A while ago, just after my PC went kablooie, a friend posted a link to this journal on monkeyfilter. 

Some interesting comments, including accusations of personal vanity on my part - which amused me mightily as stating the bleeding obvious about any project that has as a central aim lots of pictures of oneself mooching about London.  And of course, blogging in and of itself is massively egocentric in expecting anyone else to be fascinated with my thrashing my travelcard silly.  File that criticism under 'aspelling that which is in plain view'.

...but the main conversation seeemed to be about whether I was entitled to call myself a goth.  Now that really rankles.  Who the bloody hell has any right to tell me, at a sprightly 38 years old, and having been part of the subculture for over twenty years, that I am not a proper goth?  I was unaware that there's an official body to which I must submit an application form. No-one has a monopoly on deciding who is goth, as it seems one of those labels that finds you. The mundane world is certainly quick enough at deciding who is 'Not-We', and I've certainly taken enough kickings for being odd and different growing up that I've earnt the title  of Goth Weirdo.

And the reason for denying me my Goth Card seems to based on my appearance and pink hair.  It's all to perky.  Well, to deal simply with appearance first; perhaps stupidly, I was under the impression that the goth sub culture comes in many flavours,  one can be trad or cyber, glitterbats or gravers, voluptigoths or loli, and I'll even smile indulgently at emo kids because I can remember moping about shunning the daylight as a sensitive young flower.  I've been painting anhks on my clothes since I was fourteen, dyeing my hair and eyebrows at 15, listening to way to much Cure and Sisters and Bauhaus, dreaming over Phaze catalogues at  patent leather  ankle boots with skull buckles that the Saturday job wouldn't quite stretch too...

But beyond what one looks like, synthetic falls or corsets, 'goth' to me is a state of mind, a fascination with the darker things in life, in revelling in decadence and decay, in finding beauty in despair, in loving the macabre.To concentrate on what label I'm wearing misses the point completely.

I truly resent the implication that I am not goth. I have a frigging degree in Gothic Literature, thank you, and anyone that thinks I am anything other can kiss my pointy-toed boots.