I would like to say first that I am not a lifestyler. I am, though, an individual who likes to know, deep down, no matter how secretive I’m being, aside from my work-a-day wardrobe, that I am in fact a vamp, that I can be vampish if I really want to. I’m like a feminist hiding her last lacy pink under-things behind the pile of combat boots in the closet of forward thinking.
I must admit that I admire lifestylers a little. They get to play dress-up every day. They can brood and sulk and weep to their hearts’ content and everyone just expects it. I also imagine it takes guts to do what they do. To become, what you feel you truly are, must be a fantastic experience with serious consequences. If I were to give myself total freedom I am not sure exactly how far I would take the vampire aesthetic. However, that freedom would most certainly cost me the position in society I have worked so hard for. To be labeled a nutter by the normals might not be so bad. In fact I think there’s fun to be had there, but to be disregarded by your own as a goober who takes it just a bit to far must be difficult.
I also consider lifestylers to be the ultimate disguise. Although I have a crown of black thorns atop my head, pale skin, solar-sensitive grey eyes, and an unnecessary flair for dramatics. (What… You hadn’t noticed?) Nobody is looking at me. Next to your average, black leather cat-suit clad, gothy, vamptacular, and utterly splendid lifestyler. I am invisible and I like it that way. Don Henrie, I salute your shorts!
“Why?” you ask, “why do you like him? He’s an absolute tit!” Simply put, if the public can like Don, can accept that he is in fact a real blood-drinking vampire, I have nothing to worry about. He is also funny and a positive personality trait outweighs a mild case of dorkiness any day. He may just be a cute little vamp-a-be, but results are results. If I am found out by someone expecting Don chances are they will say, “Oh really, you’re a vampire. I have to confess, you are rather disappointing.”
I even like to have lifestyler friends because they make it easier to get swept up in the fact that you really are a vampire once in a while. You can pop in the pointy enamel pearlies, don your best lace stockings and tag along. Then when your over-the-top friend creeps up on you and whispers in your ear, “You look good enough to eat”, you become a little giddy because it’s flattering and sexy, and you’re a vampire for @#%$ sake. It’s the same feeling any girl gets when she goes shopping with her best gay friend. An attractive man, with fashion sense, who won’t lie to you is an asset. That same man telling you that you’re fabulous is intoxicating. A lifestyler making you feel like a sexy, powerful, animalistic version of yourself is so much so and the lifestyler might give you a decent shag.
Welcome to the circus.