Born in the 80s, goth is still going strong. Four devotees discuss the music and fashion and how love of the macabre draws together a warm and friendly scene

Goths are perhaps the most maligned of all subcultures. Over the decades, they have been unfairly blamed for high-school shootings, depression in teenagers and antisocial behaviour. In reality, goths are a collective of people bound by a shared love of fashion, music and art.

Goth emerged out of the punk scene in the north of England in the 1980s. Its adherents are immediately recognisable by their black clothing and jewellery, their passion for artists such as Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Nick Cave and the Sisters of Mercy, and their fondness for imagery and lyrics referencing the macabre, darkness and death. And the eyeliner, of course.

Years of unfavourable press attention have bound goths together more tightly than other subcultures. “The scene has been partly defined by how it’s been viewed negatively,” says Dr Paul Hodkinson, a sociologist at the University of Surrey and an expert in goth culture. “That negative attention can give its participants an extra commitment to the scene, and strengthens their identity in the face of a perceived mainstream society that misunderstands or mistreats them.’”

Unlike other subcultures, says Hodkinson, goth culture tends to be close-knit as a result of this shared experience of victimisation. Many goths stay active in the scene throughout their lives. We spoke to some of Britain’s long-standing goths about the scene, fashion and music, and whether they ever see themselves wearing colour in their future.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Lee Edward Armstrong. Photograph: Martin Pope/The Guardian

Lee Edward Armstrong

45, runs a manufacturing company in Peterborough

I have been a goth since university. There was a girl – she was interesting and cool and she dragged me to a goth club. Nothing ever happened with her, but the goth thing stuck.

I was living in Wolverhampton at the time, and there wasn’t much goth stuff going on. I heard about the first Whitby Goth festival, in 1994, through forums on the internet. There were 212 of us there. It completely exploded my mind.

My dress sense has varied a lot over the years. I’m not as young as I once was. I don’t have a full mohican any more – I got rid of it around 2000, when I started going thin on top. Since then, I’ve developed a love of hats. I’ve got a massive wardrobe. I wouldn’t call it a wardrobe – it’s probably about three rooms.

I always make a big effort on Halloween. One year, I was a white wolf. I had lace-up white boots, a white gothic jacket and a wolf head. I crept up behind my friend and growled at her. She ended up having a panic attack. I guess that outfit was a little too successful.

Being goth is not something I’m going to grow out of. I’ve got masses of friends from the alternative scene. There’s this misconception that all goths are miserable. Yes, there’s a sense of macabre, but there’s an amazing camaraderie and sense of community.

I think because of my size, I get less abuse than other goths. I’m quite good at de-escalating hostile situations. I can normally sort things out without fighting. There’s always the odd drive-by shouting, but you get used to that. A few years ago, I was in Camden, north London, with a girlfriend — we were all dressed up to go to a ball. People in the street started whistling The Addams Family theme tune. But we were quite proud of it. At one of the earliest Whitbys, a few idiots came up from Scarborough and decided they would try and intimidate us by blaring 80s music from a Vauxhall Corsa. But the police moved them on pretty fast.

Lots of goths tend to avoid customer-facing roles, because they get asked to tone down their outfits by their bosses. I’ve only been asked to do that once, when I was working for a traffic company years ago. I had grabbed a T-shirt out of a drawer without looking at it and it had quite an offensive slogan on it, so that was fair enough. It’s not such an issue for me, because I quite like wearing suits. I look good in them – as long as they are tailored.

I have a theory that lots of goths were bullied growing up. Society turned its back on us, so we all went off and did our own thing. The clothes and the makeup are just a way to differentiate who is worth getting to know. Some people look at the clothes and are put off. But the people who take the time to look beneath it are the ones worth getting to know.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Cinzia Bacilieri. Photograph: Richard Saker/The Observer

Cinzia Bacilieri

Lecturer at the University of York

I have been a goth since I was 13. It’s just my taste – I’m drawn to darkness. Growing up in Italy, I was really into music and art. I loved Caravaggio, because he was so dark. I discovered the band Paradise Lost when I was 18 – they were the first band I heard that blended metal with goth. For me, that was the perfect mix. I read an interview with them where they talked about being from Yorkshire, and I thought: where is Yorkshire? When I moved to York, it was bizarre, knowing I was in the place where goth metal was basically invented.

I dress goth every day. I haven’t worn colour since I was 14. Normally, I wear pale foundation, black eyeliner and blue, black or dark red lipstick. I can’t see myself ever wearing colour. I briefly worked as a theatre steward in Cambridge when I was younger. The uniform was yellow – it wasn’t like it was burning my skin or anything, but now that I don’t have to wear a uniform, I only ever wear black. I think if I ever went into work wearing coloured clothes, my colleagues would have a heart attack! We joke that I should wear a floral dress on Halloween.

My house is entirely black and white. I have too many skulls to count. I’m really proud of the downstairs toilet – I call it my little catacomb. It’s painted black, even the ceiling, and I have a customised loo-roll holder in the shape of a coffin. I’m currently waiting for a customised four-poster bed with a built-in spiderweb to arrive.

I’m more into goth music than the aesthetic. I don’t like how the goth scene is split in two. There are the people who are there because they love the music, and then the people who just like to go to Whitby and dress up. Why would you pretend to be goth just for a day? It makes a mockery of goth culture.

People assume that you’re depressed if you’re a goth, but it’s just the way I am. I think it’s a positive thing to think about death. You think about the end to remind yourself to make the most of life each day.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Joel Heyes. Photograph: Gary Quarmby

Joel Heyes

42, civil servant from Leeds

I have been a goth, on and off, for 20 years. I got into it as a teenager – I would listen to bands such as Sisters of Mercy, the Mission and New Model Army. It helped that I grew up in West Yorkshire, which is where lots of goth culture was based. Growing up in a small town, people weren’t used to alternative subcultures; they were quite vocal about it. You had to be careful about how you would present yourself in public, to avoid getting into trouble.

I can still remember my first proper goth night out. It was a club called the Phono, this old-school alternative goth club in Leeds. I’d go there all the time. It was so exciting. It was this world of dreadlocks, big hair, PVC and Dr Martens.

For a long time, the goth scene was in decline, but things are probably as good now as they have ever been. I run a festival called Goth City and in addition to that there are maybe a dozen goth festivals in the UK, and 100 gigging goth bands.

If I’ve got meetings at work, I wear a suit. Otherwise, I wear black jeans, a black blazer, pointed boots and a black frock coat. I always find myself returning to that hammy Victorian style – I like the tailcoat and white shirt and big hair aesthetic. David Vanian of the Damned is probably my biggest style influence. And if I’m going out, I like to make my long black hair as big as possible with hairspray.

I would like to be able to express myself as I want more often. Work isn’t such an issue – you can rock a strong goth look and still be extremely smart. I think goths tend to look more professional than non-goths. But it’s harder to find the time and spaces to dress goth as you get older. It becomes less practical, as you are in goth spaces less often. That said, I definitely don’t ever go out in tracksuits or blue jeans. I do own a single pair of jeans. I wear them maybe once a year, in summer.

There can be a bit of street heckling that goes on. It’s never particularly intelligent: people will shout “Dracula”, or whatever horror movie they can think of. It’s only ever if I find myself in a town centre on a Friday or Saturday night, when people have been drinking. That’s when you want to be careful. But I would never go out in that environment anyway, because you’re looking for conflict. I tend to avoid town centres on a weekend. I don’t want to attract attention. It’s not really an issue for me – I wouldn’t want to go out there anyway. Nothing brings me into town.

I see myself as an old-school goth. Not in an elitist way, but more in the sense of being true to the original counter-culture tradition of goth, as it came out of Leeds. We have an agenda that is liberal and progressive and an affinity to a darker, romantic view of the world. We’re not all unhappy. There are a lot of extremely chipper goths out there. The idea that all goths are morbid and depressed definitely isn’t the case.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Mel Butler. Photograph: Richard Saker/The Guardian

Mel Butler

47, a sales assistant from Teesside

I got into goth music when I was 13. When you’re a teenager, you feel like you need your own identity. Post-punk alternative goth music appealed to me, so I went from there. My father absolutely hated it. He couldn’t understand why I was dressed all in black. The more he disliked it, the more I rebelled.

Between 13 and 16, I couldn’t go to pubs or nightclubs and meet other goths, so I stayed in my bedroom and listened to goth music and read Melody Maker and NME. When I left my bedroom, I would wear black leggings, pointy boots, a Sisters of Mercy T-shirt and have my hair all black and crimped. I did get a lot of stick for how I looked – I was the only goth in my sleepy market town.

As soon as I turned 18, I moved to Leeds because that was the epicentre of goth culture. It was great: amazing nightlife, really nice people. But the scene died overnight in 93, 94. I’d go down to the Phono nightclub and it had completely changed. All the people I knew there had stopped going. They all moved on with their lives. But I thought: “I’m not ready to grow out of this.” So it developed into more of a lifestyle than a phase. There isn’t another Mel who isn’t a goth.

My house is all goth: black flock wallpaper, black settees, black gloss furniture, baroque-style ornaments. I never get bored of wearing black. It’s a godsend, because you never have to separate your clothes when you’re wearing them. I married a goth. We had the wedding in a castle, and I wore a purple corset, with a big flouncy skirt to go with it, and purple and black hair extensions.

Any time something bad happens, like a shooting spree, people say: “He was dressed in a trench coat and listening to Marilyn Manson.” But that doesn’t define goth. It goes a lot deeper.