Geek before it was Chic.

Let me start off by clarifying that I do not think of myself as a special and beautiful and unique snowflake.

I do not feel that due to my often fanatic love of cult science-fiction and literature of the fantasy genre, my self-pride in being rather well-educated, my tendency to sneer at those who incorrectly edit their own memes, my love for the musical stylings of the ever gloriously nerdy Jonathan Coulton, or even my passionate feelings concerning technology and HTML formatting and sneaky keyboard shortcuts, that I am "not like the other girls". Let's be realistic here.


I'm terrible at any video game besides Sonic and the Lego projects. I've read one manga in my life and I doubt I'll ever read anymore. The only anime I've ventured into is Pokémon and the occasional Studio Ghibli film. I don't understand every single obscure reference made in an episode of Spaced. The only comics I read are included in Scottish Sunday newspapers, or are those that feature a beagle who moonlights as a fighter pilot, or a sarcastic overweight cat who detests Mondays, or a little boy who should really see a psychiatrist about the imaginary tiger that is a recurrent presence in his daily life.


However I am one of the smaller (however forever on the increase) percentage of human beings that would be considered as being slightly less.. - I cringe as I type this - 'mainstream'.

I will happily profess that I am somewhat of a geek. A nerd. A dork. Use whichever Americanism you're most comfortable with. I feel that years of being teased about my mild (heh) obsession with Harry Potter, my seemingly constant ability to embarrass myself, my regular visitation of such websites, never quite blossoming in the subject at school yet giggling/snorting at many a science joke, suffering a period during my teens when I had truly awful frizzy hair and braces and having a continuing decline in the reliability of my eyesight, I almost.. deserve(?) to be known as a member of this stereotype. As though it were a 'cool' thing to be, and not a form of insult as it originally was.

So surely you can understand my confusion and general annoyance when it comes to the odd trend of folk obnoxiously and inaccurately branding themselves as GEEKS, often in the form of a hashtag. If anyone's even partly to blame, I'm pointing a (One Ring adorned) finger at Topshop.

What I'm sure started out as an innocently ironic design, aimed at those who feel it's cute to be viewed as an "awkward and quirky individual with oversized prescription-less glasses who desperately wants a Deathly Hallows symbol tattoo because they think it's pretty and enjoys broadcasting to the world every time they pick up a video game controller and has a 'retro' Game Boy cover for their IPhone", has now spread like a virus and is slowly draining me of happiness. I'm sure you're all familiar with this poor girl who has been the victim of many an internet jibe from those who feel she just isn't worthy to claim the (apparently now highly coveted) title of 'nerd'.

If you're not familiar with her, it's likely that you are her.

Unfortunately these types are only on the rise. Wearing glasses in public now makes you a #geek. Watching The Big Bang Theory yet only laughing at Jim Parson yelling bazinga, you're a #geek. You went to see one of the many new shiny Marvel films that are essentially designed to be suitable for all possible audiences and take the time to explain any potentially confusing backstory? Oh goodness yes, #geek. Forgive my pretentiousness but even if you are fairly immersed in typical activities of the dweebery variety, taking the time to blatantly point it out, or wearing a T-shirt that makes a song and dance about it, you are simply negating any possible credibility. It's that simple.

Items of clothing such as those pictured above are essentially everywhere these days, the latest culprit being Primark and their hideously affordable and thus much easier to stock up range of neon crop tops bearing these stereotypes. Needless to say I had to go the extra mile in displaying my disgust.

Simon Pegg once stated that "Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much you like something. It’s basically a license to proudly emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating." And yet I feel the majority of those who don 'geek' apparel or flaunt that they're living the dorky lifestyle take more time to build up this title than they do appreciating things that would make them suitable to be known as such. Approach a casual watcher of Doctor Who that has just exclaimed how excited they are for this week's episode and that they are SUCH A GEEK WOW and attempt to fuel a conversation about your certainty that Clara is either Jack Harkness's daughter or Jenny regenerated or the CAL computer that River Song eventually ends up in and that the fact Neil Gaiman wrote this new episode makes you really happy because his steampunk-esque episode last year was sensational and you're so ridiculously excited to see what he's doing with Cybermen - and the chances of them responding with a vacant stare or simply a dirty look is high. Because they're just not programmed to think about specialised fiction that way. And yet they have the audacity to try and steal a role that has taken so long for Us (yes, we are a United People) to become at ease with and eventually even feel proud of. 

I can only assume that I've come across as one of those Holier Than Thou bastards that condemn anyone without a wardrobe full of cosplay outifts as JUST NOT NERDY ENOUGH ZOMG STAHP!!!!! but I'm actually just trying to reclaim a tiny bit of justice. Don't attempt to be a poor imitation of those you once deemed outcasts. In this you will only fail.

(..epicly. ;DDDD)

My slow descent into festive induced madness.

It's that time of year again. Shopping centres are packed with anxious bargain hunters clutching letters they saved from being sent to the polar bears in the North Pole, windows are alight with harsh florescent bulbs in festive shapes- WHICH ARE NEVER SET ON STATIC, and every song ever played anywhere you go comes with a complimentary dollop of cheese and an abundance of prepubescent choir boys.
The countdown to bankruptcy and overdosing on seasonal sugary treats has begun.
My underwear would be well and truly ablaze if I were to say I'm not utterly in love with it.

Maybe it's the constant expectation of a miraculous snowfall, perhaps it's that gorgeous rush of warmth pouring over you when stepping indoors and escaping the bitter cold, or hell it's probably still just the child inside of me anticipating ripping open that wrapping paper on Christmas Day. (Although I feel I must admit as I've gotten older I now have the annoying habit of tentatively peeling off sellotape and neatly folding the paper into a tottering pile, "just in case we use it again". But of course, who ever does..)

Regardless of the reasons behind it, the Christmas season is when I am in my element. If you're familiar with The OC, you could say it's when I transform even more into Mr Seth Cohen. His array of bold festive sweaters jumpers, the fact he composes a hymn set to Death Cab For Cutie's song A Lack of Colour, his overwhelming enthusiasm when attempting to persuade his less than willing family to join in with raising festive cheer.. He embodies everything I want to be when it comes to December's celebrations.

This could explain why, about a fortnight ago, I was having what could only be explained as a minor breakdown - due to the fact I couldn't remember whether the majority of our LED lights were 'warm white' or 'cool white'. (Believe me, there's a difference.) It could also explain why I've already bought my gift paper in bulk, along with a multitude of tags and bows and confetti, and started stocking up on candy canes. I've also invested in two beautifully-scented festive candles (of the stupidly expensive Yankee variety obviously), and a new doormat for the household, adorned with a cheerful Santa accompanied by a majestic snowman. Even the delivery of these hefty packages at half past seven in the morning from our poor postman can plaster a smile on my face for the rest of the day.

This frankly obsessive behaviour may seem charming and quirky in print, but having what can only be explained as an extensive case of Christmas Fever is taking its toll. My family and bank balance are both nearing exhaustion. I'm frequently in a panic over the price of gifts, how many gifts to buy, if I have enough cards to hand out to my new college friends, how soon Tesco are going to scrap their special offer on After Eights, if I can ever find baubles the exact same shade of aubergine as our wallpaper..

My mind is a mess, cornered by decorative sprigs of holly.

Still, I know that once that truly magical day draws near, my frantic planning will be worth it. As long as I spend the Eve watching Nightmare Before Christmas whilst getting some last minute wrapping done, I'll be content. As long as my sister and mother have a smile on their faces when opening their presents on the morning of the 25th, I'll be stupidly satisfied. As long as I get to continue the long standing tradition of watching A Charlie Brown Christmas at my fathers (both the original and the dub by the Scrubs cast), I'll be positively giddy. As long as I'm handed a beautifully overflowing plate of food while sitting and watching The Flint Street Nativity with my beautiful family, I will truly be one of the happiest ladies on the planet. In the end it all culminates to that. Spending a glorious day eating yourself silly with those folk you love most. And hopefully if there's any food left you'll continue well into the New Year. I certainly plan to.

...

28 SLEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!