It’s evil, I know. But every time I see one – those cute little emo kids, with their pointy hair and black glares and skinny jeans…I just wanna hug ’em. Or tickle them. Or squeeze their cute little baby cheeks.
This would just make them even more emo, of course – which would just make me wanna hug ’em/tickle ’em/pinch ’em even more…and so the vicious cycle is born.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making fun of them, really. Trust me – if I was a teen in this day and age, I would soooo be trudging down the emo path with them. I would have the pointiest hair of all. My clothing would be blacker than the darkest, angst-filled midnight. My glare would turn people to dust.
No, I am not kidding myself that I am somehow cooler than them or somehow immune to the lure of fashion and artistic agony. God, I was a teen in the late 80s, for cripes sake. Any of you remember that era? Ooooh, yeah. And I had the mall hair. I had the high collars with the ruffled cuffs, the rhinestone jewelry, the *gasp*…stirrup pants… I emoted along with those forefathers of emo, The Cure. Nope, I am not throwing stones – I am well aware of how transparent and fragile my house be.
But goddamn it, don’t they friggin’ know how CUTE they are? I don’t care what anybody says. So what if the hair that they think they invented is really just a reincarnation of the devil locks made so popular by that other ground-breaking band from the 80s, The Misfits? It’s adorable! And the guyliner, so what if Robert Smith did it when they were still amino acids lined up to become sperm and ova in their parents’ youthful gonads? It’s precious! The piercings – I mean, okay, man…that’s hardcore (nothing like the unsterile back-room navel ring I got in ’91!) And the skinny jeans (like the drainpipes worn by the Beatles about, oh, 100 years ago), the neck collars (Sid Vicious anyone?), the darkly-opinionated and cryptic tees? Frankie Says that’s WICKED-AWESOME!
And you know, you have to hand it to them – it takes some serious dedication and uber-anger to maintain the ‘tude while trying to see where you’re going around your hair – or when it’s getting stuck in your lip-gloss.
I admire them, those cute little emo kids. I wish I was one. But alas, I am too old – it would be ridiculous. And ridiculous, emo is not. It is a lot of things, emo, but ridiculous is not one of them. Cute, yes. Tweeee, absolutely.
Oh, emo kid – how you make me smile. And how I look forward to your children laughing at your balding, pot-bellied, sensible-suited ass one day.
I have to go send Jared Leto a throat lozenge now.