"When you dress nicely and look good, I feel proud," A said. "But when you're gothed up, I feel a little bit apologetic."
"Why?"
"Well, it does offend some people, you know."
"No one I care about offending."
"That's what Z said when he wore that skirt to Commencement."

He has a point, and it's one that matters to him. However, I can't deny the thrill that goes with my exhibitionism. Descending the stairs in a grand sweep of black last night, we encountered one of the usual, dull, unimaginative males. His response, eloquent as you please, was: "Holy Fuck."

I didn't even try to hold back the triumphant little smirk that played across my face. It's easy to attach convenient motives to my behaviour. I want to be better than people. I want to draw attention to myself. I want to be pretentious.

I don't. I want to shock these little unimaginative people out of their shells. I want them to realise 'racking' and 'footy' isn't everything there is to life. Maybe a futile gesture to attempt to draw these people into the world where I see such dark beauty, but an attempt I feel I have to make.

Besides, it's fun.