It's probably hopelessly dated now, but there used to be a standard joke about emo grass. It cuts itself, you see.

At my age I'm supposed to be a curmudgeon about all the different cultural classifications of youth, I guess, but I still think they're kind of charming. The ability of young people to generate endless different signifiers of identity, and thus provide the portraitists among us with an ever-evolving pool of raw material, is astonishing and admirable.