Let me start this essay on the art of having your own style with a bit of drama, ok? Back in school people laught at me. Every. Single. Day. Because of my mohawk, the glossy black plateau boots, the blue and green lipstick, my self-made clothes and the ones I bought… Even at my „elf ear“, which is an especially dumb thing to do, because I didn’t choose it like an outfit, I was born with it. This story could go on over pages and pages full of self-pity and vengeance. But honestly, I never gave a fuck about those boring people. Peer-pressure created by the kids smoking at the school gate never worked for me and I’ll tell you why.
Even the ones who kicked me down to „prove“ that I couldn’t walk in those incredibly comfortable, though very high goth plateau boots I’ve had since I turned 15. And yeah, sure, I got a tattoo at 16 for the „attention“. Like being constantly touched and screamed at by strangers „Is this real or paint?!“ is something enjoyable. (By the way: Touching tattoos doesn’t make any sense, because the ink is approx. 3 millimeters under the skin, you dumb fucks can not feel a tattoo.) I still laugh about the nazis in our village who threatened to beat me up and rape me, because of my purple punk hairstyle. Also, getting called „anorexic“ by fat girls – gets me everytime. The most ridiculous guy in high school was probably the one who made fun of my big nerdy glasses just a year before nerd-glasses became popular and he started wearing them, too. Most people are scared of looking different, so they wait until something they secretly like becomes fashionable (again) and they can pull it off without being „the weird one“.
