This is an excerpt from the book Science Fiction Culture, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000.

When people want to know why I would write a book about science fiction culture (fandom), the first question they usually ask is, "What makes fandom different from any other group?" As if difference was the only criterion for interesting. My answer, by contrast, is, "Nothing makes it different. That is the point." The larger mechanics of mainstream American culture play out in a relatively small, defined setting. So we can let go of the fantasy we used to hold that studying small villages in low- technology settings give us insights into a computer-driven, high speed, population dense techno-culture. We can find groups of ourselves small enough to study right here. And the mechanics of power and status, of change and conflict, will often play themselves out in speeded-up time that we can watch; we can figure out the dynamics in small. And it turns out those observations in small apply well to the larger society.

Like the rest of the culture in which it resides, fandom has experience the women's movement and the backlash, and the rise of lesbian and gay self determination. And, in the late eighties and early nineties, fandom experienced the invasion of the goths. This is the story of that invasion, and how we have made our children the thing we fear.

Beating At The Gates

Drawn by cyberpunk and vampire literature and the mutating role playing game world, gothic youth began to make an appearance in the science fiction convention circuits in the late 1980s, and the new battle for the identity of science fiction culture, based on age and style, was engaged. The presence of goth youth in fandom has created a generational schism so profound that old-line fans in the '90s have found themselves in a strange state of publicly declared denial. At most conventions today, you will find panels that ask, "Where are the young science fiction fans?" while at the same time denouncing the young goth fans as a scourge on the face of the community. I wondered, though, how the young raised to traditional science fiction culture viewed the incursion, so I asked longtime informant and second generation fan JB, who did not sport goth display, but who knew many of the players on both sides of the divide, what he thought about the newcomers.

JB: The kids in black leather...very often severe makeup? Yes, the goth community is what they're usually called around here. [sigh] I know a lot of them...They started out all severe, it's become a cultural lifestyle for them, and they've actually, in their own gothic way, mellowed out a lot...I knew Amelia G. when she was still at Wesleyan in Middletown, Connecticut, had a good Jewish last name...

JB: Not to me. Then again, at Disclave, two Disclaves ago... there was this big debate on the steps, I think it was Red Steve fighting against Joe [a fan in his fifties] ..."why are you here..." It is the same sort of alienation thing that got most everyone into fandom in the first place...[F]or some people it's turned into dress in black leather, look dangerous, wear ammunition around my neck...[I]t is the same alienation that got Joe into fandom lo these many years ago, only it's more modern and he's doing generation gap things. One of the biggest problems, they're noticeable, they're visible, and hotels don't like them, which is always a problem....They smoke a lot.

Goths add several inconveniences for hotels already unhappy about changing their routines: while fans in general look strange to them, most hotel staff find goths terrifying. The goths of science fiction, sometimes called cyberpunks, travel in groups and settle in the bar or lobby, where their style of dress is variously read as violent and destructive in the sense of motorcycle gangs, or sexually deviant in the sense of sadomasochism.

Valerie Steele, in her study on fetish clothing, points briefly to the goths, punks, and cyberpunks as fashion cultures that borrow the clothing of the fetishist as fashion. The use of fetish clothing as fashion does not necessarily indicate a fetishistic attachment to that fashion, but the use of fetish clothing by Goths and cyberpunks is ambiguously threatening to traditional science fiction fans and to the personnel in the hotels that serve the convention circuits.

When I first saw the goths appear in numbers at conventions, they scared me as much as they scared everyone else. They would appear, en masse, dressed in leather and chains--chains on boots and jackets, as jewelry, including the occasional chain linking pierced hoops in lips, noses, ears, or eyebrows--long hair, black tee shirts touting death bands on the men, leather bustiers on the women, tattoos, and in-your-face jewelry of religious inversion. They would land somewhere in the lobby, mix little, greet tentative approaches with suspicion, and generally spread a smoke-sharp pall of the apocalypse on the event. But in Cockeysville, Maryland, in 1993, armed with Jbs assurance that the goths really were just like us only in dog collars instead of propeller beanies, I decided to find out what the goths were really about.

Balticon 1993

Balticon had always seemed a convention more friendly to gamers and media fans than most traditional conventions in the Northeast. For costumers, Balticon was the center of activity on the Eastern Seaboard. When I began attending Balticons, they were held in downtown Baltimore, but in 1993 they were back at the Hunt Valley Inn, in Cockeysville, a popular hotel used by many media conventions as well as Balticon. Shore Leave, which attracted about 800 participants when I attended them in the '80s, fit comfortably into the hotel, and the staff seemed to cope well with the fans and their schedules.

But Balticon, with a membership of 2,000, was a very different story. While sleeping rooms were divided between two main hotels, all of the programming and sanctioned parties occurred at the Hunt Valley, which did not have sufficient space to put the people. Science fiction writer S. N. Lewitt, a member of the goth community had explained that nearby Washington, D.C., was well known for its large goth "scene," and many of the goths were also fans. So, I was not surprised when Friday night the goths took over the bar in numbers that effectively shut out both the science fiction professionals and their fans for the duration of the convention.

Later Friday evening we met goth live action game designer Red Steve in the con suite. Lewitt introduced us, and I asked what books he liked to read. Not surprisingly, Bill Gibson was high on his list. More surprising, C.J. Cherryh was also on his list. In fact, his favorites might grace the shelf of any science fiction fan. Red Steve, as mentioned above, had co-created The Zone, a live action role playing game based on a cyberpunk universe for enacting at conventions. He had a game planned for Saturday night at Balticon as part of the convention activities.

The connection of goths to horror and vampire fiction seemed axiomatic, but I had known in a general way for quite some time about the attraction of cyberpunk for the goths. I did not understand it, but couldn't help but notice that the numbers of goth fans at conventions seemed to pace the growing popularity of the subgenre. Gibson's cyberpunk universe reflects the dark outlook of the goths, and features hackers in leather, an amalgam of symbolic worlds I had recognized but thought strange until I talked to Amelia G. and Forrest Black during a group interview that included S.N. Lewitt and another housemember, Sarah, at Hollowpoint. Forrest Black and Amelia G. both worked in the computer industry. Black did LAN contracting for major federal projects, and as part of his job he configured their networks and worked on the system architecture. Amelia G. was a freelance computer graphics contractor who also worked on government and private contracts. I asked Black and Amelia G. about the crossover between hacker culture and vampires:

Amelia G.: I think it's just an age thing... people who are more likely to have been hackers when they were twelve couldn't have done it until there were, like, home computers. So it's partly like a generational thing.

Ethnographer: That explains the computers, but where did the vampire thing come in?

Amelia G.: The vampire thing, I think, is partly, it's something that cycles, as far as, like, interest in that type of mythology, and I think it's just been on an upswing that's coincided with people who are about the right age to have been hackers at some point, or who, just, perhaps, are still hackers. Although, almost no one you will talk to will actually say that they are a hacker now...

Black: I think there might actually be some kind of...reason behind a crossover between a hacker culture and a more gothic culture. Because generally speaking, hacker-type people, well, they're antisocial because they spend a lot of time at home with their computer, and...they have a personality type, in my opinion, that would gravitate toward a more gothic kind of, like, black, whatever, person...

Amelia G.: I know that I spend an awful lot of time home on my computer. And what I do all day at work is I like, sit around with a mouse in my hand, and I come home, and what I do is with a mouse in my hand. And every once in a while we go out, and I have to say I have a pretty, like, black outlook on it.

Black: Yeah, it might actually be something to do with just a biochemical, like, reaction to the fact that, well, gee, I stay up all night, I hide in my basement, and I don't come out very often. Ergo...

So, hackers and the goth sensibility seemed to come together in a vaguely dark and romantic vision of vampire lovers and the fantasy, or memory, of the excitement Bill Gibson evokes about moving through other people's computer systems. The fiction resonates with the sense of dark futility of the goth sensibility, and has given the new generation of smart kids and computer nerds an image to copy that projected the sense of romance: