It was a spring evening in 2011. I was sharing an inflatable mattress in the back of my friend’s truck. We were midway through Coachella when a group of Irish tourists car-camped in the plot behind us. To the right of our truck was an abandoned yellow Lamborghini (because that’s a practical desert wagon) and to our left, were Wes and Joey.
Joey was 24 and a total babe.
As the night wore on, and a series of flamboyant ravers in neon headdresses infiltrated our camp, I sunk deeper into Joey’s armpit nook. We shared a box of Cheez-its as life happened all around us. It was pure romance.
Then he leaned forward and offered me a cold one. I declined. He asked why, as if I’d answered incorrectly. That’s when I disclosed that I’m straight edge. He asked me to explain. Suddenly, everyone around us seemed to lean in.
I told them the simple version: I don’t drink, smoke, or do recreational drugs–for life, by choice.
“Straight edge” for me is about being fully conscious and aware in an existential sense. It’s become the core to my identity and a crux to why I act the way I act and why I believe in what I believe. It’s embedded in me in a way that there’s really no temptation, because then nothing would make sense.
There were oohs and ahhs all around our impromptu tailgate kickback. Then the awkwardness set in.
Hardcore History
Straight edge is a subculture of the hardcore punk scene that promotes clean living for a conscious lifestyle–self-avowed abstinence from alcohol, drugs, and tobacco for life.
There is no manifesto or uniform. Just a 46-second anthem titled “Straight Edge” written in 1981 by Minor Threat that goes a little something like this:
“I’m a person just like you, but I’ve got better things to do / than sit around and fuck my head, hang out with the living dead / snort white shit up my nose, pass out at the shows / I don’t even think about speed, that’s something I just don’t need / I’ve got the straight edge.”
Frontman Ian MacKaye didn’t intend for the international movement that ensued. He was just sick of watching his friends waste themselves.
“[In the ’70s] pretty much what I saw were just people getting high,” MacKaye said at the Library of Congress in 2013. “In high school, I loved all my friends, but so many of them were just partying. It was disappointing that that was the only form of rebellion that they could come up with, which was self-destruction.”
Mackaye and his band mates began to drag marker tips in an ‘X’ —a along the backs of their hands before gigs at alcohol-serving venues to be clear of their clean intentions. This common minor-marking system predated wristbands and was swiftly adopted by adherents of the movement.
“[Self-destruction] just seemed counterproductive to me,” he continued. “If you wanted to rebel against society, don’t dull the blade.”
Straight edge became the anti to the anti, providing uncompromising youth with a drug-free alternative. It exchanged punk’s seemingly mandatory inebriated self-abuse and contradictory participation in mainstream drug culture for clean living dosed in a PMA, or “positive mental attitude.” The “sxe” movement challenged punk ideology and, through its extreme approach, queried adult rites-of-passage en masse, asking the obvious question: Do we really need this stuff?
That resistance to the “supposed to’s” resonated with me. To rebel against the rebellion. To have the courage to really think for yourself. It was more punk than punk itself. Made sense to me. Others, however, struggle to see it that way.
X Marks The Spot
Every morning I double-stroked the fat, black Marks-A-Lot across the back of my left hand for school. A handful of kids actually followed me because “it looked cool,” quick to give it up until the next house party. The only other boy I knew to not sell out remains a close friend today. My mom was the “show mom” who drove the two of us to hardcore gigs in our Pasadena stomping grounds.
We weren’t in it to be cool. We weren’t in it for each other. We sought to be clean to think for ourselves as best we could in the hyper stimulated, media-centric Western world.
To us it was just a different path, the path less intoxicated.
One day when I showed up at school with an ‘X’ in black nail polish at the base of my thumb, a friend asked, “So, does this mean you’re straight edge now?” No, it didn’t. It couldn’t, because I had no idea what that was and if I did, I wasn’t even doing it right.
That year I would Google search the term and marry it a year later. I researched the Teen Idles turn to Minor Threat, MacKaye’s other projects like Dischord Records and Fugazi, Davey Havok’s personal journey to sobriety, the PM behind Bad Brains, and so on.
That year I would also experience a particularly dramatic run-in with my divorced parents that led me to a couple of attempted suicides. I was unwilling to talk about it and knew I needed a new hobby than offing myself.
But if we’re going to pinpoint a VH1 “that’s where it all changed” moment, it wasn’t the functioning alcoholic father or the overworked single mom or the preteen episodes of regained consciousness from bathroom-floor tiles. It was seeing my best friend cry with a terrifying scene straight out of an after-school special.
A Match Made in Tim Burton Hell
I was probably in my elastic-waisted red skirt on the walk home–a tribute to my scant femininity and body-image insecurities, hiding from pant sizes so I just wore skirts until my hips stopped shifting. By my side, Ashley’s dark, vinyl lips dripped from a Mac mask complete with the harshest onyx eyeliner only femme frontmen like Robert Smith or Marilyn Manson dared to draw on.
My stringy thrash-metal split ends. Her fishnets underlined by creepers. My TRIPP jacket. Her plaid bomber. We were a match made in Tim Burton’s hell. Actually, our mothers introduced us
We schlepped our way three long blocks to her house. Ashley (not her real name) lived in an upstairs apartment off of a main street in Temple City. We climbed that last step up at the top of the staircase. The door was unlocked. Her mother, Ellen (not her real name), was home.
The playful tone we walked home with didn’t follow us into the dead living room, it’s carpet now covered in eggshells.
Then, it clicks: My mother mentioned earlier in the week how customer complaints had sent Ellen home from work on counts of slurred speech and smelling like Jack Daniels.
Playing it cool, I tried to carry the afternoon despite my friend’s embarrassment and fear. She didn’t want me there, as a witness, but didn’t know how to ask me to leave.
About two hours into our hang-out-gone-awry, her mother barked from her room for Ashley’s bedside assistance. This would now happen every three or four minutes. With each exchange, my friend was being stripped of a wall she had carefully mortared.
Ellen wanted something. She grew more and more desperate.
“Do it. Do it or I’ll fucking kill you.”
My reflexes kicked in. I couldn’t stop shaking. I shouted, but my voice broke like a prepubescent boy reading out loud in class.
“You do not talk to her like that,” I said. “That’s my friend. I don’t care who you are.”
Ashley’s Mac mask, the one that lit up at our inside jokes and bottomless Spongebob references, was now smeared to ruin. Well-versed in self respect (thanks, Mom), I drew the line, but for a moment I was convinced that maybe I was the one who crossed it. Ashley didn’t want to leave, but I got us outside and phoned her aunt for rescue.
Later that night, my mom got Ellen into rehab. Ashley would sleep over a lot after that. Not once did we talk about that afternoon, which was fine. She was safe.
But these hours play out in a flash every time someone asks me why I chose straight edge.
The Isolation of a Sober Life
Joey would reject me that night in the desert valley. He said it was because I was “too innocent.” Not the first time I’ve gotten that.
I’ve never been drunk or high. My lack of temptation often instigates a challenge around hostile crowds. There’s always charming threats to get me “fucked up” or drug my drink when my guard is down. I’m often forced to repeat my beliefs, particularly at family gatherings with bets placed on when I’ll “grow out of it.”
Alcohol is so normalized in society that my identity as a straight edge is seen by skeptics as nothing but a laughable, interim phase. The danger here is that it’s actually socially-acceptable exclusion. The widespread rejection of me and my sober lifestyle feels like a soft discrimination in the otherwise progressive societies of modern day.
In this Twilight Zone episode that is my life, those under the influence label me as a judgmental prude in less than two minutes of meeting.
But I’m not the militant prick edger or the holier-than-thou pusher preaching conversion. If you ask, I’ll reply. The biggest bummer of it all is that my lack of participation tends to project others insecurities, avoided addictions, or self-judgements they may have onto me, regarding a lifestyle I chose for my individual self. It’s just easier for many to label me as a boring or naive person who is “going through a phase.” Go ahead, I’ve heard it all.
Those who stuck around into the third minute of this theoretical sobriety spiel have proven to be some of the most genuine humans I’m honored to have met. They don’t hesitate to hang out, knowing I can include myself in just about any situation. And to the handful that have trickled through my grasp due to frequenting other friend circles reliant to the bar crawl, I get it–it’s just easier.
As for me, to be my authentic self, I must be mindful in every given moment. I’m behind every decision I’m allowed to make, anticipating those with unfavorable ends, and I’m executing it to my best ability. It’s all me.
Ultrasound of human baby.Image via 
IVF animated process.Image via 
A couple speaks with a fertility professional.Image via 
Love, Mom.Photo from Heidi Johnson 
A teen boy having a hard time. 
Hands hold a digital representation of the brain.Image via 
Mother and daughter work a puzzle.Image via 
Man and woman connect under the sunshine.Image via 
The obituary paints a comic, if bleak, picture. 
A Facebook post about the obituary.
Why do some folks use social media but don't engage?
Psychologist says people who never comment on social media share these 5 positive traits
For over 20 years, social media has developed into a staple in many people’s day-to-day lives. Whether it’s to keep in communication with friends and family, following the thoughts of celebrities, or watching cat videos while sipping your morning coffee, there seem to be two types of social media users: commenters and lurkers.
The term “lurker” sounds equally mysterious and insidious, with some social media users writing them off as non-participants at best or voyeurs at worst. However, mindfulness expert Lachlan Brown believes these non-commenters have some very psychologically positive and healthy traits. Let’s take a look at how each one of these traits could be beneficial and see how fruitful lurking might be even though it can drive content creators crazy.
1. Cautious about vulnerability
Consciously or not, making a post online or commenting on one puts you and your words out there. It’s a statement that everyone can see, even if it’s as simple as clicking “like.” Doing so opens yourself up to judgment, with all the good, bad, and potential misinterpretation that comes with it. Non-commenters would rather not open themselves up to that.
These silent users are connected to a concept of self-protection by simply not engaging. By just scrolling past posts or just reading/watching them without commentary, they’re preventing themselves from any downsides of sharing an opinion such as rejection, misunderstanding, or embarrassment. They also have more control on how much of themselves they’re willing to reveal to the general public, and tend to be more open face-to-face or during one-on-one/one-on-few private chats or DMs. This can be seen as a healthy boundary and prevents unnecessary exposure.
Considering many comment sections, especially involving political topics, are meant to stir negative emotional responses to increase engagement, being extra mindful about where, when, and what you comment might not be a bad idea. They might not even take the engagement bait at all. Or if they see a friend of theirs post something vulnerable, they feel more motivated to engage with them personally one-on-one rather than use social media to publicly check in on them.
2. Analytical and reflective mindset
How many times have you gone onto Reddit, YouTube, or any other site and just skimmed past comments that are just different versions of “yes, and,” “no, but,” or “yes, but”? Or the ever insightful, formerly popular comment “First!” in a thread? These silent browsers lean against adding to such noise unless they have some valid and thoughtful contribution (if they bother to comment period).
These non-posters are likely wired on reflective thinking rather than their initial intuition. Not to say that all those who comment aren’t thoughtful, but many tend to react quickly and comment based on their initial feelings rather than absorbing the information, thinking it over, researching or testing their belief, and then posting it. For "lurkers," it could by their very nature to just do all of that and not post it at all, or share their thoughts and findings privately with a friend. All in all, it’s a preference of substance over speed.
3. High sense of self-awareness
Carried over from the first two listed traits, these silent social media users incorporate their concern over their vulnerability and their reflective mindset into digital self-awareness. They know what triggers responses out of them and what causes them to engage in impulsive behavior. It could be that they have engaged with a troll in the past and felt foolish. Or that they just felt sad after a post or got into an unnecessary argument that impacted them offline. By knowing themselves and seeing what’s being discussed, they choose to weigh their words carefully or just not participate at all. It’s a form of self-preservation through restraint.
4. Prefer to observe rather than perform
Some folks treat social media as information, entertainment, or a mix of both, and commenting can feel like they’re yelling at the TV, clapping alone in a movie theater when the credits roll, or yelling “That’s not true!” to a news anchor that will never hear them. But contrary to that, social media is a place where those yells, claps, and accusations can be seen and get a response. By its design, social media is considered by experts and the media as performative, regardless of whether it is positive or negative. Taking all of the previously mentioned traits into account, one can see why they would prefer to “observe the play” rather than get up on the stage of Facebook or X.
On top of that, these non-commenters could be using social media differently than those who choose to fully engage with it. Using this type of navigation, there may be nothing for them to comment about. Some commenters are even vying for this for their mental health. There are articles about how to better curate your social media feeds and manipulate algorithms to create a better social media experience to avoid unnecessary conflict or mentally tiring debate.
If you go on a blocking spree on all of your accounts and just follow the posters that boost you, it could turn your social media into a nice part of your routine as you mainly engage with others face-to-face or privately. In terms of commenting, if your curated Instagram is just following cute dogs and all you have to offer for a comment is “cute dog,” you might just enjoy the picture and then move on with your day rather than join in the noise. These non-commenters aren’t in the show and they’re fine with it.
5. Less motivated by social validation
The last trait that Brown showcases is that social media users who browse without posting tend to be independent from external validation, at least online. Social media is built to grow through feedback loops such as awarding likes, shares, and reposts of your content along with notifications letting you know that a new person follows you or wants to connect. This can lead many people to connect their activity on social media with their sense of self worth, especially with adolescents who are still figuring out their place in the world and have still-developing brains.
Engaging in social media via likes, shares, comments, and posts rewards our brains by having them release dopamine, which makes us feel good and can easily become addictive. For whatever reason, non-commenters don’t rely on social media as a means to gauge their social capital or self worth. This doesn’t make them better than those who do. While some non-commenters could have healthier ways to boost their self worth or release dopamine into their systems, many get that validation from equally unhealthy sources offline. That said, many non-commenters’ silence could be a display of independence and self confidence.
Whether you frequently comment online or don’t, it’s good to understand why you do or don’t. Analyzing your habits can help you determine whether your online engagement is healthy, or needs to be tweaked. With that information, you can then create a healthy social media experience that works for you.