Letting the freak flag fly

So today I was reading an interview with a man who goes by the name of Prince Albert. He is a seventysomething retired English banker, and I can just see the thought of the well-groomed beautifully-spoken gentleman in a three-piece suit and a bowler hat enter your head.

But as his alias implies, he is anything but that.

You see, Prince Albert walks around Camden in miniskirts and bondage gear with piercings and makeup covering his face. His body is covered in tattoos and his hair hangs low in balding dreadlocks in the same rainbow of colours as on his face. And he isn’t insulted by people calling him a “freak”. In fact, he loves it.

I cannot count how many times I have been called the same for my unconventional mannerisms and interests. But there is no changing me. These are facets of my personality which cannot be erased and will be unique to me and only me (and whoever I may be reincarnated into). They will evolve as I grow while staying the same to an extent. And that is that.

So am I a “freak”? Maybe, but I reclaim it as somebody who is an outsider in almost every way. While I probably won’t tattoo and pierce my entire body (my mother would kill me if I did) I have no intention of grafting myself into a “normal” mode of thought.

Say it loud, I’m a freak and I’m proud!



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