The Dark Phase in itself is femme; is inherently sort-of queer. I imagine that when goth became a scene — the Batcave in London in 1982 — that the more dramatic, poetic dimension of Goth made it a safe haven; an alternative to the increasingly masculine and aggro punk scene. (Perhaps inevitably this queerness, this femmeness is why goth eventually became so mocked.)
Goth still works as a protection of sorts for teenagers. The black stone obsidian is said to have healing properties: it repels negative energy, increases self control, encourages exploration and I think swaddling oneself in all-black-everything feels similar. People find Dark Phases at an age where the self-hatred folded up inside becomes conscious of itself. It is an age of sudden awareness, as a young woman, of being viewed. Of being a display item. Of your Beauty and Fuckability being constantly called into question.
Read the story, which includes going to a Vampire Ball and lots of juicy feelings about Gala Darling, at Thought Catalog
Excerpt from Paris Hilton Nostalgia:
It was generally accepted that there were two camps on Paris Hilton, during her cultural relevancy. 1) You believed Paris was a campy sort-of-fun cultural icon. In an era of glittery Princess themed bumper stickers, she was our Diana. In comic sans. 2) You believed Paris was the downfall of civilization.
I was of the former, and I want to think I was right. Yes, it is wrong that the culture elevates only the rich, white and privileged to the highest pinnacle of “It.” But Paris, as a cultural icon, had an alluring nihilistic quality. The world was Paris’ oyster and she emerged from it, extensions flowing gif-like, seemingly in control of her fame. Paris used her privilege to be famous and have fun. The moment she occupied was about not taking yourself so seriously. About taking nothing so seriously. And something about all of that felt comforting….Read at Thought Catalog
Excerpt from I Don’t Know if I Want Babies
“In a way I am excited. It is such a monumental challenge,” Kate is saying, on the couch. And then we decide there is just too much stuff to think about.
“Like… you probably won’t even have time to masturbate anymore,” I say.
“I was thinking that. Like, will I watch porn when I have a baby? Can one watch porn with a baby?” Kate asks. “I had just been, like, watching some porn and then I realized… I was pregnant when I jerked off to that porn,” says Kate.
“But you will probably watch porn when you are like big pregnant too,” I say.
“Of course I will. I hope I will. I mean I am not going to become a different person. I am still going to like porn.”
Read the story at Thought Catalog
Excerpt from Helping Marie get a job at a Dungeon
I have a cell phone and a black dress in my hand. I am going to a holiday party for a New York-based publication and I want to invite Marie. It was a year ago that the paper, whose tone was once described to me as “never earnest,” published a piece about my friend Marie. The profile described her as a “new literary seductress” and dug into the details of a story she wrote about sleeping with an older male writer. I wanted to invite Marie… but you never know how it is between source and journalist after a story.
I first met Marie on the internet, where she is a micro-celebrity, a word that reminds me of those cheap mini-kaleidoscopes and how they project your world into a dozen plastic-crystal facets all at once.
It was spring and I remember it as a long stretch of sluggishness. Of scrolling endlessly through Tumblr, in pink bedding, dirty hair and limbs all knotted. Marie became one of those pillar chat names for me. The ones you reach to while staring into the white void of your laptop screen, feeling lost or anxious or whatever. Happy. Marie always got it. She was a Tumblr girl, the sort of girl I used to request without knowing on MySpace. The ones like you, who seem to live only online.
“When I move to NYC, I want to get a job as a pro-sub” Marie said over Gchat.
“O? That is dangerous :/”
Read the story at Thought Catalog.
