I AM Ok (I Promise)

Musings of an Anxious Millennial Writer #13: What It's Like to Not Be an Emo Kid

Despite all signs pointing to the contrary, I am not an emo kid. Sure, I owned a studded belt or two and an array of striped t-shirts in my time, but that's about the extent of my sojourn into the emo or—gag—"scene" subculture. I didn't learn how to straighten my hair or apply eyeliner until I was 19. Like most things in life, I felt more like an interloper. Many of my peers and friend group were all-in, even if not looking the part. I sat out the group outings to Warped Tour (in retrospect, had I known Billy Idol was on that lineup, maybe my plans would have changed) and the Alkaline Trio/My Chemical Romance concerts. I didn't carve Brand New lyrics into my desk during English class. I had no piercings aside from my ears, which I didn't get until I was 15.

I was, for all intents and purposes, a "normie."

…Except I wasn't. Not in the slightest.

Before you say anything, I'll stop this right here to acknowledge that how you present yourself and the music you listen to isn't indicative of who you are as a person. You can be a member of a community or subculture without having to "look the part." However, we're talking about teenagers, where presentation is 90% of finding out who you are, or at least how you want others to perceive you.

In that regard, I have always been an outsider, I was by no means one of the popular kids at school. I'd love to say I was the loner or even the class clown, but no. I was just the quiet girl. I suppose you could say I was mysterious, maybe even an enigma, but my awkwardness struck that from being a possibility.

I was a loser, sure, but I wasn't alone. I had my little friend group of weirdos that made the worst of high school life at least slightly more bearable. But we, as a unit, weren't an identifiable whole. We weren't goths, or punks, or nerds. We were an amalgamation of teenage girls with nuanced interests and ideals, all slightly different from one another, but united in our outsider-dom, save for the few who so desperately would have changed that for a slice of the popularity pie without ever thinking twice. Alas, that opportunity never quite came, no matter how hard they may have tried.

It was during our peaks of coming into ourselves and deciding our tastes separate from what we were raised with, that a very important movement took place: the popularization of the "pop punk" music genre. Sure, pop punk existed far longer (and, often, far better in execution) than bands like Good Charlotte and Simple Plan, but those bands weren't getting frequent airplay on Z100. We couldn't sing along to "The Anthem" during art class. Pop punk awakened something in all and helped us realize who we were.

Well, maybe not all of us.

Ok, maybe not me. I'll be honest, I hated it. I was by no means a "punk rocker" at this point in life (nor would I say I am now—I’m not punk and I AM telling everyone!) and wouldn't begin to enjoy the world of the local punk scene for another year or so, but even then I could see through the expertly-crafted and manufactured facade that these bands presented and identified them as, how you say, posers. They were nothing more than slightly more alternative members of the Avril Lavigne Army and I would simply have no part of it. (Trust me, at 15 this meant a lot to me.)

But it was thanks to those way more pop-than-punk bands that we were introduced to the groups and artists that would help us define ourselves and our place in high school society. If it weren't for Simple Plan, we wouldn't have learned about New Found Glory, and then Say Anything, before reaching the holy grail of Taking Back Sunday. The pop was replaced with more of an emotional, gut-punching vibe that got to the root of our feelings; these were no longer just cheesy songs about "boys" and "girls," but real, heart-wrenching tales of the modern experience that felt like they were not just speaking to us but for us.

Well, some of us.

OK, I'll admit, this shit wasn't my cup of tea either.

But there was hope yet. Where Taking Back Sunday started to scratch the itch, Brand New and Fall Out Boy went for the jugular. Until, finally, we all met our final boss in the emo-pop-punk subculture, the band that would unite and define us all: My Chemical Romance.

Ok, so hear me out: like, I know that MCR is good but...

I know! I know! Stop looking at me like that! On paper, everything about MCR should be my bread and butter, especially for 16-year-old me. And before you say “But Jamie…” here’s another fun fact about me: despite my ardent love of Halloween, despite my love (as uncool as it may be) for the entire Thanksgiving/Christmas season, despite most of my money between the ages of 15 - 20 going to the Hot Topic corporation, despite my love of early Tim Burton, and yes, despite my deep, deep love of Oingo Boingo... I don't like The Nightmare Before Christmas. I watched it for the first time when I was eight and it just... did nothing for me. I've seen it multiple times since (I’ve put in the work!), and my response to it has always stayed the same. There's no rhyme or reason for it... it just doesn't work for me, brother.

So, with that in mind, back to what I was saying.

On my 16^th birthday, my best friend graciously gifted me a burned copy (ask your parents what that means, kids. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a Millennial… ask your eccentric aunts and uncles what that means, kids) of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, because she was so in love with it, she wanted to share that experience with me. And I tried! I did! I liked “I'm Not Okay” well enough, in that way when you can't escape something, but it brings other people joy so you put up with it, and I found myself singing along to "Helena," but, beyond that--

If you've stopped reading by this point, I don't blame you. Even I'm aware that what I'm saying is akin to blasphemy. How could I, a MILLENNIAL, a woman who's lived through September 11th, multiple recessions, unnecessary wars, a housing crisis, an obsolete job market once I graduated from college, a plague, more unnecessary wars and violence, and disaster after disaster while also being blamed by older generations for everything that's gone wrong and mocked by younger generations for being too "soft," possibly not resonate with our high holy leaders, My Chemical Romance? I work in comics, Gerard Way does comics too! It's like it’s fated in the stars!

My answer to all that is: I don't know.

Sorry, I wish it was deeper than that but it's true, I really don't know. At the time MCR was dominating my friend group's CD players and iPod Nanos, I was still listening to Pinkerton until my CD sounded like the crackling embers of a warm fireplace. From Weezer, I started exploring the large back catalog of The Pixies. I ventured into the alt-rock world with the likes of The Von Bondies, Dandy Warhols, the Toadies, and the Moldy Peaches. I relished the tongue-in-cheek lyrics that co-existed with raw honesty. By the time my friends were straightening their hair and putting on black eyeliner, I took a hard left turn into ska. There was just never room in my repertoire for My Chemical Romance. Or Fall Out Boy. Or Brand New. Or Alkaline Trio. Or Taking Back Sunday.

But, if this is the music of my generation, and these are the anthems for the outsiders, the loners, the weirdoes... what, then, does that make me?

As I've gotten older, I've started to appreciate these bands more, but only through a nostalgic lens. I'll attend every emo karaoke or vinyl night, I'll sing with my whole chest to "I'm Not Okay," hell, sometimes I'll even stop while I’m skimming satellite radio on a station playing "Sugar, We're Doing Down" for an impromptu sing-along while I'm driving. But there's no connection there, it's a pure longing for simpler days when the problems of being a teenager and surviving high school were the only ones that mattered.

But when I'm in those rooms with everyone singing along to the songs that define our generation, I can't help but once again feel like an outsider. An alien just observing the behaviors of humans and trying to adapt. Sure, I know all the lyrics, but my connection and emotion behind them are as manufactured as those MTV pop punk bands that opened the door for the fandom to these superior ones. I feel nothing other than nostalgia. While my pockets are grateful that I had no interest in dropping hundreds of dollars on MCR reunion or Blink-182 shows (yes, I'll include Blink in this), I still feel like a huge part of culture passed me by. I felt all the feelings of those around me who were able to channel it into a subculture that mirrored their worlds, or at least how they perceived their worlds to be, but it just wasn't for me. I didn't care about Donnie Darko, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, or even Scott Pilgrim. But I felt a kinship with Ghost World (Enid at that time, Seymour more now). While others were spilling their hearts out in lyrics on their LiveJournals or AIM away messages, mine were mostly used to workshop bits, or quote Jack Handey.

The media I connected to were always the ones that did it with a smile on their face, I'd rather get lost in an upbeat song with sinister lyrics, or one that was beautifully self-effacing. Channeling sadness into humor, clever wordplay, or completely raw diary entries without goth-infused imagery and fluff was where I most felt seen.

But even now, inching closer to 40 than my high school years (well damn if that ain't a bitter pill to swallow), I feel a sense of disconnectedness from that part of my youth. I don't feel superior to anyone for not having an "emo" phase, it's just yet another community I'm not a part of. I remain again on the outside looking in, another clique within which I just don't fit. The story of my life.

Maybe it's more subconscious than I'm willing to admit. Maybe my brain actively works against me from enjoying anything that might allow me to fit in somewhere, to be a part of something bigger than myself. Perhaps my far-off desire for community will always be thwarted by my brain's ultimate desire to be an island unto myself. Maybe I'm Not Okay.

Maybe one day I'll revisit that Three Cheers album and see how it resonates with me now (hey, maybe I'll even do it for this little ol’ blog of mine). And then, maybe I’ll finally get it and be in with the in crowd.

...But I make no promises.