You've got to mess with people!
Saturday, January 18th, 2003 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flwydQuick anecdote.
Some circle friends were talking about going to The Onyx yesterday. The Onyx is a goth dance club. A bunch of people were listed as "maybe" on Thursday. I suggested we go to the Open Full Moon in the same area of Denver at 7:30 and then head to the Onyx later. I called to see if anyone was actually going, but didn't get an answer. I thus caught the bus down to OFM, arriving on time despite being later than I thought I would. I was dressed in black courderoy pants, a black Grateful Dead shirt, a black windbreaker, a black shark hat, and my reversible black and white cape, figuring that such attire could fit in at both events. The OFM went pretty well, a teen lead it and asked folks in attendance to share an experience we could all learn from. This is the second OFM I've been too, and they've all been less than an hour, which seems short for a public ritual. I'm used to doing a whole bunch of stuff. I talked to the woman who does scheduling and I may get a chance to lead a nonverbal OFM in May. We'll see.
I then walked west along Colfax to the state building. Several people whistled at me, with a rude comment from some Latinos in a car. Apparently whistling is the Denver equivalent of Boulderites' smiling at odd attire. I was having a little trouble finding the Onyx, but then saw a guy in tight leather pants, a black shirt, and a studded collar, followed several yards behind by a guy in a black trench coat. One of them complimented me, saying I looked cool. I decided I could probably follow them. Lo and behold, they entered The Onyx. The white cloak looked cool under blacklight. I got a Guinness and soaked in the ambiance of the hang-out part for a while. After I finished it, I checked out the dance floor, trying to scope out what the unspoken dance rules were. I was not surprised to learn that goth dancing is a largely personal experience. Occasionally two people will face each other and interact, but mostly it's people grooving in place.
I danced for a while in a fairly open floor. The other guy dancing came up and told me he dug my outfit. "I love anything that's creative and unique." Thanks. After a little while I stepped off to remove the wind breaker and decided to flip the cloak, reentering the floor in a black cape. A girl came up and said "No! You gotta go with the white side! It's way cooler." I told her I'd alternate, which I did a little while later (doing a double knot on my drawstring so the cape would stop coming undone.) I danced some more. There were a couple girls who weren't dressed in all black -- one was wearing a pink top, a couple were in grey tops. And one guy had some orange flame on his shirt. But everyone else was all black, from eyeliner to boots. And then there was me, five feet of white cape with a shark on my head. My friends never showed up, but I had a good time anyway.
The moral of the story is: a dour subculture based around personal expression and a wavelength-restricted rebellion against social expectations of appearance can appreciate bright personal expression and a twist in subcultural expectations of appearance. The other moral of the story is that industrial is more dancable than you might think.
At one point I thought to myself... "I'd be goth, but I share what I think, dress in tie dye, don't care what I look like, and am rarely depressed."
I love culture jamming by walking around.
Some circle friends were talking about going to The Onyx yesterday. The Onyx is a goth dance club. A bunch of people were listed as "maybe" on Thursday. I suggested we go to the Open Full Moon in the same area of Denver at 7:30 and then head to the Onyx later. I called to see if anyone was actually going, but didn't get an answer. I thus caught the bus down to OFM, arriving on time despite being later than I thought I would. I was dressed in black courderoy pants, a black Grateful Dead shirt, a black windbreaker, a black shark hat, and my reversible black and white cape, figuring that such attire could fit in at both events. The OFM went pretty well, a teen lead it and asked folks in attendance to share an experience we could all learn from. This is the second OFM I've been too, and they've all been less than an hour, which seems short for a public ritual. I'm used to doing a whole bunch of stuff. I talked to the woman who does scheduling and I may get a chance to lead a nonverbal OFM in May. We'll see.
I then walked west along Colfax to the state building. Several people whistled at me, with a rude comment from some Latinos in a car. Apparently whistling is the Denver equivalent of Boulderites' smiling at odd attire. I was having a little trouble finding the Onyx, but then saw a guy in tight leather pants, a black shirt, and a studded collar, followed several yards behind by a guy in a black trench coat. One of them complimented me, saying I looked cool. I decided I could probably follow them. Lo and behold, they entered The Onyx. The white cloak looked cool under blacklight. I got a Guinness and soaked in the ambiance of the hang-out part for a while. After I finished it, I checked out the dance floor, trying to scope out what the unspoken dance rules were. I was not surprised to learn that goth dancing is a largely personal experience. Occasionally two people will face each other and interact, but mostly it's people grooving in place.
I danced for a while in a fairly open floor. The other guy dancing came up and told me he dug my outfit. "I love anything that's creative and unique." Thanks. After a little while I stepped off to remove the wind breaker and decided to flip the cloak, reentering the floor in a black cape. A girl came up and said "No! You gotta go with the white side! It's way cooler." I told her I'd alternate, which I did a little while later (doing a double knot on my drawstring so the cape would stop coming undone.) I danced some more. There were a couple girls who weren't dressed in all black -- one was wearing a pink top, a couple were in grey tops. And one guy had some orange flame on his shirt. But everyone else was all black, from eyeliner to boots. And then there was me, five feet of white cape with a shark on my head. My friends never showed up, but I had a good time anyway.
The moral of the story is: a dour subculture based around personal expression and a wavelength-restricted rebellion against social expectations of appearance can appreciate bright personal expression and a twist in subcultural expectations of appearance. The other moral of the story is that industrial is more dancable than you might think.
At one point I thought to myself... "I'd be goth, but I share what I think, dress in tie dye, don't care what I look like, and am rarely depressed."
I love culture jamming by walking around.
