by Angeliska on December 1, 2011
I keep finding more and more amazing photos from my errant youth that I’d still never managed to get scanned
in after all these years. Irritatingly, there are a few of my favorites that are still eluding me, though perhaps I’ll
just have to do another post like this at some point when they decide to pop up. They’re my favorites, alas!
This was me at maybe 15 or 16? It was for a fashion show at the old Club 404. I was total monster-child jail bait, who spent
most of my time scampering around in the woods on drugs wishing I wasn’t human, poring over Elfquest and Sandman comics
and Storm Constantine’s Wraeththu trilogy. I made my outfit in five minutes out of electrical tape, eyeliner, wire and black tulle.
Oh, and a thong. Heaven forbid that should I ever spawn a girl-child as naughty as I was! With any luck, I’ll end up with a Saffy.
(photo by Monte McCarter)
At the tender age of barely 17, I became the armed spokesmodel for FringeWare Review’s book catalogue.
This involved posing in my underpants and various getups made of rubber and dollparts with books and guns.
Real guns. That’s totally an actual Uzi or Tech-9 or whatever the hell, too. As you do, when you are a teen goth.
(Photo by Milé Boban)
Baby vamps reign supreme. This is maybe my favorite picture of Pandora and I, ever. Wild goth children!
Moments before this photo was taken, I had snatched that martini glass off the table of a fancy sidewalk cafe,
and ran shrieking down the street with it. I was obsessed with the idea of martinis, though I had never had one.
Dressing up before our second ever excursion to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She was 11, and I was 13.
It’s a marvel our parents ever let us out of our rooms at all. I remember wailing and telling my stepmom that
I’d DIE if I wasn’t allowed to go out to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror at the crappy mall movie theater.
My shaved sides and purple dye growing out, brown eyeliner for lipstick, a pore-squeezer for an earring.
With my old friend Blake at our alternative high-school that was a haven for goths, gays, teen moms and wastrels.
It was also where feral children raised by wolves ended up. We were allowed to smoke cigarettes and go barefoot.
I wrote elaborately researched papers about my interests: alien abduction, Freemasons, Ecstasy, and Absinthe.
(Photo by Milé Boban)
Gothic Marilyn at 15. One thing about being a goth in Texas – no one ever could take themselves or each other
too seriously down here. Something about the heat, or the hicks (Beers, Steers, and Queers, anyone?), but I really
do think that Southern goths seem to be less afraid of cracking their porcelain pancaked faces when busting into a big grin.