Why Do Some Teens Pretend to Be Emo for Attention? A Teacher’s Guide to What’s Really Going On
Last month, I was wrapping up 4th period 10th grade art, shoving dried paintbrushes into a jar, when Lila leaned against my desk, shoulders shaking. She’d started wearing all black three months before, her previously blonde bob chopped to a messy black mullet, an oversized My Chemical Romance hoodie swallowing her frame. She twisted the silver MCR pendant around her neck and mumbled that no one cared if she was here, that she didn’t see the point of coming to school anymore. I walked her out to the empty hallway, grabbed her a cold water from the cooler, texted our school counselor to clear 20 minutes, and sat with her while she cried. That afternoon, I walked past the cafeteria on my way to a staff meeting and spotted her in the back corner, surrounded by three other freshmen girls, all clustered around her phone cackling. “I can’t believe Ms. Henderson actually bought it,” she said, grinning. “I knew the whole sad emo act would get me pulled out of math and everyone would talk about it.”
I stood there for a second, half annoyed, half relieved, before walking on. I’ve been teaching high school for 12 years, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it. A decade ago, it was a sophomore who faked self-harm scars with a marker to fit in with his emo friend group. Three years ago, it was a 7th grader whose mom emailed me panicking because her daughter had suddenly started posting suicide captions and dressing all in black, only to get caught bragging about the reaction to her friends. It’s easy to write these kids off as dramatic or manipulative, but that’s not what’s actually going on.
Lila had been a cheerleader since 7th grade. She didn’t make varsity this year, quit the team entirely, and lost most of the friend group she’d had since middle school. She went from being the girl posting cheer practice reels every other day to having no clear spot in the school’s social scene. Emo subculture, for better or worse, comes with a ready-made identity: misunderstood, edgy, deeply feeling. It gets attention from peers who are drawn to that aesthetic, and from adults who are trained to respond to cries for help. That’s exactly what kids who feel invisible are looking for: a fast way to stand out and get people to notice them.
The tricky part for parents and teachers is that lots of teens do genuinely connect to emo culture. I had a junior a few years back named Javi who identified as emo, who wore the same kind of hoodies and listened to the same bands, who really was struggling with undiagnosed depression that his parents had brushed off as “just teen angst.” We got him into therapy, and he still checks in with me every graduation. The difference isn’t the clothes or the music—it’s the consistency. Kids who genuinely connect to emo culture will talk about the music, the art, the community even when no one is watching. They don’t fish for dramatic reactions every time an adult walks in the room. Lila, for example, couldn’t name three MCR songs the week she bought that pendant. She’d check her phone 10 times in 15 minutes after posting an edgy Instagram caption, waiting for likes and comments. When we talked that first day, she never once mentioned feeling sad over anything specific—she just kept repeating that no one cared about her.
A week after the cafeteria incident, I pulled Lila aside after class when no one else was around. I didn’t yell, I didn’t call her a fake in front of her friends. I just said, “I saw you in the cafeteria last week laughing about our conversation. I know you’ve been off since you quit cheer, and it’s totally okay to want people to see you. But if you ever actually do feel hopeless or sad, I’m still here, no questions asked.” That’s the first step I always tell parents and other teachers: don’t shame them publicly. Shaming just makes them double down on the act to prove they’re “genuine” and get more sympathy from their friends.
The second thing is to give them small, regular attention for things that don’t involve drama. Lila draws really good portraits, better than most 10th graders I’ve had. I started stopping by her table once or twice a class, pointing out something specific I liked about her work—“That shadow under the jaw looks so real” or “I love how you drew the hair here”—nothing big, just a quick, genuine comment. She didn’t have to perform sadness to get my attention anymore. She got it for something she actually cared about.
I also tell parents never to dismiss all emo identity as attention seeking. That’s the biggest mistake I see adults make. If your kid starts dressing emo and talking about being sad, take it seriously first. Check in with them, talk to their school counselor if you’re worried. You can’t assume it’s an act right off the bat, because that’s how real kids who need help fall through the cracks. But if you notice the pattern—big dramatic reactions only when people are watching, constant fishing for likes, sudden shift after a social setback like quitting a team or losing friends—then it’s pretty likely they’re just looking for a way to be seen.
Last week, Lila brought me a small print of a Gerard Way portrait she’d drawn, to hang in my classroom by the door. She still wears the black hoodies and the silver pendant, she still listens to emo music with her new group of friends who like the same bands. She doesn’t do the big crying outbursts in class anymore, and I haven’t seen her bragging about fake breakdowns in the cafeteria. She might switch up her whole look and identity again next year, that’s just what teens do—they test out different versions of themselves until they find one that fits. For now, though, this works. It’s not a perfect fix, but it’s enough.
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