Hey: that guy in my grade school who has now become all goth and vampire-looking: I have a question for you:
You do realize…well, you do realize that all that magic and stuff isn’t real, right? You do realize…that you just like wearing makeup and stuff? Right?
Don’t get me wrong: that’s totally cool. Eyeliner rocks. Piercings are cool. Leather can be very freeing.
But…I mean, like…there’s no such thing as vampires. You get that, right?
There’s no werewolves or witches or spells. There’s no demons or incubi or succubi. There’s no children of the night.
You just like makeup.
And so do all the other dudes you hang out with. They all just like makeup too. All your friends, when they don’t have makeup on, they look normal. They’re just normal guys. That guy, Crantor, who claims to be the seventh son of Satan, heir the throne of Hell, spawn of the ruler of the hoary netherworld…his real name is Craig. He works at the All-Nite Video over on 86th and 8th. And that vampire girl, who you almost asked out at the last goth ball you went to, the one who had the one inch fangs, who drank snake’s venom from that jewel encrusted goblet…she’s Sheila. Sheila, the paralegal. The fangs are fake, man. And the venom…it was just grape Kool-Ade.
I don’t mean to bring you down, to burst any bubbles, to ruin any fantasies, but…I just want you to realize and embrace exactly what you’re doing. So you like to dress up! So what? But just don’t make it more complicated than that.
I mean, you don’t really worship evil, man. No one worships evil. Unless they’re completely insane. And you’re not, man, you’re a nice guy. I know. I used to play G.I. Joe with you when we were little. So you felt a little shunned during middle school. So did a lot of us. So we turned to something that wouldn’t shun us. For me, it was video games. For you…well, you pretended to worship Satan.
But just realize you’re just pretending. You don’t really like Satan, man. You don’t.
I mean, if you really worship evil, then how about this: tomorrow, I’m gonna come over to your apartment, wake you up, and punch you in the crotch. Now that’s evil, man. Do you worship that? Do you worship people dick-punching you? No? See I didn’t think so. You don’t worship Satan.
You just like makeup. You like leather. You like feeling like you’re part of a community. You like dressing up because it makes people notice you. Because you don’t think they notice you enough when you’re just you. That’s cool, man. It makes sense. It’s natural to crave attention.
Just don’t get lost in all the bullshit. Because it’s dangerous when you religiously blur the lines between reality and fantasy like you seem to do.
So, the next time you’re out, and your friend yells, “Piktor! Fetch me more of the blood of the innocents! I must feed again before midnight!” Just look him in the eye and say, “Richard, look, just…just call me Justin. And I’ll get you some more colored Karo syrup, if you really like the taste, but…it’s not blood, man. And the only thing you must do before midnight is call your mom. Because it’s her birthday. And she’ll kill you if you forget.”
Rich might look a little crestfallen, but he’ll thank you. And he’ll tell you to forget about getting the syrup. He’ll tell you he probably shouldn’t be downing so many carbohydrates so late at night. He’ll go off to call his mom, and as he leaves he’ll say, “I guess you’re right, Justin. This whole thing…it’s all…it’s all pretty stupid.”
And you’ll say, “No, man. It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid at all. Because…because I really like wearing all this makeup and stuff. And so do you.”
You’ll feel better, Justin, I know you will. You’ll feel better about yourself. You’ll be building real self-esteem. Not for some imaginary Piktor character, but for you.
And then maybe you’ll walk over and finally talk to Sheila. Don’t be intimidated. Remember, she’s not really a bloodthirsty creature of the darkness. She’s just temps at a law firm, for God’s sake.
And she really likes makeup too, man.