, rose from the ashes of the dying punk scene in the UK. Post-punk soon gave way to goth rock, and from there, like a blot of black ink on parchment, it spread out into other iterations, ranging from deathrock to new wave to synth-pop. Industrial music mingled in as well, as did the rave music favored by cybergoths (or “gravers,” as they used to be known), but both genres remained distinct from the whole of Goth music, considered more like cousins to the melancholy, atmospheric sounds and prominent bass guitar chords that make up theother subgenres (with the exception of EBM and synth-pop, which have an uncharacteristically upbeat tune and techno sound, despite the lyrics being just as dark and dreary as the others).

Naturally, to join a music-based subculture, one must listen to and enjoy the music. An ongoing problem for the Goth subculture is that too many newcomers skip this step and head straight for the visual aspect. More experienced Goths who have been active in the scene for a while will often try to encourage Babybats (new Goths) to dive into the rich music history, but they get met with claims of elitism and gate- keeping, to which they fire back with “poseur.” I am ashamed to admit that I, too, tried to work my way in like a worm through an apple without having the faintest idea that Goth music even existed.

The present-day me, who has been Goth for six years, firmly believes that the foundation of Goth is the music. It’s what started the whole subculture in the first place, and it continues to link together people from all around the world. New Goth music is still being made to this day, four decades after the initial release of “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” I currently listen to over thirty bands that fall under the Goth umbrella, and I’m always looking to add to my options. The effect the music has on me is unlike anything else I’ve listened to. It flows into your blood, forces you to twirl your body, and sway to its hypnotic sound. It balances sadness with the desire to dance, raw emotion, and death with a yearning for romance. It’s magical.

Foolishly, I did not start listening to the music until about a year into my involvement in the subculture. Here I was, with my fishnet tights, studded collars, and black dresses, yet I couldn’t name a single band. Pfft, poseur. Afraid I’d be rejected if I met any real Goths, I convinced myself that Halloween Vocaloid songs on YouTube counted (no, past Emma, they don’t count- -not by a long shot). But, by sheer dumb luck–or YouTube’s algorithm–a video was recommended to me. A music video, titled “Looking Glass” by a band called The Birthday Massacre. The name of the song piqued my interest, as it reminded me of Through the Looking-Glass, the sequel to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, was one of my favorite stories. So, with curiosity at the helm, I clicked on the link. The band’s black rabbit logo further solidified the Wonderland vibe, and although the song itself had nothing to do with Lewis Carroll’s famous story, it ended up being exactly what I was looking for. The beat incorporated elements of rock and synth and carried an intense energy about it that sputtered in my heart. The video was drenched in creepy imagery that delighted me, from the identical, doll-like masks the extras wore to the black apple oozing red goo. Not only did it combine upbeat music with dark visuals, but it also took inspiration from anime (another love of mine), as the masks and uniforms were vaguely Japanese, and the lead singer uses the stage name of Chibi, an homage to Chibi Moon from the popular anime Sailor Moon.

It turned out that to bridge the gap between the music I had grown up with and Goth music was synth. Sure, it’s probably the least Goth of all the sub-genres, but it hooked me. Before Goth, I had enjoyed music I could really dance to, music that held powerful energy within it. Synth kept that energy and added futuristic and fantastical sounds, and the dark lyrics gave me a taste before the craving for more began. That allowed me to find value in slower, more melancholic tunes by other bands.

I watched all four of the music videos on The Birthday Massacre’s channel that very night and each one had the same whimsical mix of energy, spookiness, and a little bit of magic. Dolls, rabbits, muted colors, black-haired girls in frilly dresses– the aesthetic they created was one of a distorted fairy tale, and it resonated with me perfectly. I listened to more of their songs after that, seeking out lyric videos so I could follow along with Chibi’s melodic voice. She had quite the range, able to sing powerfully, softly, angrily, or even by growling out the words, and it was equally as beautiful every time. The Birthday Massacre became my favorite band and continues to be so to this day.

With the same enthusiasm as granted by a new crush, I eagerly sought out more bands. I quickly found a list of recommendations by a Goth online whose username was based off of a track The Birthday Massacre had played on their old website. The name Creature Feature was near the top and sounded promising enough, so I dove right in and played their most popular song, “The Greatest Show Unearthed.” Whereas The Birthday Massacre sounded like the soundtrack to a dark, enchanted forest, Creature Feature was like Halloween itself became a person. Their lyrics had the same gory, monster-filled fun that my poetry did, ranging from zombies to grave robbers, so they were an instant hit with me. There is some debate about whether Creature Feature is actually Goth or just darkly- inclined. At the time, I didn’t know the difference, but now I would say they aren’t Goth but appeal to Goths. I would almost put The Birthday Massacre in the same boat, but synth has some overlap with the genre, so it’s a little harder to tell. However, I hear many Goths praising both these bands, so I feel validated nonetheless.

The deeper I delved into Goth music, the more I enjoyed it. I finally felt like a real Goth. I still remember how happy I was when I could name ten Goth bands off the top of my head. Sure, they were the more well-known ones, but it was an accomplishment to a young Babybat. I held up a finger as I silently listed them off. “Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, The Sisters of Mercy…Alien Sex Fiend, Christian Death… Clan of Xymox, Echo and the Bunnymen…London After Midnight…She Past Away!” I bore the largest grin on my face as I congratulate myself. I had passed a milestone that I myself had set up, and I truly felt, for the first time, that I belonged. It was no longer a black suit of armor—it had seeped into my skin and fused to my soul. To even attempt to go back would be to abandon what had become such a big part of myself, a part I am incredibly proud of.

As I grew older, I became more involved in the arts-and-crafts aspect of Goth. At this point, I had accumulated clothing from Hot Topic and thrift stores that matched the aesthetic I was going for, but where’s the fun in being a “Goth- in-a-box”—a cardboard cutout of all the other young alternative kids that also shop at Hot Topic? Goths online were always stressing the importance of customizing clothes and making your own accessories. Not only is it more affordable, but it gives you a one-of-a-kind piece that you poured love into and made to fit your own personal style. With this new source of motivation, I pulled my old sewing machine out of retirement and relearned how to sew. I also took up jewelry- making again (a hobby I had inherited from my mom), and my art began to reflect my love of monsters and spooky things. The percentage of handmade things in my arsenal skyrocketed. Sewing became one of my favorite things to do, and I became known as the “DIY Queen” by my friends, who even ask me for advice when crafting. My most notorious example was when I made my own prom dress. Naturally, it was black satin with red-and-black lace with skulls on it, bearing bell- sleeves, lace and black bows on the bodice, and a lace-trim choker with a crystal pendant (also handmade). When picking out the fabric at Joann Fabrics, my Mom had guided me to a different bolt of lace.

“I think this one would be better. I mean, you don’t want it to look too Goth.”

I replied, “Mom, I am Goth.” That was the first time I’d said it out loud.

It seemed that if I never said it, my parents wouldn’t notice. The changes in my wardrobe were so gradual that they wouldn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, and I would often sneak accessories or wild lipstick colors in my bag and put them on at school, careful to remove them before coming home so my parents would be none the wiser. When I actually admitted it, when that one simple word exited my mouth like a raven trying to escape, my heart roared as if I had just spilled my biggest secret. As expected, my parents developed a strictness they had never shown before, refusing to buy me anything even remotely Goth, making me change clothes, and even feeling the need to tell me not to wear anything with skulls and bones on it to a funeral, which I wasn’t going to do in the first place, because I’m not incompetent. My common sense never left—I knew full well that formal events, job interviews, funerals, and the like all have dress codes, and I adhered to them. My parents’ insistence on telling me what to wear made me feel like they thought I was a child that didn’t know any better, not a seventeen-year- old who long since learned to dress herself and had been doing so just fine. They also felt the need to ask me to change when there was no dress code, such as going shopping. Yeah, I sincerely doubt anyone at the mall is going to care that I’m in ripped tights and a Wednesday Addams dress.

They disguised their judgment with concern, worried that other people would treat me like…well, like they were treating me. I have been insulted on five occasions if memory serves correct. The amount of compliments I’ve received dwarfs that number exponentially. I’ve been told by several that they used to dress like I do when they were in high school and that although it didn’t stick with them, they love seeing it on someone else. An older teacher at my high school loved my look, as it reminded her of her adult daughter who had been Goth at some point. I get compliments from other alternative kids, from strangers, from teachers and professors, and from the cashiers who ring me up at stores. Some of the friends I’ve made in college only met me because they saw me from afar and thought I was interesting. I draw attention, but the kind that makes people curious about me rather than hateful. That’s not to say no one has disliked my style, but at the very least, they kept it to themselves. I know that I’ve just been lucky, as many Goths face abuse, both verbal and physical, for the way they look. My go-to joke is that it’s because I’m surrounded by Midwesterners, all of which are too “Iowa-nice” (myself included) to say something rude about someone’s outfit. Besides, who wants someone that shallow in their life, anyway? As far as I’m concerned, I’m sorting those people out with appearances alone.

My parents have grown more tolerant of my lifestyle over the years, especially when they see me channeling it into my hobbies. They have even let me start dying my hair, something that would never have been allowed when I was younger. They haven’t fully come around, but I no longer feel like I have to hide my identity from them. Of course, growing older and approaching adulthood has certainly worked out in my favor. It’s hard to tell your daughter not to wear something when she makes her own clothes using supplies that she bought with money she earned at her job. However, there are still those uncomfortable moments when they show distaste, such as when I paint something horror-related or sew a garment using fabric with a creepy pattern. I plaster a smile on my face and pretend it doesn’t bother me, but little things can pile up.

The sky outside had faded into blackness as I sat in my room. Scrolling through social media, a post caught my eye. “Hi, I’m new to the Goth scene. Can anyone answer my questions?” I could. It had been six years since my first platform-boot- clad-steps into the subculture, and it brought a smile to my face to see how far I’d come. It’s funny to look back at my Babybat self, someone who didn’t even know who Peter Murphy was, couldn’t tell Bauhaus from The Cure, who smeared thick black eyeliner over their lids and called it good, now able to confidently pave the way for a newcomer. I went on about where to find the music, where to buy clothes, ways to customize them, how to tell Goth and Emo apart, why dying their hair black was not a requirement, and so on and so forth. I felt I had integrated into the scene completely, and no matter what anyone else thinks, I’ll always have a place among the Goths.