We are emo.

We are the super-introspective, tragically hip and socially subversive, albeit in a mellow sort of way.

We whine to music.

We still mourn past relationships from our freshman year of high school even though we are rapidly closing in on 25.

We can tell you in detail that our biggest heartbreak in life occurred sometime between homeroom and first-period trig class.

Moving on would be folly, as we’d have no material for our special genre of punk-meets-depression in an upscale suburb.

Tears are the fuel on which the emo machine runs; black eyeliner the lubricant.

We are sensitive and it shows.

We stolidly refuse to be closer than 10 pounds under our ideal height-weight requirement. The emaciated look only serves as the physical manifestation to the fragility of our hearts. Also, skinny bodies allow us to pile on the undersized rock star shirts and the screen tees with devastatingly clever statements.

We like layering.

We like our sweaters small and thrift-store-bought with self-made finger holes making it easier to swipe our eyes after a good long cry. Or if we can’t procure one secondhand, then we’ve got to go to a major retail outlet that already sells its items preworn. After all, it’s all about authenticity.

We like androgyny. Because making everyone homogenous in appearance makes us even more the consummate rebel against society.

The menfolk among us like their pants tight. Real tight. So tight that others can surmise their religious affiliation just by looking at the front of their jeans. Labels like the “”women’s section”” at department stores do not faze us.

Nothing is more stunning than the vision of a 5-foot-10-inch, 135-pound man with hair slung over one eye, his silhouette outlined in stretchy denim pants.

Our women prefer their shoes sensible and their belts cumbersome and studded.

We all have the same haircuts – because we looked at the band “”Flock of Seagulls”” and thought we can do better. And we did.

We are ahead of the times. We scoff at things that aren’t obscure or British. Mainstream has no value and is easily dismissed as devoid of any artistic value. Time spent away from anything non-emo-related is time unduly wasted, thus the need for knee-jerk reactions.

We scoff often.

We don’t pay attention to petty things like trends, but we are ahead of them nonetheless.

It’s a delicate line we emos tread.

We have a social consciousness. Corporations are evil things, and we aren’t saying that because we’re spitting out some tired old dogma that we’ve regurgitated and haven’t really thought over since then. We really mean it.

And forget the fact that the clothing we wear is mass-produced in a developing country courtesy of the stitching by the small hands of children.

Mere technicalities, we assure you.

But we don’t have to apologize or explain ourselves to you.

We are emo, after all.