I am not cool.
'Cool' is such a flexible and relative term — even then, I don't think I fit into any of the categories people normally attribute it to.
For instance, I hardly think of myself as dorky cool. I think this stereotype is perpetuated by girls like Ellen Page in 'Juno' or Zooey Deschanel in almost every movie she makes, most especially in her current TV show, 'New Girl'. The dorky-cool girl is witty, intelligent and possesses her own brand of adorable often recognized as, well, awkward.
In Fox's 'New Girl', Zooey plays Jess, an enigmatic, eccentric, quirky and awkwardly adorable girl who works as a teacher and lives in an apartment with 3 guys who each share a love-hate-but-mostly-love relationship with her.
As a character archetype, she usually has a vast and impressive knowledge of indie music, art, film and literature, dresses cute-eclectic, was ignored (or, even worse, persecuted!) in high school but has ultimately grown into her own independent person. An added bonus: she's almost always pretty but doesn't know it, or at the very least, adamantly refuses to acknowledge it.
And I'm, well…. me.
I don't know much about music despite having been born into a very musically-inclined family. My best friends are probably my only source of real exposure when it comes to art since both are a.) extremely visual by nature and b.) designers by profession. As for literature, I'm not a book connoisseur. I love reading but I usually stick to genres within my comfort zone, specifically: young adult and contemporary fiction.
I've always described my sense of style as comfortable. I don't like heels (why would you wear something that makes you want to kill yourself repeatedly with each step?) or mini skirts (partly because I don't have the legs for them but mostly because they seem far too complicated to sit down in) or trendy stuff in general (I've tried trendy. It transforms me into a stranger). I'd like to think I'm more witty than intelligent (though the wit usually manifests on paper more than it does in actual conversations) and that I'm as awkward as most 23-year-olds generally tend to be.
What I know for sure: I am no Juno MacGuff.
Then there are girls who are cool because that's the identity they've built for themselves ever since high school or college. An identity they've established and carried with them long after graduation. Girls who are cool because they are popular and pretty. Girls who either dance well or sing well or are just really good at sports. Girls who are rich and dress impeccably; girls who know where to be and when to be there. They're different from the dorky kind because they gravitate towards extroversion and it's that quality in particular that gives them a sharper edge known as confidence.
Somehow, I'm reminded of FRIENDS' Rachel Green.
To me, they're… intimidating. Because what makes them cool (aka: what makes other people want to be them or be with them) is the fact that, unlike everyone else, they don't even try. They're just naturally unfazed.
And when I think about that kind of cool, I can definitely say that's not me either.
My high school was too small to have a popularity system so I was 'middle class' all the way. I spent college with a rather small circle of friends and ignored almost every non-academic extracurricular event I ever got invited to. I don't dance, sing or do sports well. I'm not an extrovert and I happen to get totally unnerved by some of the smallest, most insignificant matters. I'm not unfazed — in fact, I'm just the opposite: perpetually fazed by all the things life chooses to throw at me, especially when those things come simultaneously flying at my face.
I'm sure there are many other sub-categories that will further break down the definition of the word but writing about each of them will only create longer stories that'll inevitably lead to the same conclusion I started this thing with in the first place and that is: I am not cool.
But, don't get me wrong — I don't lament this fact any more than I lament being single, for example. Because cool people aren't really any better than the uncool nor are they any worse. Coolness has nothing to do with character, it's just an aspect of someone's personality. Coolness can amplify the good in you the same way uncoolness can and it can corrupt the goodness in you the same way uncoolness can. It's an adjective, that's all. One I'm certain doesn't quite belong to me.
I think this all became particularly clear one day in the 6th grade when our PE teacher announced that she would kick out anyone from her class who wasn't wearing the mandatory uniform (a white shirt with our school emblem + blue jogging pants). And, yes. That just happened to be the day I forgot to bring mine. So I borrowed one from a friend (I didn't have many at that particular point in time) but it was two sizes too small (rubber shoes included!). I wore it anyway. (In hindsight, I would've picked getting kicked out of class over public humiliation. But I was a lot braver then and didn't know any better. Plus I was deadly afraid of almost all authority figures.)
On that particular day, we were asked to do individual presentations of some of the local dances we had recently learned. So there I was, fumbling through the steps in front of the entire class, tripping over my feet, in clothes that were unflattering in every angle, in every way possible.
I kind of want to go and give my 11-year-old self a hug right now.
(The uncoolness factor was later affirmed a week after the uniform incident when I tripped, fell and lost a class relay race. Unsurprisingly, this event also happened in PE class. Years later, in college, I ended up doing basketball drills… and by some freak accident dislocated my knee. Also in PE class. I see a pattern here.)
But maybe 23 years of being uncool has given me one small advantage. Because, in the end, it's the uncool people who have nothing to lose and for that, the world is entirely theirs to do with as they wish.
Which makes me think that losing my cool (even though I didn't actually have any to begin with) wasn't such a bad thing. So, yeah. I'm not cool. But I guess the beautiful thing is: I don't want to be.
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