This one’s for the baby bats and younglings taking their first steps into a much larger world.
As an ’80s kid, I grew up in two very different, yet oddly similar, parts of the U.S. The contrast between New England and Florida was stark, but both places shared a relatively “normal” outlook on how one was supposed to dress, think, and act. So, it was on my sixteenth birthday that I finally broke free of those expectations, adorned head to toe in black.
I suppose I can thank the school friends generous enough to throw a house party for me, with my friend Aaron’s band playing covers by The Cure. Or maybe I should thank Kristina, the one classmate who took time to work with this awkward boy, teasing the hell out of my hair with Knox gelatin, painting my nails black, doing a killer job on the eyeliner and lipstick, and then sending me off to get party supplies at the local Kash n’ Karry.
Growing up alternative or punk in a town with more churches than streetlights came with its challenges. There was a local teen club that played alternative music once a week, but my dad and stepmom were too strict to let me go. Definitely no Hot Topic. We made do with thrift stores and the occasional rare find at a regular retail shop. If you’re reading this and nodding in recognition, this post is for you.
Consider it a memoir disguised as a survival guide for every baby bat, geeky gothling, or spooky teen who ever felt like a specter in their own hometown.
🕯️ Cultivate Your Fortress of Solitude
Your room is your sanctuary. Mine was sparse, but it truly felt like my own sanctum sanctorum. It was easy to organize the aesthetic resistance I’d collected: a few candles here and there, an ever-growing shelf of books from the Science Fiction Book Club, tapes (CDs were just becoming a thing), some Star Trek posters, a collection of fantasy necklaces, and the faint odor of cheap sandalwood incense from Spencer’s blended with teenage despair.
Whatever your budget, if the outside world feels like an interrogation, you make the inside one feel sacred. Build your space with intention. Surround yourself with what makes you feel powerful: books, records, wall art, even dollar-store candles. Your bedroom becomes more than a room. It becomes your private portal, an escape pod to another realm.
👽 Find the Other Weird Kid (There’s Always One)
There’s a strange kind of telepathy between weirdos. You’ll know it when it happens. Maybe it’s the quiet kid in class sketching eldritch horrors in the margins of their history notes. Or someone in math class wearing a Doctor Who T-shirt, getting side-eyes for dropping a joke about the answer to life, the universe, and everything being 42.
You don’t need a full coven or a bridge crew (though that would be nice). You just need one person who sees you. If your town feels like a cultural desert, connect online. Forums, Discords, TikTok, Tumblr; somewhere out there is another soul whispering, “Same.” If you’re reading this, you’re already heading in the right direction to find where you belong.
🕷️ Embrace the Stares
“You don’t owe anyone normalcy. Give them mystery instead.”
People will gawk at you. Let them. That’s their problem, not yours.
I say this with care, because every home situation is different. Not everyone can be openly rebellious, and you have to live within the limits of what your family will and won’t allow. That said, when you can own your weirdness, do it with flair.
The lady at the bank might clutch her pearls. Your math teacher might ask if you’re in a cult. But one day, some younger kid will see you and feel braver because of it. You don’t owe anyone normalcy. Give them mystery instead.
There’s a moment, usually around sophomore year, when you realize that being different is not just unavoidable; it’s liberating. You’re already outside the norm, so why not take up space in it? Turn their discomfort into your runway.
📼 Escape via Art
When you can’t physically leave, escape spiritually.
I found my exits in pages and pixels: Edward Scissorhands, Star Wars, David Bowie’s Labyrinth, the works of Robert Heinlein, Hammer Horror films, The Crow, Siouxsie and the Banshees, late-night B-movies, graphic novels, and Trent Reznor. This wasn’t just escapism, it was a lifeline. Coordinates to a version of the world that felt like mine.
Today, there are even more magical doorways to walk through: Coraline, Death Note, Lebanon Hanover, Wednesday, Twin Tribes on loop in your headphones. Find your stories. They’ll remind you that there’s real magic beyond the borders of your town, and maybe inside them, too.
🌒 Leave—Or Don’t (But Make It Yours)
“Even ghosts need homes.”
Some of us fled. Some of us stayed and planted gardens in graveyards.
There’s no single right path. If you need to run, do it. Go find your people, your nightclubs, your neon-lit apartment draped in velvet. But if you stay? You can still haunt the margins and make them yours. Host movie nights. Start a zine. Paint a mural. Turn that abandoned church into an art space (with permission, probably).
Rebellion doesn’t always mean leaving. Sometimes, it means transforming the place you’re in. Even ghosts need homes.
🖤 Final Thoughts: Romanticizing Survival
I used to think being goth in a small town was a curse. Now, I think it was an initiation.
It taught me how to be alone without being lonely. How to create beauty in barren places. How to endure. And how to romanticize survival, not in a delusional way, but in the way that keeps the candle burning.
To every outsider staring out a dusty window, wondering if there’s life beyond the cornfields (or palm trees, if you’re in Florida like I was): there is. But don’t be afraid to haunt them while you’re still there.
You are not wrong to be strange. You are not alone in being other.
🦇
💬 Share Your Story
Did you grow up goth in a small town? What helped you survive and thrive? Share your story in the comments, or tag me on social media @vampdaddydj on Instagram and @djvampdaddy on TikTok.
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