Archive for Fashion

Something about books and covers

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on June 5, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Did I mention I’m bald? Like cue-ball bald. I have the hairline of someone significantly older than me and I know full well I will be extremely self conscious about it until my age catches up. That in and of itself wouldn’t be that bad, but I also have an oversized head. From the front it doesn’t look that freakish, it’s the back of my head that juts out in an almost Xenomorphic manner, which makes finding a decent hat to cover all this up a pain in the ass. And yeah, I have become a “hat guy” in recent years. Special ordered oversized ballcaps, knit caps, and the occasional custom stretched derby type hats. Hell, I spent the better part of 10 years intricately planning my public appearances so that non-family would only ever see me with a hat or a head freshly shaved to the skin. That, of course, was all tossed out the window about two years ago, but that’s another topic for another day.

But baldness isn’t the only aspect of the looks lottery I lost. My teeth are crooked, and no, I don’t really have the funds to get them fixed. (I also hate doctors. See my previous ranting about psychiatrists for the main reason. I’ve also undergone several surgeries in various attempts to correct my horrid genetics, so I’ve had my fill of hospitals for the foreseeable future.) My torso is also, well, misshapen for a lack of a better way to describe it, due to scoliosis. And there’re a lot of other aberrations to my physical form, but those are the remaining hurdles I have to women finding me attractive. Still, that’s more than enough to screw me out of the gate.

Another thing to mention is my overall look. See, I dress anywhere from normalish to geek to goth/rivethead/steampunk. The normal to rivethead scale usually depends on how annoyed I am that day. (If you don’t know what rivethead is, shame on you. Used to do punk, but I lost the will for that when my leather jacket was stolen last year.) Normally these days I dress in what I call dark geek: black slacks, (I do actually like a particular brand, because I’m convinvced they make damn near indestructible pants that don’t fade.) black and white sneakers (again, there’s brands I stick to, but I’m not naming anything) and either a black button up shirt, or a black t-shirt of something geeky.

Had a chain wallet in high school, shelved that for a while, gone back to wearing it again. Pulled the black trenchcoat out of the closet too, but that was partly beacuse my previous leather coat of choice was stolen. I have an everyday wear older trenchcoat vaguely reminiscent (holt shit, spelled that right the first time) of the 10th Doctor’s, and another one for “special occassions” that basically looks like something from Nosferatu. (And considering the shape of my shaved head, and how I’ve been going out of my way to stay pale for the last decade, “nosferatu” is a fitting description.)

When it’s time to go goth/rivethead/steampunk, mix and match some black leather wristbands, goggles, and switch out the sneakers for black paratrooper boots. And yes, I tuck the pants into the boots, military style. I know there’s rascist/neo-Nazi/whathaveyou connotations to wearing black on black pants/ boots like that, I really don’t care. I think it looks cool. (Kind of freaked me out when I noticed Tate on American Horror Story dressed the same way when he went on his rampage.)

I do dress normal-ish sometimes, but there’s always some black in there somewhere, especially since 90% of my wardrobe is black. And while I rarely do so intentionally, I’ve been told my more common facial expressions are reminiscent of a serial killer. Which has sort of worked to my advantage and opened up a previously unforeseen future career option related to that thing that tossed 10 years of my careful planning out the window, but more on that later.

And I guess I should mention that I’ve had an unusual goatee since like, I got out of high school. Off the chin, it’s usually at least 5 inches long, give or take, and braided. Basically like Shavo Odadjian, but nowhere near as long. And I should also mention that for a while I started growing in a sihka last year. Or a backknot, or whatever you call a topknot that’s on the back of your head. Why? Been thinking about it for years, though I forget why I originally became fascinated with the idea. Could also be that I get just bored with my appearance. And as much as it bothers me to admit it, a comment made by a friend (who will heretofore be know as #3) that I look like an evil wizard from the front and Charlie Brown from the back struck home. So I figured “Y’know what? Screw it. I’m not getting any dates now, so why not go all out?” If you’re going to avoid me in public, to hell with it, I’m going to give you reason to.

As of my typing this, I shaved off the sihka about a month ago. But to my surprise, for as much of an utter pain in the ass as it was to try to neatly shave the back of my head with no help other than a lot of patience and a complex mirror arrangement, I actually came to miss it. So! The sikha hath returned! The question now is whether or not I can tolerate my “IT support” job long enough to be able to get it longer than the 7 inches I had it last time.

One of the few things I… think… I have going in my favor is that I’m thin, but I, well I don’t know. Can’t really seem to win either way; being five foot six and a half and anywhere from 140-180 pounds like I was through the bulk of my youth, or being about 125 pounds like I am now. I know I’ve just spent almost an entire post describing how I wear my disposition on my sleeve, but all that came after I was given reason ample reason to be so misanthropic. Have I mentioned yet that it sucks being me?

-Johnny Broken

I need a better nickname

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , , , on May 22, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I still insist I’m not a physically violent person, but back in the day, I, as I tend to think of it, “was Columbine before Columbine was cool.” Being the little social reject for the longest time, after everything I was going through at school (no friends) and with my pathetic excuse for a social life (very few friends, no girlfriend), after two particular game changing events in my life, I had an epiphany.

The first game-changer for me was first time I met a bona-fide “goth” in person. I’d seen the stuff in movies up to that point, and heard a bit about it, but I’d never actually seen anyone that dressed and acted like they just stepped out of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I was awestruck. People can do that all black thing? In like, real life? Wow, that’s cool. Having been a bit of a devil’s advocate regarding “bad guys” already, I slowly began my own personal transformation. I spent years shifting away from the colored clothing I had, and focused more and more on the dark colors. I was still fairly young at the time, so all I really could do was wear my black sports teams shirts and eventually get more black jeans and some less gaudy sneakers. These days, that look is what I call trailer park goth. You’ve seen it around. It’s someone who wears “sports” sneakers that are about 95 to 100 percent black, faded black jeans, and a pop-culture related black t-shirt. Trailer park goths have the basic idea down, but it’s the poor man’s version of dressing like the world hates you and you hate it right back. If you’re going to do it, do it right, dammit.

The second game-changer for me was the first Crow movie. Yeah, yeah, it’s cliché now, but I was mesmerized by the idea of coming back from the dead to exact revenge on those who wronged you. And looking cool while doing it, of course. I mortified a teacher once when I pointed out that was why I was obsessed with the movie, not the love story aspect. And after this heavy hitting life altering combo, something in me finally snapped, and I went full on Satanist for a while. I was good at it too. Grew my hair out, dyed it black, wore all black with boots and a trenchcoat, everything. Pretended I knew magic, (I actually started researching magic, but that’s another topic for another day) made up stories about sacrificing animals at my house, and rebelled pretty hardcore at the private catholic high school I went to at the time. That whole thing culminated when I finally started threatening people. Girls, specifically, if you must know. Came up with elaborate stories about how I was going to sacrifice them and everything.

To be honest I kept at it because I had finally turned the tables. Of course I’m pretty sure some people just played along with me in a funny ha-ha sort of way. But I know for a fact some people believed every single word I was saying at the time. People were finally afraid of ME. And I loved it. Ever have a crowd part for you as you walked? Ever have someone see you, promptly turn tail and run? Or start crying merely because you walked into the room? Seriously, it’s an ego trip like you wouldn’t believe. And considering that I had no ego prior to my trying to become Mister Evil, I couldn’t get enough.

But while I never physically hurt or touched anyone, I finally went a little too far, and got suspended from high school. Twice. The second time was the straw that broke the camel’s back and sent me to the local public high school during my senior year. Fun times, that.

So a stint with a psychiatrist and some doctor approved better living through chemistry later, I mellowed out. Sort of. See, I’ll tell you a little secret. Psychiatry is pure bullshit. “Psychiatrists” spend so much time studying to be called a doctor that they end up getting grossly out of touch with what the common person knows and thinks. All shrinks do know about YOU is what other people vaguely like you have done. So instead of being treated like an individual case, you become a statistic who gets the same schtick the last guy got, regardless of the details of why you’re doing what you’re doing or why they did what they did.

Oh you and the guy that came before you both have issues with your, say, sibling. But maybe the other guy was physically abused by his brother, but your sister is a mommy’s girl and it annoys the hell out of you. But as far as that doctor is concerned, 75% of people who have issues with their siblings were abused by their parents. So he’ll treat you like you were molested by your father, regardless of whether or not you actually were.

Maybe there’s an element specific to the last guy that the doctor didn’t catch but was able to “treat” with some random comment he made that the patient interpreted in some warped way as the answer they were looking for. But that same element won’t apply to you, never mind that the doctor thinks it was something else they said during the other guy’s therapy. And then they give you drugs that really only make you tired. See, can’t be harmful to yourself or anyone else if all you want to do is sleep. Or you’re so confused by psychobabble you don’t know which way is up. Success! Next patient!

At least that’s how it’s “worked” in the case of anyone I’ve ever known to have to go through it, myself included. In my case, I decided to leave the wacky ward because it wasn’t playing out how I thought it would. See, I had it in my head at the time that being locked in a padded room and only ever occasionally seeing a nurse or a doctor was a better alternative to my life. To my dismay, the local mental ward was nowhere near as peaceful as Hollywood lead me to believe it would be. So I changed my tune and stared telling the doctors what they wanted to hear.

So yeah, I laid off the destructive urges for a couple years to keep out of hospitals, and tried to make do. I also hate hospitals now. Tried college. Long story short, that didn’t work out, and lead to another stay in the mental ward. I hate colleges now too. Skip ahead many moons and past my previous lighter hearted entries here, and we’re up to now-ish. It was a couple months ago that I noticed I’ve kind of regressed to being as depressed and angry as I used to be.

-Same writer, thinking about a new nickname