Saturday, November 15, 2025

Nana's Waiting

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Greenefield City builds new, unaffordable HOA-approved houses that all look the same for the ever-shrinking upper-middle class. The city council abandoned the Oldewood area to pothole streets, slumping houses, and SWAT-searched apartments. It was 20 years ago when the city council renovated the Red Leaf apartments to appease the Oldewood residents. Apartment 3483 is a two-room, two-bathroom space that is barely comfortable for a family of 5.

            The youngest child, Jessica, turned 13 early summer and is trusted to walk around Oldewood by herself. She shoves her shoulder into the unlocked front door to force it open. The door groans and jolts. She stumbles in, her pink Walmart backpack smacking the door frame. “Damn! When is Dad gonna fix these hinges?”

            “Jessie? Jessie! You better not be cussing in my house!”

            “I’m not, Momma! The door was being difficult!”

            “Uh-huh, how was your half-day?”

            “Alright! But Mr. Sanders was being a butt.”

            “Well, do your homework. I’m taking a nap before I head to my shift at Charlatans. Mr. Lyer is promising a raise.”

            Mr. Lyer has been promising part-time workers a raise for two years, and will likely flake again. Jessica drags the hand-me-down backpack behind her and slumps into the couch. The cracked pleather pokes through her pullover hoodie. Her shared room is down the hall, but Kimmy smoked weed in there this morning. Nat cracked open the window, but a good breeze won’t come by till sunset. The stench of skunk weed clings to bedding like poor decisions, like the boys Kimmy fucks.

Of her big sisters, Jessica likes Nat the best. She read library-borrowed Frog and Toad stories when Jessica was in elementary. Kimmy watched cartoons and called her stupid or a baby for wanting to be read to. Daddy and Momma came back home around 8, and Jessica’s bedtime was 8:30. The sisters’ parents were too tired to read bedtime stories, but they had the energy to say good night and say “I love you.”

            Jessica stops lazing on the couch and gets to her homework on the street-poached table. Nana and Momma picked it up after their mother-daughter date last month. They were cutting through Goodwood to spare the Camry’s tires. A couple was dumping all their stuff and selling everything at scam prices. The table didn’t sell, and was left as junk on the curb. Two bottles of wood cleaner later, the refurbished table sits between the kitchen and the living room.

            Jessica finishes “Hills Like White Elephants” and the accompanying worksheet when her Momma comes down. There’s olive oil infused into her polo shirt and slacks.

            Jessica’s mom picks up two Daphne du Maurier books, Rebecca and Jamaica Inn. “Can you return these to your Nana?”

            She takes the broken spine novels. “Sure. Will Daddy pick me up then?”

            “Yeah, he’s getting off early today, and I don’t want you walking back when it’s dark. You know what, let me call him now.” Momma tugs the front door open, work bag over her shoulder. “Love you.”

            “Love you.”

            The door huffs shut. Jessica puts her backpack in her room and gets her crossbody bag from the closet. She puts the novels, her wallet, cell phone, and charger inside it— her keys go in her pants’ pocket. Nana’s house is a 30-minute walk from Red Leaf apartments. She leaves home and cuts through the grass to reach the banged-up side gate. Outside the apartment complex, Jessica texts Nat and Kimmy to let them know she’s heading over to Nana’s. Kimmy might come to avoid her boyfriend, DJ, from trying to fuck her without a rubber. But Nat’s unlikely to visit Nana since Law & Order is always blasting and Nat has midterms coming up. If none of Jessica’s other cousins are visiting, she’ll be stuck with Kimmy. Maybe Tony and Victoria will be there, and they could play Smash Bros., then Jessica wouldn’t be alone with Kimmy.

            Jessica waits at the Wolfe Street and Woodsman Avenue intersection for the walk signal. She pulls out her cell and goes to the SCP Foundation website to read the top-rated creepy story. The robotic voice drones out. Head down, she crosses the street to take Woodsman all the way to Nana’s.

            “HEY, HEY, HEY! YOU CAN’T WALK THIS WAY!”

            Jessica’s head flicks up, startled by a construction worker yelling at her. The sidewalk and street have workers buzzing about. Putting up street cones, taping off the area, and flagging down trucks.

            “How long ya’ll going to be at it?”

            “We should be done by the end of the week. But, if you want to get to the east side of Oldewood, you’ll have to take Wolfe Street to get around.”

            Jessica kisses her teeth, “Thank you,” and turns around.

            The turnaround will add another 25 minutes to Jessica’s trip. At this point, she might as well go home. She’s at the intersection when her Galaxy S10 chimes.

            “…Nana?”

            “Please, walk now. Please walk now. Please walk now.” 30 seconds, 29, 28, 27…

            Nana: Where are you? Abby said you’re coming.

            17, 16, 15…Jessica jogs across to Wolfe Street—her keys jingle with her steps. There are 5 seconds left when she reaches the other sidewalk. She texts Nana about the construction happening and reassures her that she’ll be there soon. She gets a smiley face and heart emojis back.

            Ivy crawls over white walls, shielding cookie-cutter homes from the worst of Greenefield. Four freshly painted lanes separate the HOA-approved houses from Oldewood. American flags thrash with a gust of wind. The tails of Jessica’s box braids smack her face. Annoyed, she tugs her red hood up. The wind beats against her side. A skateboarder speeds behind her. Jessica jerks to the side to get out of the way. The board shrieks to a halt.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The high school boy smiles.

            Jessica’s brow furrows. “You can go past. I wasn’t trying to get in your way.”

            “Nah, I’m good.”

Jessica slides against the face of the wall and tries to slip away. He keeps pace with her.

“Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you around.”

“No, I’m just passing through. Trying to get somewhere.”

“Cool. Where?”

“Do you need to know?”

“Well, I might know a shortcut. I could help you get there faster.”

“Look, I’m just trying to visit my Nana, and I don’t need help with that. Bye.” He rolls in Jessica’s way, and she jerks to a halt.

“At least tell me your name.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know it. Here, I’ll go first. I’m Wolfgang.”

“I’m Jessica.” She squeezes her phone; Wolfgang yaps at her.

Jessica tries to slip past him after a flippant hum, but the edge of his skateboard bites at her ankles. Wolfgang keeps pace with Jessica and attempts to get more than an un-huh from the girl. But she keeps the disinterested front and seeks a way around his board. He craves more than her dismissal. He wants her dark brown eyes to peek around her red hood. To watch her smile and show off her braces, and to talk about her day. More than anything, he wants to whisk her home and gobble her up. A cute girl like her shouldn’t have to live in Oldewood’s raggedy homes. Greenefield could use an “accidental” late summer fire and reduce Oldewood to an ashened heap, to allow fresh white homes to take over.

Jessica checks on Wolfgang. His head’s off in whatever concrete woods he likes to prowl in. Stealing the opportunity to ditch him, she swivels around Wolfgang, jayrunning to Brittle Road, and bolts to Nana’s. He shouts shit, and tries to skate across the street, but a car zooms by, the wind dings his board, and the driver honks at him. He stumbles back, trips off his skateboard, bruises his achillies tendon on the sidewalk curve, and hits his ass on the cracked pavement. Jessica sprints on, red hoodie a dot.

Jessica stumbles to a stop, bends over, and pants to catch her breath. She peers over her shoulder, but doesn’t find Wolfgang. That boy needs to get a hint. Jessica scans the neighborhood and spots Nana’s pink one-story house. Bright yellow roses sway in the wind. Jessica smiles at the trimmed lawn and moist dirt. Nana’s roses are so beautiful that the pious Mrs. Evans's thin lips vanish before every Easter Sunday when Pastor Charles requests Nana’s flowers to be displayed during church service. Jessica strolls up to the side door, reaches for her key, and feels her empty pocket. SHIT! She must have lost them when she escaped from Wolfgang. She’ll have to retrace her steps. Jessica groans and leaves the pink house behind. She hopes she won’t run into Wolfgang on her way back.

Jessica follows her previous steps and searches for her keys. She doesn’t see them, but someone is riding a skateboard. There’s no one else on Brittle Road. Whoever the skateboarder is must be somewhere else. Jessica hesitates and hunts for the stranger again. She must have heard wrong. She heads back to Nana’s without finding her keys.

At Nana’s house again, Jessica knocks and calls out to be let in, but no one answers. She checks her phone and sees a missed text. Nat asks if she made it to Nana’s. Jessica shoots a text back and leaves out her lost keys. She returns her phone to the crossbody bag. Jessica pounds on the door despite the threat of a belt, but doesn’t hear shouting. She tries the doorknob because Victoria sometimes leaves it unlocked when she drops by. The door opens smoothly, and Jessica heads in.

 “Nana? You home?” Jessica toes off her black Puma sneakers.

The white screen door creaks closed, and Jessica follows the hosts' voices from The Great British Bake Off—episode 5 of season 10. Nana’s yellow slippers rest in front of the couch. There’s something obscure by the popped leg rest. It’s probably Tony’s rollerblades. He always leaves them there. Nana’s rose-painted mug is half empty, and the coffee is cold. Where did her Nana go?

“Nana?”

A croaky voice calls from down the hallway. “Jessica? Jessica? Is that you?”

Was that Nana? She sounds weird. Jessica goes to the voice. “Are you feeling sick?”

“My throat’s just bothering me.”

“I’m coming i—”

“No! If I got something, you’ll get sick!”

“Oh, okay…” Jessica backs away from the door and returns to the living room.

On the TV, the host, Noel, informs bakers, Helena and Michelle, that they’ve been eliminated. The seven remaining contestants hug Michelle and Helena and say their goodbyes. Jessica grabs the remote and logs out of Netflix. A skateboard pokes out from beside the leg rest. “Wasn’t that supposed to be Tony’s rollerblades?” She crouches to examine the board.

“It’s rude to touch someone’s things.”

Jessica flinches and whips around. “Wolfgang?”

“Hi, Jessica.”

Victoria’s softball bat thwacks Jessica on the head. She slumps between the couch and the TV.

***

“Good evening, this is Ursula Jones of Greenefield Local News reporting to you on Wednesday, 8:45 PM, at Branch and Brittle in Oldewood, where a fire broke out at Mrs. Ethel Holmes's house. The 72-year-old woman was found suffocated in her locked bathroom. Bleeding from her head suggests her assailant concussed her first. The criminal likely tried to burn any evidence. Mrs. Holmes’s granddaughter, Jessica Holmes, is also missing. The 13-year-old girl was last seen by her mother around noon. Jessica’s belongings, including her phone, are in the house; however, her keys are missing. An Amber Alert has been issued. Please contact the police if you see her. Her parents and two older sisters desperately want to reunite with Jessica. Stay safe. Back to you, Harry.”

José cuts the feed, and Ursula scurries from the yellow tape. The police, firefighters, and EMTs buzz around Mrs. Ethel’s pink house. The other residents living on Branch take videos and photos. Yellow roses sway in the warm evening breeze.

Saturday, October 18, 2025

Planted Within

An untruth is told

A seed is planted

My body is the soil

The roots infest my veins

The seedling sprouts

I’m overgrown with

Weeds

 

Tell a not lie

Planted is a seed

Soil is my body

My veins become the roots

A sprouting seedling

I’m a flowering

Garden

 

Split me in half

Save the flowers

Take the weeds

That strangles me

Uproot them all

My veins scream

The garden is gone

And the weeds left a scar

I’m just unplanted soil.

Saturday, September 20, 2025

An Existence with One Friend

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    The evening service concludes with the final amen. Devotees shuffle out of the pews and file out the wooden doors. The warm night breeze seeps inside the church. In the eighth row, away from the door, a lone figure chooses to remain in God's house. His auburn clothing is stylish but subdued so as not to draw the pastor's attention. 
    The doors swish shut, and the lock clicks. Pastor Hamuel waddles to the last devotee. He grasps the back of the pew to assist himself into the red seat. The human-like being is statuesque, eyes unblinking, mouth closed, and chest still. His relaxed posture during service vanished with the closing of the doors.
    "I didn't know God still calls to beings like you?"
    "In my long life, God has been my only consistent companion. Even when I question them." His fangs peek behind his lips.
    The pew moans when Pastor Hamuel leans back. "Then, may you never lose faith, and keep questioning."

Saturday, August 16, 2025

The Unambiguous Black Goth Girl

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It’s been fourteen years since I was fifteen. I’ve always been interested in alternative music. Something that ostracized me from what “normal” black teens were supposed to be listening to. I’m not good at molding myself into a silhouette that doesn’t suit me. I usually had to pretend to listen to the 80s and 90s hip-hop partying throughout Uncle J’s fenced-in house in San Bernardino. Sitting on one of the two thrifted beds, cramped in the tiny side bedroom that only had a sheet and a blanket each, a leaning tower of laundry sways with each bass drop in the corner. The flat screen propped up on a mismatched dresser is on. Love & Hip Hop: New York was playing, but my cousins, sister, and I were not watching. Instead, our ears were trying to catch snippets of words between us as we caught up.

            “You’re going through a Goth phase, aren’t you?” My cousin Mario said that. I haven’t seen him in some years, and I can’t help but smile looking back at his comment. I’m in year fourteen of this “phase” of mine.

***

            When you envision a Goth, what do you see? The pale skin of a white-passing person? Long dyed black hair that’s been fried straight? Chunky black boots (these are usually Demonia boots)? Red contacts since Goths like vampires? Black clothes that wrap around a thin, ghostly white body? A sharp, angular face with ashen contour makeup to appear more skeletal? If you’re gross, the big titty Goth girlfriend meme? Did you notice that these descriptions of what a Goth is supposed to look like don’t allow for anyone who’s not white-adjacent? I did, and social media doesn’t permit me to forget that my blackness doesn’t match the idealized image of what a Goth is supposed to look like.

***

            I had finished my homework and was browsing on YouTube when I came across my first goth video. It was after dinner, and I was on my laptop in the living room. The ugly beige carpet looked like all ugly carpets in Ventura’s apartments. The Goth woman was an elder. Elder Goths have been a part of the community for ten-plus years. (I’m considered one now.) Her hair was dyed orange, and she wore matching eyeshadow that popped against her pale skin. She had on a fitted black T-shirt over a black fishnet shirt. Her wrists were covered in spiked cuffs. She had piercings, but the kind that wouldn’t set off a metal detector. Her fingernails were painted orange. Her background was her living room. Her non-Goth husband was just off-screen.

            She spoke about how being Goth wasn’t attached to race. The clothing expresses how the music makes Goths feel and how Goth is a mindset. (This statement is used by “Goths,” who only wear the clothes.) She went on to talk about how Goth wasn’t related to any religion or drugs and was safe for minors to participate in.

            Hearing what she said about the subculture, I wanted to explore the foreign community. Of course, goth fashion caught my attention first, which didn’t delegitimize my desire to be goth or anyone’s fascination with the subculture. The first thing you notice about any alternative person is their clothes. Our fashion sense is as quiet as the guitar riffs in our music, and with how visually dominant social media is, non-Goths look first and listen sometimes.

            I didn’t start listening to Goth music that very night. Instead, I watched several other videos about the Goth subculture. I noticed something. Most of the Goths I saw were white or could be viewed as white. I specifically searched for black Goths, and even then, there wasn’t much to find. Despite being reassured that anyone of any ethnicity or race could be Goth, the face of the Goth community didn’t look like mine or any non-white person.

***

            I was lying on my twin-size bed in a small apartment room when I played my first Goth Rock song. My sister was napping on her matching bed. A bit of history: Post-punk was born after punk rock died and zombified at the end of the 70s. Consider Post-punk Goth’s buffering stage. Once 1979 came, Goth was fully realized with Bauhaus’s Bela Lugosi’s Dead, the first official Goth rock track. This was not my first Goth song; I listened to Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Spellbound. The next piece I listened to was from The Sisters of Mercy’s Lucretia My Reflection. The Cure is another foundational Goth band; however, they weren’t a part of my initial introduction to Goth. It was then that I was hooked and craved to hear more. Goth music sparked an intense freedom within me. It touched upon my emotions in a way that R&B and hip-hop never consistently could. (A truth that made the teenager feel false in her blackness.) But for all my newfound love and baby bat status (new Goths are called baby bats), I wasn’t sure I could be a Goth. At least not visually.

            I hid behind another alternative community, the vintage/rockabilly community. That community was more racially diverse. It helps that I love fashion and fashion history. The thing was that my gothic tendencies leaked through. The dark pool of Goth music dyed everything I wore, and I was the only one fooled. To be fair to myself, I have a soft spot for 1970s rock, disco, and funk music. And if I’m not listening to Goth music, it’s likely something from the 70s. 1960s and ’70s fashion heavily inspires some of my current clothing. And whenever it’s summer in Southern California, I always have the urge to dress more pin-up with high-waisted shorts, cropped tops, and platform sandals.

***

            A conversation that happened two years ago stands out. My sister was driving her white car (it’s totaled now); we talked about a song by Christian Death. Christian Death is an influential Deathrock band. Deathrock emerged from the Los Angeles punk scene in the late ‘70s, like Goth did in the London punk scene. Deathrockers and Goths are alternative twins, as several bands have crossover appeal.

            “I feel stupid.”

            “About what?” Tami was drinking an ICE water.

            I was messing with my phone, “There’s this song called Romeo’s Distress, and I like this song…”

            “But?”

            “The first line is: Burning crosses on a n-word (with the hard er) lawn. And I never noticed that. I love this song, especially the Faith and the Muse version.”

            We’re stopped at the light. The gray overcast dulled the outside world. The car is warm, but it didn’t warm my mood.

            “Well…I can see why you’re thrown off.”

            “Like, I get that the lead singer (Rozz Williams) dealt with suicidal depression that ultimately took his life, but the n-word isn’t something a white man should casually say.”

            “Was he racist?”

            “No, but I still feel stupid. I don’t know. Can you understand what he’s saying?” I turned the volume up on my phone and played Romeo’s Distress.

            “That’s a bad case of mush mouth. I don’t even know the words for that first line.”

            “Right! Other fans of Christian Death seem at a standstill on how to feel.”

            It’s moments like that that remind me how white the Goth community is at times. Despite being a part of the underground scene, alternative communities fall short, just like mainstream society.

***

            This is just a short aside rant about the big titty Goth girlfriend meme that I mentioned earlier. This dumbass meme came about from some SoundCloud “Goth” rappers. (If you want to listen to an actual Goth band that experimented with rap, check out Soft Kill’s album Metta World Peace. Past Life II is my favorite song, combining Goth and rap.) These assholes pushed the narrative that Goth girls have big boobs, are mentally unstable, like being sexually abused, and are drug addicts. Because of this, real Goth girls, women, and femmes have been assaulted and harassed online and in person. It also doesn’t help when some sex workers dress up like Goths and then proceed to market themselves as “Goth girls who are always ready and waiting to fuck,” which endangers Goths who are and aren’t sex workers because a horny jackass doesn’t understand that the real world isn’t Pornhub. I’ve read one too many horror stories of a fellow Goth woman getting propositioned for sex while she was going about her day.

            I’m fortunate that this hasn’t happened to me yet, but it shouldn’t happen to any Goth. Goths aren’t a fetish night that gets bragged about the next day. Honestly, there’s nothing special about sleeping with a Goth. Your girlfriend dressing like the party city version of a Goth isn’t a cute look. Especially if it’s just for some stupid sexual roleplaying, be more creative. Okay, rant over; now move along.

***

            A few years ago, an old friend visited her parents. Her parents have been neighbors of my grandparents for around twenty years. She babysat Tami and me when we were younger, and we dropped by when she was in town. We hang out in the living room. The three black leather couches are half our age. A giant flat-screen TV plays EDM music. Cami transitioned some years ago and started wearing darker clothing. Our conversation moved from topic to topic as we caught up. Until…

            “So, I decided to commit to this goth thing,” Cami said nonchalantly.

            Tami took her phone and moved to another leather couch. “Here she goes.”

            “Goth…thing? Are you Goth?” I haven’t met a baby bat in a while.

            “Yeah, I like the fashion. I think these spooky clothes fit me.”

            “Cami…you know that Goth isn’t a fashion subculture, right?”

            “Yeah, it is.”

            “No, no, it’s not. Goth is a music subculture. The clothes are just an expression of that.”

            “Well, you can still be Goth without listening to the music—”

            “No, you can’t. Without the music, there wouldn’t be the fashion.”

            “I still think you can be a Goth without the music.”

            “Quick question, Cami; can you call yourself a K-pop stan if you don’t listen to K-pop?”

            “That’s not the same thing, K-pop doesn’t have associated fashion.”

            “Yes, they are. To be a K-pop stan, you must listen to K-pop. To be a Goth, you must listen to Goth music. Even if I only wear Goth band t-shirts and joggers, I’ll still be as Goth as I am wearing the fashion. Listening to the music is what matters. However, it doesn’t have to be the only music you listen to.” (You’re free to wear the fashion since it’s your money, you’re just not considered a Goth if you don’t listen to the music.)

            She probably didn’t argue further because it wasn’t worth it in her eyes. It’s a hard line that any Goth worth their salt wouldn’t allow to bend. Even still, I wanted Cami to listen to some Goth bands. I took the remote and searched for a few bands to introduce Cami to. I started with Boy Harsher since they’re a dark EDM band beloved in the community, and EDM was playing earlier. I moved on to Soft Kill because they have many shoegaze tracks, an adjacent music genre to Goth. The last band I played was Male Tears. Boy Harsher and Soft Kill, while Goth bands, have songs that can appeal to non-Goths. Male Tears doesn’t have that buffer. It’s modern ‘80s darkwave. I don’t know if the songs I’ve played for Cami stuck. I hoped that at least one piece showed her what the music is.

***

            Let’s talk about the diverse subgenres that make up goth. You start with Post-punk, which still has bands frequently dropping new tracks. Post-punk isn’t a subgenre, but Goth’s starting point when punk “died.” (Sidenote: all Goth music is Post-punk, but not all Post-punk is Goth.) So, then there’s Gothic rock, Goth rock’s legal name. Gothic rock was fully formed in the ‘80s at the Batcave in London. Deathrock is Goth rock’s twin and was born in Los Angeles. The subgenre embodies its punk roots. Because the ‘80s were drenched in synthesizers and inspired by New Wave, Goth birthed darkwave, ethereal, and minimal wave. Darkwave keeps Goth’s dark tones while keeping the danceable nature of new wave music. Ethereal has hauntingly beautiful voices singing atop a dark dance track. Minimal wave is heavily stripped of complex beats, leaving repetitive mechanical beats. The different waves are usually non-Goth-friendly, since the synthesizer is familiar to most music listeners. While not a part of Goth, New Wave is always welcomed because it greatly influences the subculture and has existed since the scene’s beginning. Shoegaze is an orbiter music genre halfway inside Goth’s mouth. It’s easy to transition into the expansive Goth sound through Shoegaze. Synthpop is Goth’s best friend because, you guessed it, synthesizers. There are other cousin music genres like dark EDM, but that’s a rabbit hole of unending Reddit arguments, like whether Joy Division is considered a Goth band. The 80s Elders are undecided, and I won’t risk my neck on a band I’m indifferent to. Depeche Mode is also a coin toss on whether the band is Goth or not. Bands on the fringes or loosey-goosey subgenres are always up in the air.

            Goth music brings in new bands; old ones return with new music, like Rosetta Stone. The music is alive and welcoming to a fresh cauldron of baby bats. However, over the past few years, many non-Goths have been trying to define what Goth is. Like attempting to make other alternative subcultures wear a Goth mask. There’s no need to force Emo or Metal into Goth’s skin. These alternative communities can and do stand independently, so can Goth. It’s exhausting to politely tell someone that Goth isn’t an aesthetic or a fashion subculture. Then have them turn around and tell you you’re a gatekeeper. (Goths have zero problem recommending a playlist to get a newcomer a feel for the music. Yet focusing on the subculture’s core is gatekeeping.) That Goth is just spooky-looking clothing and Halloween. Or someone dresses in Goth clothes as a trend because being vaguely alternative is the cool thing to do on TikTok. Doing that gets under a lot of alternative people’s skin. Our subcultures mean a lot to us.

            Unlike many elder Goths and Goths from more conservative backgrounds, I’ve never been bullied for being an alternative kid. They were called devil worshipers or freaks because of how they dressed and what they listened to. I don’t have a personality that allows for bullying. That strong personality helps me a lot when it comes to dealing with nonsense. What I had to deal with was impostor syndrome.

***

            Being unambiguous in your ethnicity is a pain at times. Especially when you’re a part of an alternative community. Everyone around you doesn’t believe that you’re really a part of an alternative subculture that isn’t black-approved. You liked hip-hop, R&B, and pop. That’s it. Although it’s better today, the limitations are still silently there.

Back in the 2010s, being alternative was a white-only thing. That’s not to say there weren’t non-white looking people of color who were a part of an alternative subculture; there were. They just weren’t the people you saw. If you wanted to see a black Goth anywhere on social media, you likely had to scroll through pages worth of images to find a person or two, if you were lucky. Because there weren’t often people who looked like me, I felt I didn’t belong. I was a novelty, only visiting until I returned to where I belonged. It didn’t help that light-skinned girls could dress alternatively and be accepted more easily. The worst feeling was the white girls who didn’t listen to the music, didn’t care about the history, and treated the subculture as an edgy trend. Those girls got to be treated as real Goths by people outside the community.

In contrast, I was assumed to be seeking attention from the black community. An upside to not having my interest taken seriously is that I wasn’t accused of devil worshiping. I ended up questioning if I was really Goth. I had friends and family who believed my interest was temporary. It was so frustrating. But as I got older, I stopped caring and got my priorities straight. Is there likely going to be some random person who’ll question my gothiness? Yes. Will I have to deal with non-Goths trying to pretend they’re Goth and spread bullshit information about the subculture I’ve been a part of for ten-plus years? Yes. Am I going to let that nonsense ruin my day? No, I have the new Twin Tribes album to check out and a bank account to ruin because I’ve been inspired by my favorite music. Just because Goth isn’t about the clothes doesn’t mean the clothes don’t play a part in the aesthetics. Those dark threads have been bleeding the wallets of Goths dry since 1983.

***

So, what goes into a typical femme Goth outfit? I know I was just on a soap box, lambasting the very thought of goth being just fashion, but the majority of Goths don’t dress like normies. Normie is a neutral name for non-alternative people, although it can be used as an insult. Most Goths stand out because of what we wear, so what is the logic behind the black clothes? (I won’t go into every little detail and will do broad strokes.)

To the surprise of everyone who isn’t Goth, the music and the decade can give a decent clue on how a Goth dresses. In the ‘80s, what is now called Trad Goth (also known as Batcavers) was the norm. Big hair, pale face, ancient Egyptian-style eyeliner, thrifted clothes, and DIY pieces. In the early days of goth, wearing bright colors like yellow, blue, red, and white wasn’t unusual. Black was taking over as the color of choice, but color wasn’t excluded either. PVC jackets, fishnet tights, and winklepicker shoes ran wild with billowy color block shirts. It was the ‘80s, and makeup then was bright and colorful, even for Goths. The music that inspired most outfits was Post-punk, Goth rock, and New Wave. Because Goth was still close to its punk heritage, thrifting for clothes, DIYing patches onto clothes, and creating jewelry were still prominent in the community.

Modern Trad Goths don’t mix bright colors in their outfits. It’s black with some white, depending on the outfit. Thrifting is also not as important as it was. The makeup is just as dramatic as in the ‘80s, just all-black on top of a ghost-white foundation. This makeup style is typical throughout the scene, but some people break out colorful lipsticks and eyeshadows.

Going into the ‘90s, there was a Renaissance/medieval revival. Clothing became more romantic and flowy. Pieces had dramatic sleeves and skirts. Corsets/laced-up bodices were heavily desired. Outside of wearing black, dark blues, reds, greens, and purples were common. Romantic fabrics like velvet and lace came to the forefront. Thrifting for vintage sleepwear from the 50s to the 70s was something many femme Goths did. Goth also took some fashion tips from Grunge with kinderwhore. Creating its own version, called kindergoth. Although this romantic take on goth fashion was all the rage, dressing trad was still a regular occurrence. Makeup was more subdued, like most makeup in the ‘90s. A pale foundation with blacks, browns, and reds. The music that inspired many people at the time was Goth rock, Darkwave, Ethereal, and New Wave.

As for modern wearers of this style, I believe Nu Goth is the contemporary version of ‘90s Goth fashion. The use of romantic fabrics, flowy silhouettes, and less in-your-face styling and makeup reminds me a lot of  90s Goths. Again, everything is mostly black, with some red and purple occasionally. The makeup can range from vampy to something that gives the ‘80s a shock from the drama.

The 2000s were a time when goth was under threat of becoming a dying scene. It was a combination of things, from DJs catering to ravers on Goth night to the Columbine shooting and the clubs closing. The fashion didn’t stand out. The music also slowed down at the time. Many established Goths either went through a normie phase or quieted their physical appearance enough to not draw attention to themselves. The community was nearly dead. Obviously, there were still Goths who didn’t turn down their appearance, but the scene became quiet.

Into the 2010s, Goth found its spark of life again. This is when I joined the scene incognito. Nu Goth and Pastel Goth caught the eye of many potential baby bats. Social media was taking over. I won’t repeat what I said about Nu Goth since that would be annoying. Moving on, Pastel Goth is, fashion-wise, Nu Goth’s fraternal twin. But instead of defaulting to white as an accent color, pastel colors are used. The pastel colors are usually pink, lavender, and blue. This was also the time when death rock styling was heavily influential. The influence was mainly on the makeup and hair. White foundation, gray contour, black eyeshadow, eyebrows, and lipstick. Black or bleached blond hair teased high with a partial shave on the sides. If a Goth wanted to change it up, they might wear a wig that started as black at the roots and ombre out to a pastel color. When it came to music, it was a return to the classics. Mostly Goth rock, Deathrock, and dark EDM. However, this was also when people started to claim that “you don’t have to listen to Goth music to be a Goth. Goth is a mindset.”

In the 2020s, Goth fashion doesn’t have a solid, easily identifiable look. Nu goth is still the most prominent when it comes to fashion. If I had to guess, it has to do with the overwhelming amount of aesthetics flooding the internet. Since the beginning, Goth fashion has been mainstream fashion’s dark sister. With so many aesthetics to twist into a darker version, nothing stands out as a coherent look. This is a double-edged sword. Back in the 2010s, there was an obsession with figuring out “what type of goth are you?” quizzes. You can blame BuzzFeed quizzes for this. The whole what type of Goth are you silliness came from the ‘90s. The original list was a joke and filled with fake types of Goths. However, this list was taken seriously years later, and new lists were made. The problem was that newer Goths felt the need to police themselves and fellow Goths. If you became a Goth, you had to choose what type of Goth you were, and you couldn’t change. People were trying to regulate what clothes you could wear based on what type of Goth you were. Even though there’s no such thing as Goth types. There’s only the music and how that music inspires your style. And I worry that this aesthetic craze, which is also bad for the environment because of fast fashion, will reawaken that madness again.

***

With the broad stroke of the fashion out of the way, did you notice? Did you realize how often I mentioned paleness? Even in more diverse cities that had a Goth scene, whiteness was still the default. And while it is easier for me to look for and see other Black Goths, we’re still outsiders. We still get harassed, and the community hasn’t done much to correct it. Maybe the Goth community shouldn’t have paleness at the fashion’s forefront. Maybe wearing a foundation that matches your skin tone should be the norm. I understand that wearing a white or near-white foundation with a gray contour is supposed to help you look dead, but doing so on brown skin makes you look like an uncute clown. And using a brown foundation that is lighter than your skin tone makes you look ashy. And I refuse to not look well moisturized. Something feels like it needs to give when it comes to the face of Goth. Because even though the music comes first, who looks Goth decides who’s welcomed into the subculture.

***

When my Mom came to visit Tami and me something magically happened. Tami had changed out of her purple scrubs and was wearing house clothes. I was wearing comfy sweats. Mom was in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. We sat at the large wooden square dinner table. Tami and Mom sat on the white bench while I sat on the closest matching chair. The white shutters were open to let in the late afternoon sun. We were talking and moving from topic to topic.

“So, I’ve been on a New Wave and synthpop kick recently,” I said. Then I started playing the new musicians I’m interested in.

This wasn’t the first time I did something like this. I often play darkwave, synthpop, and new wave songs for my Mom. I like to hear her take on how much these modern bands sound like the bands she heard in the ‘80s. I started off by playing The Weeknd’s Blinding Lights. I know The Weeknd is mainstream, but this is a synthpop song, so it’s allowed on the goth playlist. Mainly because it felt like he sampled a song from the ‘80s, and I wanted to know if my Mom could pin which one.

“Wait a moment, I’ve heard this beat before. He definitely sampled it from someone,” Mom’s eyebrows pulled together.

“Yeah, this song was also used a lot for memes some months ago,” said Tami.

Three similar faces tried to see past the Blinding Light toward the sampled song, but all were left with a spotty vision from the brilliance of such a banger. With that song over, I picked a new one for my Mom to listen to.

 I recently learned about Korine, a new wave band, and played Train to Harlem. Once the song finished, I played a few of their tracks, which I saved on my playlist for my Mom. She nodded her head along and smiled. She has a soft spot for New Wave, especially when it sounds like it came out of the ‘80s. Next was Madeline Goldstein, a synthpop artist, Seed of Doubt. I couldn’t help but bob to this song. I could already picture what type of outfits I’d wear. A sheer overlayer with a slip dress under or a mini skirt paired with an oversized top. For jewelry, statement earrings, a chunky choker, and rings. Tights or thigh-high socks with some boots. A mix of secondhand and new. Give me a song, and I’ll envision an outfit to go with it to reflect the mood. Only Goth can compel me to create outfits for songs.

***

For fourteen years, I’ve been a Goth. I’ve had my ups and downs with the subculture, and the community still has a lot of flaws. Non-white Goths are, more often than not, still invisible to the broader community which leads to some unchecked racism problems. Weirdly, when it comes to retail, models of color are more frequently seen. If I had one wish to change the Goth community for the better, it would be for bands to hire more dark-skinned people of color to appear in music videos. Most Goth bands are signed to indie record labels, so music videos usually guest-star friends of the artists. And I wish the musicians could get some Black friends because these videos are white as snow.

Jokes aside, I don’t believe I’ll ever stop being a Goth. Even when I’m married with children, I still envision myself swaying to Goth’s hypnotic dark beats while wearing all black. I hope I will always find joy when listening to Goth music seeping from my headphones.