Or… Confessional, perhaps. The truth is, I’ve never belonged to one of those identifiable sub-cultures – never been a punk or a hippie activist or a goth or even a member of a superculture like preppies or yuppies or, as we all took to calling them, “normals.” I’ve never been quite geeky enough to be a geek (though, definitely nerdy enough to point out that a true geek is a circus performer who bites the heads of animals, most frequently chickens, and that, therefore, Alice Cooper was actually a geek). I’ve never fit into the superculture, never been quite ‘up’ on the stars (though always did like astrology) and never really knew the details of the megakillers on trial (except relating to the war in Iraq but that’s another post altogether isn’t it, and Bush isn’t on trial…yet).

This is not to say that I didn’t want to fit in, that I don’t yearn for community and belonging, but that i have too many arms to fit in the dolly mold. I’ve accepted I’ll never be quite like them (whoever and whatever they are), but that I can still love and be loved by them.

So, where’s the confession? It’s here: there’s one culture I love to observe. More than Rockabilly Punks and the burlesque girls who entertain them, more than the spelt-bread and quinoa-eating natural foodsies, more than the chunk-streak-hair lululemon-wearing tarts who adorn robson street like some kind of rapidly proliferating fungus, I love the Goths.

I love that they are an international community of people who all think they are alone in their misery. I love their sardonic self-obsession, their sarcastic humour and their deathlier-than-thou aspect. I love their aggressive self-consciousness, their total devotion to fashion and music, and their complete subjugation of non-goth-compliant personality traits.

I love the bravery it takes to walk down the street and know normals are staring (and real punks are scoffing). I mean, this is probably the one subculture that can cause both laughter and fear at the same time.

I float near them without their knowing. Venus Flytrap isn’t aware of the gnat nearby. I cannot help it. I saw a pair of them leaving the station the other day and when they took the stairs instead of the escalator, I couldn’t help but follow. I stare openly. I drink in their platform boots and skinny black-jeans, their layered shades of black velour and polyester shirting and their long stringy purposefully unkempt hair. I loved their hats – a bowler and a top hat, and their matching nightmare-before-christmas bags. I can’t help but whisper under my breath ‘where are you going, little goths’ and then catch myself, realizing I am sounding very, very creepy.

I especially love that goths on facebook try to seem as morosely sexy as possible. They are perfecting the art of kohl-rimmed eyes that say both ‘come hither’ and ‘one day we shall all turn to dust’. The girls love to take pictures of themselves from above, so all you see is forehead and eyes, and their sad, tiny mouths are turned into Louise Brooks. The boys do the same, I suppose hoping to express their disinterest in footballer masculinity by evoking allusions to proto-goth electronic musicians of the late seventies and early to mid eigthies.

When I was in school, I chose a few goths to follow around, whenever I saw them walk across the concourse, I followed them. I enjoyed them from afar. When I was in Calgary I’d go the club and watch the elastic boy-goth dance with the long chain around his neck, spider legs and arms arcing in ecstatic expression. He wore pain like one of those bright-orange vests city workers wear so cars don’t hit them.

I think as long as we have an idea of normal, we’ll have self-marginalizing homogenized sets of individuals using clothing, music, and weltanschauung to create an alternative. What I love most about the goths, and what makes me stalk them, is their protest against this culture’s requirement of happiness and contentment as the only allowable emotion. Like the Jesters in the King’s Court, they too provide a valuable service. They remind us that lurking beneath the cover of zoloft, success-though-a-whitened-smile, and yoga-ballet, the darkness awaits. It’s the only way to have balance in the world.