Being different is not a hobby. It’s not an aesthetic. It’s certainly not a personality trait one adopts for attention. Yet, society is overrun with people desperately clawing at the concept of individuality, mistaking forced eccentricity for true peculiarity. They plaster their walls with skeleton prints, adopt a vaguely melancholic expression, and pretend their fascination with the dark is anything more than a passing trend. It’s all so… predictable.
The world is full of people trying desperately to be different. They dye their hair unnatural colours, wear mismatched socks, and quote Edgar Allan Poe as if reciting ‘The Raven’ makes them some kind of tortured soul. But here’s the truth: true darkness isn’t curated. It doesn’t need approval. And it certainly doesn’t involve an obsession with pumpkin spice lattes and overused Tim Burton references.
I watch them, these self-proclaimed ‘quirky’ individuals, as they put on their carefully constructed performances. The girl in the coffee shop reading ‘Frankenstein’ in plain sight, glancing up every few minutes to see if anyone is impressed. The boy who wears a trench coat in the summer, convinced he is the protagonist of some existential noir film. They want to be misunderstood. I can assure them—they are.
They call themselves outcasts, revelling in their so-called uniqueness while clinging to trends like lifelines. Being different is a performance for them, a desperate attempt to stand out while secretly yearning for validation. It’s amusing. And tragic. Mostly tragic.
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I sip my black coffee—no sugar, no cream, no hope—and wonder what they would do if they were truly unusual. If they spent their childhood dissecting roadkill instead of listening to indie music and calling it ‘obscure.’ If they found beauty in the macabre, not just as an aesthetic, but as a philosophy.
To be odd is not a choice. It is an affliction. One that I bear proudly.
Wednesday Addams’ Inner Commentary on People Who Try to Be ‘Quirky’
The world is full of people trying desperately to be different. They dye their hair unnatural colours, wear mismatched socks, and quote
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Being different is not a hobby. It’s not an aesthetic. It’s certainly not a personality trait one adopts for attention. Yet, society is overrun with people desperately clawing at the concept of individuality, mistaking forced eccentricity for true peculiarity. They plaster their walls with skeleton prints, adopt a vaguely melancholic expression, and pretend their fascination with the dark is anything more than a passing trend. It’s all so… predictable.
The world is full of people trying desperately to be different. They dye their hair unnatural colours, wear mismatched socks, and quote Edgar Allan Poe as if reciting ‘The Raven’ makes them some kind of tortured soul. But here’s the truth: true darkness isn’t curated. It doesn’t need approval. And it certainly doesn’t involve an obsession with pumpkin spice lattes and overused Tim Burton references.
I watch them, these self-proclaimed ‘quirky’ individuals, as they put on their carefully constructed performances. The girl in the coffee shop reading ‘Frankenstein’ in plain sight, glancing up every few minutes to see if anyone is impressed. The boy who wears a trench coat in the summer, convinced he is the protagonist of some existential noir film. They want to be misunderstood. I can assure them—they are.
They call themselves outcasts, revelling in their so-called uniqueness while clinging to trends like lifelines. Being different is a performance for them, a desperate attempt to stand out while secretly yearning for validation. It’s amusing. And tragic. Mostly tragic.
I sip my black coffee—no sugar, no cream, no hope—and wonder what they would do if they were truly unusual. If they spent their childhood dissecting roadkill instead of listening to indie music and calling it ‘obscure.’ If they found beauty in the macabre, not just as an aesthetic, but as a philosophy.
To be odd is not a choice. It is an affliction. One that I bear proudly.
They, however, are merely tourists in the dark.
Also Read: Sherlock Holmes’ Rapid-Fire Thoughts While Solving a Murder
--Silviya.Y