At some point — quietly, without ceremony — I became uncool.
It happened slowly, the way plants grow when you’re not looking, or the way your handwriting changes over time. One day, I’m in year 11, posting the same filtered selfies as everyone else on Snapchat and Instagram, and the next I’m sat in my pyjamas, writing short commentaries on life, annotating books for the fun of it and journaling like some thirteen year old girl.
I don’t know exactly when it happened. Maybe when I realised that the grasps for online attention my friends were posting were actually embarrassing. That I didn’t want to be like them. When I started finding more joy in writing for the four people I reach with each post than I ever had while watching Instagram likes light up my phone. Or maybe it was when I started going out clubbing and established that I never want to be one of those girls that wears as little as possible in public. If it’s cool to get male attention in public, then I’m okay with missing out.
I used to think coolness was about detachment. Curated mystery. The right eyeliner, the right taste in music, the right kind of disinterest in everything. Now I think it’s about comfort — in your body, in your skin, in the outfit that doesn’t quite match but make you feel like someone who doesn’t need impressing, which in my opinion, makes you impressive.
So in the nature of being comfortable in mismatched outfits, not sticking to an aesthetic and doing whatever makes you happy, here’s some uncool stuff I’ve done lately.
- I read a romance novel with a cartoon cover and zero shame.
- I delete apps when they make me anxious.
- I cry, then I tell people I cried.
- I say “I love you” first sometimes.
- I get excited when my friends find success.
Uncool, in the best way, is just honest. It’s sincere. It’s ditching the armour and saying “I like this” and not needing to explain why. It’s owning up to your emotions and ditching the ‘I don’t care’ performance.
I no longer need to be the most interesting person in the room. I just want to be kind. And curious. And calm. I want to be the person who brings snacks and remembers birthdays and says “text me when you get home” and means it.
I think I used to mistake cool for cold. Now I think warmth is way more impressive.
So yeah, I’ve become uncool. My playlists are soft. My clothes are chosen for softness, too. I spend more time thinking about how things feel than how they look. I repeat stories. I nap. I tell the truth when I’m tired. I compliment people more than I used to. I’m learning how to take one, too.
And I love it here.
In the warmth.
Where not being cool is being comfortable.
And I can feel and express and live without worry.
I like being warm.
xoxo Sara