I don’t know much about them as a group nor do I understand why they dress up as they do, but I can genuinely appreciate the lengths they go to in order to fit in to their particular clique.
And what’s more I can’t overstate what a wonderful group of people they are. They might dress crazily depending upon your own viewpoint, with dead babies sprouting from hats, stuffed crows perched on shoulders, brass goggles with spikes, boots with 8 inch soles… the list goes on, but not once did I see a Goth be anything less than courteous; always happy to have their picture taken, they are a group of weirdos whose company we enjoyed immensely.
Indeed, it seems they revel in having their picture taken. And why not, after the lengths they’ve gone to with clothing and make-up. It seems the nation’s photographers know about this decadent vanity and flock to Whitby for some new material. It’s said that Goth weekend is full of uplifted boobs and old men with big lenses! Ahem!
I have been to Whitby lots of times, but last Sunday ranked among one of the best days so far. I marvelled at their ingenuity, wondered at the craftsmanship of their outfits with their incredible detail and utter luxurious beauty. It was like floating around in something from Lemony Snicket, Sleepy Hollow, or even Carry On Screaming.
The most startling thing about the whole experience though was the age range. There were of course many youths dressed up, but the amount of 50s, 60s and even 70-year-olds was staggering. Being a Goth it seems transcends age and social background.