Jennifer Hendricks

Growing up Goth by Jennifer J. Hendricks Crimson lipstick layered and unblotted. White greasepaint bought in bulk during after-Halloween clearance sales. Blackest stick eyeliner made to smudge with a lighter’s flame. Don’t forget that Cover Girl face powder, every hour on the hour—I can smell that scent even now. We only shined when the music played. Goth was a noir, gauzy net we wrapped around our senses. Through it, people seemed more interesting, our daily lives more promising. We took pride in our dark looks. In the late 80s, the movement had yet to be named. In time its name, our name, would be chosen. Goth. We were actors in the theater of our own grand design, peopled with players of own teenage kin. Our makeup was our art. Our faces weren’t masks—rather, our made-up faces came to signify the splendor of our youth: our eyes were fierce, daring; our lips were ready to voice our cleverness. We became skilled and precise with its application. We were made to balance the heat of the stage lights with the cool of our personalities. We couldn’t allow ourselves to sweat, or we’d come undone. Nor could we go natural; to go natural was to be naked—so unsophisticated. We were much more complicated than that. Then came our time of trial: our first jobs, often coinciding with college. We couldn’t afford to put beauty first. Our main priority was the customer or our grades. Our carefully constructed visage sloughed off a layer more with every grown-up call of necessity. After that, who can say? When things start to go, they certainly go fast. As W. B. Yeats penned, “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere…” Whether that tide is time, or our old black magic doesn’t really matter. What matters is that the tide has crashed and receded, taking our goth standards back with it. So here we are: dressed down and uncertain. My black hair has been forced into a more acceptable color. I can use other eyeshadow gradations besides ‘smoky eye.’ I am familiar with the nude lipstick palette and facial contouring. I am, I am, I am, but I am not always pleased with the results. When I look into the mirror, I make sure to use low lighting. I still require some of that ethereal, gothic atmosphere of dark romance so that when I endeavor to see my reflection, I can still see myself.