Hi, I’m Becky, an artist and writer based in Derbyshire. I write about my life in what I hope is an honest and open way. I write about mental health, autism, sobriety and simply trying to find my way in this world. Please subscribe to support my work and to read more of my posts.
Hi,
How are you?
This weeks letter is once again inspired by Gender Euphoria, in particular the essay ‘Punks Against Gender Conformity: Being Agender in the Punk Scene’ by Koda Strider.
Within Koda’s essay, they talk about finding a place and acceptance within the modern-day punk scene in California.
Reading this essay actually made me feel quite sad because it is the polar opposite of what I found in the British punk scene in the early to late nougties and early two thousand and tens.
Punks don’t like me: A story or two
When we were teenagers, me and my friends used to go into Sheffield a lot, heading to cd shops and the alternative shops.
I would buy CDs but I was too scared to buy the clothes I wanted. We were a bunch of bullied kids and whereas they defiantly embraced being the “weird kids”, I hid away, hoping if I stayed small and quiet people would leave me alone.
Reader, they did not.
But, this led me to my first inkling that punks were not people I could fit in with. We were in the CD shop, Fopp (Do you remember Fopp?) and I was innocently looking at CDs when a man sporting a mohican walked in. He was aged around 30-40 and he had a couple of kids with him.
And he gave me a look that was sheer and utter disgust. I, a fifeteen-ish year old kid should not be in “his” section of Fopp.
Years would pass and I would go on listening to punk, alongside the other genres I loved. School would end and I would find a freedom to be myself. My hair was quickly all chopped off and dyed bright red. I commandeered my Mum’s leather jacket. Bought in 1989 from a leather shop in Manchester, it became my prized possession, my battle jacket.
And as luck would have it, there was a gaggle of punks in my small, country town.
Except I didn’t fit here either.
They were all white, middle-class, cis-gendered men. And well, I can still only check one of those boxes.
I quickly discovered that they did not really believe that I liked punk, I think mainly due to the fact that I have a vagina. There was a definite feeling that I was only saying I did in order to impress them.
They would be punks forever and I would stop at some point and go back to being “normal”.
They also used to say “I only listen to punk” like it was a badge of honour. I did not only listen to punk. I liked rock, hair metal, metal, pop, country etc. They knew this and I often got that look of disgust again. Back then, I thought they were right. I thought most people who were mean to me were right! I never stopped listening to different genres but I used to put my Spotify on private to listen to Motley Crue, Dolly Parton, P!nk etc. so my Spotify Wrapped was always just punk and ska. What a complete waste of time and energy.
Now, I see this for the insecurity that it was. They were trying to fit in too and saying “I only listen to punk” or “I’ve never heard of [insert ridiculously famous band here], I only listen to punk” was a desperate attempt at finding their own acceptance.
Also, it’s really sad! In my humble opinion, only listening to one genre of music is like someone trying to hand you a million colours to paint your life with and you saying “I’m okay with one.”
Not just men
Women didn’t offer me a solace either, with a constant feeling like there was only so much room for us vagina owners so you best fit nice and snuggly into the punk box.
The box where the rules were you had to only listen to punk, even if this meant declaring certain bands ‘punk’ even if they weren’t, and wearing the punk uniform.
Like I’ve already said, I loved my leather jacket and think most people would say that even to this day I have a punk/rock look most of the time.
Buuuuut, just like the music, when the mood takes I like to wear different things.
I am a sucker for a long, black Morticia Adams-esque dress. I love a 1950s style flared dress. I love going on walks and some of my favourite clothes are my walking trousers and boots. I am a sucker for a bit of leopard print and own a vintage faux fur leopard print coat. Or two… I have dabbled with a bit of 1960-70s hippy chic. This didn’t really stick but I gave it a go with a beautiful tie-dye summer wrap.
And this is all why I have never called myself a ‘punk’. Or a goth or a rocker. Or any of the other things you can say you are.
Because I don’t want to be limited to a uniform. I don’t want to be limited to a single soundtrack.
I want to paint my life with all the colours.
Now I’m older I can see how silly it was to try and fit in in places I wasn’t wanted. Trying to make myself seem more punk. I am certain I delayed reverting back to my natural hair colour because other people might see it as I surrender.
How silly, the amount of time and energy I have spent worrying about other people and their rules. Rules that are so often laced with insecurity.
So, here I am, aged 35, still loving punk and rock and pop and metal and country. Blonde now but still rocking my (my Mum’s) leather jacket.
Still a punk kid who never got to be a punk kid because the punk’s didn’t want me.
Except I did and I was.
It just wasn’t their version of punk. It was mine. I wish I could have seen that was absolutely fine. I wish I could have seen that who I was, what I liked and what I wore was exactly right because it was who I was, what I liked and what I wanted to wear.
I wish I could let younger Becky know they didn’t have to try so hard.
But I can’t so I have to let present day Becky know.
And so, here I am, still not a punk.
Just a human, painting their world with all the colours.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please give it a like, add a comment and/or give it a share or a restack.
I hope you are having the most wonderful start to January.
Take care of yourself.
Love,
Becky
🖤✨🌈
The irony of so-called punks doing that bullshit gatekeeping about 'their' music/aesthetic/community when so much of the politics of punk is about breaking boundaries and rebelling against that mainstream policing of how people 'should' be. Gross, and I'm sorry that you experienced that.
I've been in and adjacent to the queer punk community here in Manchester for some years, and find it much more inclusive and affirming of a much broader range of expression and identities. But that's queers for you! And I'm grateful for them. But this is an important reminder how being 'alternative' doesn't necessarily mean kind, which I hate despite how true it can be. I'd love if we could rely on some mutual kindness and compassion from our fellow marginalised-by-the-mainstream souls, even if it sadly isn't always the case!
This sounds parallel to a lot of the views held by sexist white guys in the gamer geek community. Like they can’t imagine anyone else would love what they love. It’s baffling!