by Sam
I can spot one a mile away. There is always a give-away, sometimes more subtle than
others. A glittering nosestud, a pair of Dr.Martens, the all-black clothes, colours in her
hair… I can spot an ex-freak in a crowd and the nice thing is she will always spot me
back and we will exchange friendly eye-contact.
What is a freak? Tut-tut. If you don’t know you were never one yourself. A freak
is an umbrella term for all the subcultures and their glorious hybrids and
cross-overs;
usually, I would say, from the 70s and 80s such as goths and punks. A freak has been
outrageous, gorgeous, over the top, and deadly cool. These aspects of freakdom don’t
just go away either. They mutate into a toned-down version of themselves. If you are a
teen and you saw a woman in her 30s wearing, say, a wild 1920s teadress with army boots,
you may wonder what on earth she was playing at? She is an ex-freak and when you were
still at school she was wearing white face paint and having parts of herself pierced
(before piercing became as common and mainstream as white sliced bread).
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I have always ex-freak spotted. I am an avid collector. The only difference between me
and a train spotter is that I don’t carry a notebook. Two weeks ago I saw one; in her
30s, skyscraper high black boots, black PVC coat, black (dyed) hair. Yaaay! A real find
especially because, as she was letting herself into her very large house, she waved at her
teenage son (I know he was her son because my friend was chatting to her son at the time).
Goth does well! Goth has child and well-heeled hubby but Goth STILL dyes her hair. I was
rejoicing for hours.
The thing is that when I was a teenage goth I couldn’t really understand these
older ones at all. They seemed both intimidating (they were self-confident and stylish)
and foolish (shouldn’t they be running coffee mornings by now?). I started going to
this particular nightclub when I was about fifteen and, obviously, there were lots of
women in there older than me. The girls from the Human League used to go in there and show
off. But there was one particular woman who I still see around from time to time. She must
be ten or fifteen years older than me. She still has very long, black hair and wears
clumpy shoes and a shiny PVC coat. At the time I first saw her she used to wear black
knee-socks with big boots. I realise now that she had been a punk; several things gave her
away: her tartan kilt, her piercings, her bike boots with the metal plate on the front
which, believe me, no-one had then (Scary Spice has some now but there is nothing
rebellious or challenging about the way she wears them. She is a very rich woman in a
novelty band. There is nothing scary about that). I really admired this woman because she
wasn’t ‘pretty’, she wasn’t all that slim, she wasn’t a teenager
(back then I thought age mattered) but despite/because of this she managed to be
beautiful, and very cool without being pretentious, she was friendly, she bounced around
and knew loads of people and she looked good.
I never made friends with this woman. She was out of my orbit at that time. But I made
friends with lots of freak kids my own age and grew into a club regular. It was my turn to
talk graciously to younger/newer people, it was my turn to swan about and know a lot of
people.
The flip side of spotting ex-freaks is that I love to spot new freaks too. There is
usually something not quite right about a new freak. Their black is not faded enough,
their jeans are too ripped, or their boots too shiny. But none of that matters. In time
they will perfect their look. A friend of mine (older) once said about another friend of
mine (younger) "his hair’s not really the right shape yet" and that was it
in a nutshell. His hair, dyed black, shaved at the sides, was still not performing to the
best of its ability. Two years later it was and he looked fantastic. I am always happy to
see new freaks and if they look back at me I see in their eyes the flat gleam of
incomprehension: why is that woman wearing paraboots? Why has that woman got a nosestud,
and red and yellow hair? And I do understand that. They feel that the world belongs to
them. There is nothing finer or more exhilarating that being sixteen years old and going
out in your big boots with your mad hair and your madder clothes. So there is a wonder
about anyone older who doesn’t look very straight and mainstream; being a freak is a
way of life, it is an exhibition and it often feels like a sort of secret sect, something
extra special. Not everyone can successfully join. But not everyone can successfully leave
either.
There is a doll called Feral Cheryl. I bought one for someone for christmas. The doll
has a rounded body shape, body hair, dreadlocks, piercings, and tattoos. When I first saw
it advertised on an Australian website last autumn I almost fainted. What a wonderful
thing, I thought, I would like one myself (I suspect that more women than little girls
will own Feral Cheryl; after all, who would part with her?). And it set me to wondering:
what would an ex-freak doll look like? It is difficult to pin down specific details but I
would say she would wear black, her hair might never be its natural colour, she wears
unusual jewellery, and she looks cool. No matter how old she gets.
Sam
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