How Not To Goth

I'm a public service kind of girl, I really am, and so today I'm going to present a public service announcement about my own favorite subculture: the goths. Today's topic: "What the fuck did you do to your face? Because seriously you look like a lobotomized mime on a bender." After mining the depths of the web, including the fertile grounds of myspace, I bring you the best of the worst (that I found today - I can pretty much guaran-goddamn-tee you that there is much worse out there just waiting for me to stumble across it, gasp in horror and yell, "what the FUCK is that? Who traded your psychotropic meds for a black eyeliner?").
Let's dive right on in, shall we?

What can we say about Captain Batbrows? He's clearly out of Pantene, but that's the least of his problems. His eyebrow flames, ridiculous as they are, aren't even the major issue I'm having. What's most troubling is the he appears to have been fellating an exhaust pipe. If you insist on wearing the black lipstick, which is a bad idea unless you're a member of KISS or the Insane Clown Posse (which you clearly are not, Captain), you need to acquaint yourself with one of my favorite words: reapplication. Constant vigilance, son, constant vigilance.


Okay, you have a corset, a bra, opera length gloves, a cadaverous English major in badly fitted leather pants and the ubiquitous and inexcusable International Male flouncy shirt, even what appears to be a pair of unenthusiastic bat wings strapped to your back, but it looks like you ran out of steam on the way up your head, and honestly I can kind of see how that patch of leprosy could be a bit discouraging, but if you're going to leave the house like that, Honey, you need to keep soldiering on; Goth, even bad Goth, doesn't stop at the cheekbones. A little mascara, eyeliner, and shadow would take this from "I'm A Polyamorous Ren-Fairy Who Will Eventually Marry The Dread Pirate Glen Here In A Lord Of The Rings Themed Ceremony, Refer To Myself As Raven Eyown Online, And Name My First Child Loki Taliesin" to "Moderately Attractive Goth Chick," well, if you'd do a little something with your hair, that is.


Where do I even start with this? There are so many things wrong with this that I'm fairly certain I'm going to have to call my opthamologist, because looking at this picture has actually made me even more blind than I was before. My contacts are melting to my corneas. Cheap splotchy black lipstick? Check. Badly fitted leather pants? Check. Bicycle gloves whose sole purpose seems to be to confuse me? Check. Lousy snake tattoo? Check. Orange sunglasses? Pink dangly earring? Kimono jacket? Check, check, check, and what the ever-lovin' fuck? I mean, what the hell is going on under that top hat? Is that where you keep the demented monkey who dresses you?


Actually, no, there's nothing wrong with this picture. Yep, this is just exactly how you should look. If you washed your face and took off the stretch velvet dress it would be harder to tell at a glance that you've suffered massive head trauma. This could lead to unrealistic expectations and awkward encounters. Dress like this always; it's more festive than than the cardboard "If I wet myself, please contact my doctor" sign you'd have to wear otherwise.


"My black lipstick is so clumpy and awful that my hair is actually attempting to make a run for it. Man, I'm hardcore!"


It's cruel to take your blonde cousin to a goth club with you for the sole purpose of making sure that, no matter how unwashed and indifferent you may look, you'll be able to stand next to someone who makes you look like a fucking fashion plate. Cruel. Just because her normal wardrobe is primarily composed of hemp, and she has no idea that the fishnet shirt creates a beer gut where none existed before, and the no-makeup hippy hair thing clashes painfully with the vinyl skirt, is no reason to take advantage. You're a heartless bitch, Streak, truly heartless.


This is a cropped version of the original three quarter length nude shot, so you're not getting the full effect. You can thank me later. You know who can wear white face? Mimes. And who likes mimes? Oh, that's right, nobody! Meditate on this, for it shall bring you enlightenment.


I like Skinny Puppy, I do. I wish that this boy and I could connect over other things I like, like, say, shampoo.


The glasses, the skirt, the Level One helpdesk hair style...I...fuckin' Hell, you've broken me, Sir. I can't go on. This picture makes me want to head straight to The Gap and buy some pink polo shirts, khaki gouchos, and for the love of all that is unholy, some goddamned brown shoes! You've brought me to new lows Mister. I hope you're proud of yourself.