Being Goth is Self-Care

So, I’ve had a thing for distressed sweaters and knitwear since childhood — between The Matrix (1999) and my love of Dickens and his orphans, I’ve always had an appreciation and fascination for things falling apart. Growing up in an upper-middle-class household with parents from lower working-class backgrounds (a farming family and a military family respectively), having to really wear things out before I got a new one wasn’t much of a problem. (Yes, I realise how frustratingly privileged that statement will sound, to many people. I know.)

But I grew up with my fashion sense somewhat circumscribed. For one thing, being a fat child in the 90s and 2000s was not especially easy. That is putting it mildly; for a variety of reasons, it was hell, and has left me with lasting body image issues and struggles with disordered eating ever since. Add on a hormonal condition, PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and you have a recipe for body dysmorphia that no physician will ever pick up, and self-loathing that’s been hard to shake.

Over the years, I’ve managed to chip away at it bit by bit. There are still body parts I hate, resent, and fear — but I don’t always hate them all the time, and what’s more, I actually like other parts of my body. Learning how to look all right while not smiling in photos has also been useful. I like taking pictures of the world around me, my friends, and myself to capture a mood, a moment, or a memory — and frankly, I don’t like faking happiness or calm. I was rather good at it for a long time, but it certainly wasn’t good for…