In defense of being emo

It's not a phase, mom

Give ’Em Hell, Kid

I can’t say I remember the date and time when I first heard their music. I know I was already well on my way to scaring my family and confusing my friends with my artistic choices. I had gotten the Evanescence¹ and Good Charlotte CDs for my birthday. Linkin Park was my favorite band, a very prestigious title for my pre-teen self to award them.

I don’t remember what I was wearing, what the weather was like, if there were any interesting smells. I can only remember the sound. I was utterly and completely transformed when the first guitar riffs from “I’m Not Ok (I Promise)” reached my eardrums. Time stood still. My eyes widened. I breathed in the sound of the music. I breathed out the teen angst that had been building up, stuck inside my ribcage.

My Chemical Romance was not OK. They were owning that. They were screaming it at you. Unafraid, unashamed.

That song shook something loose in me. I was never the same.

Art finds us when we need it the most (and yes I am calling My Chemical Romance art, sue me in taste court see if I care). The package of the visual and music overwhelmed me. The imagery tickled my brain. The fluidity with which the lead singer, Gerard Way, glided and shimmied made me feel feelings. His movements felt sensual and queering; shocking for my well-behaved, shy, Catholic girl inclinations. He’d flip his hair coquettishly and then stare you down with his eyeliner-rimmed eyes. Soft and hard. Shooting me through the heart.

I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to be with him or I wanted to be him. I had thought then it was the former, a crush for an unattainable figure, the same all teenagers get. Some people swooned over Zac Efron in High School Musical. I fell hard for these guys with one sided fringes. In retrospect, I think it was more the latter. I wanted to channel all my teenage angst into big aesthetics. I found myself dreaming up music videos with me in center stage singing Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. In these elaborate imaginary productions I was all the things I was not in real life: loud, unafraid, unashamed, musically-gifted. I kept dreaming and drawing², but still remained the shy teenager I was when MCR found me. Afraid, ashamed, as quiet as possible. Doing my best to hide.

If they’re lucky though, teenagers become adults.

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“Emo” gets a bad reputation, even to this day. The music and the associated aesthetics are made fun of relentlessly³. They’re roasted as an immature artistic expression. A bunch of grown men saying being a teenager is hard. People claiming their ordinary feelings are actually extraordinary, what a bunch of losers. It’s not a phase, mom. My husband hates the stuff. I’m pretty sure my parents were concerned for my well-being given the extensive use of death imagery. God bless them, and I’m so sorry.

Once I became an adult and got rid of my childish ways, I used to join that side of the line, ashamed of my past. An incredible gain for the cause against emo: I was emo once, no more. We all did silly things when we were younger, right? Like have crushes on Zac Efron? I wouldn’t admit the extent of my admiration, even if I did admit to listening to the stuff. Even as an adult, I was still swayed by the teenage influence of social pressure. I just want to fit in, guys.

Well, no more. I’ve crossed the line to the other side, guys. Long live emo.

I realize that this shame, like all shames, is a social construct and have decided to no longer partake in it. I. don’t. care. I know now I have always had the power Gerard and co. channeled in their music. I am working on being unbound by the chains that keep me down. Stopping myself from stopping me. I may not be musically gifted, but I will take center stage in my own elaborate productions. Loud, unafraid, unashamed. Bring on the metaphorical black eyeliner and skinny jeans. I’m going to get emo, kids.

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My Chemical Romance announced a long-awaited reunion tour on January 2020. Even after the two year postponement due to COVID, you know I was there. I went by myself, but I was not alone. When I got to the Oakland Arena I was a drop in a sea of black. Teenagers, new and old, all together. Unafraid, unashamed. There to partake in the Black Parade⁴.

Gerard and co. took the stage and gave us the performance of a lifetime. I took my own stage and sang my heart out. A celebration of big feelings. Sometimes our childish ways are not childish and we shouldn’t leave them behind.

Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

1. I used to scare my sister by leaving the Evanescence CD on her pillow at night. You know the one.

2. More on that some other day

3. I don’t usually like South Park, but their take is hilarious and involves Edgar Allen Poe.

4. MCRs best album, in my humble opinion.