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Yes, I am a poser.

I can deny it no longer. I am a poser. The baggy pants, the spiked jewelry, the leather (oh, god, the leather!), it all seemed like a good idea at the time. Two years ago, I fell victim to the music of Green Day and Blink-182, and decided that punk was cool. And, since cool, was definitely not one of the things I had going for me, that I should become a punk. Now, years older and somewhat better educated (if, arguably, less intelligent), I look back and reminisce fondly on my days in the scene.

Ah, good times...

Wearing clothes that looked like I’d stolen them fresh out of some white rapper’s darkest dreams. Mashing with half-a-dozen similarly hardcore kids at my school’s tiny homecoming dance. Listening (and liking!) bands where one, maybe two members actually knew how to play their instruments. The spiked leather bracelets! The spiked leather belt! The leather jacket, with the little metal dongly things which I’m sure served as some medieval torture device!

But…

…I’m still not sure that even all that made me a poser, or if it did, that being a poser is such a bad thing. Punk is supposed to be about giving society the finger, and I tried real hard to get that finger noticed. Do I at least get an ‘A’ for effort?

People who are harder core than thou bandy the term “poser” about with the care and attention to accuracy of your average quake player. What’s so evil about wanting to be something you’re not? Isn’t the simple fact that you want to be “Punk” or “Goth” enough? They say that you can’t decide to be punk, it just kind of happens. Bullshit. Why can’t I just make up my mind and decide to reject society, sneer at conformists, and rip my clothing, all in the space of a thought-(and, probably, weed)-filled weekend? Who knows…

Definitely not me. I’m not a real punk. Just a washed-up loser who tries too hard.