The Concept of "Cool"
Lessons from a 1995 Cult Classic
Something that’s been on my mind a ton lately is the concept of “cool.” What makes someone cool? Is there only one type of cool? Am I cool? Why do I care so much about it?
There’s always been a certain genre of “20-somethings” that used to make me ooze with insecurity. I may have called them performative and annoying back in high school, but deep down I knew it was jealousy. Those “cool kids” filled the vintage stores and coffee shops I entered—and when I saw them, I felt like a fraud. As if I wasn’t cool and never could be.
I convinced myself I’d outgrown those feelings—only to find them roaring back at a recent vintage market. As I walked down the street, waves of anger, disgust, and self-doubt crashed over me. I wanted to crawl into a hole until the crowd of vintage lovers dispersed. They were so nonchalant—almost unreadable. Not really smiling. Not really chatting.
I stuck out like a sore thumb in my pink-striped tee and black slacks. Boring, I thought.
Around me were people draped in designer jewelry, archival pieces, unique hairstyles, fur, leather…an aura that felt uninviting. Was it uninviting, though, or was my insecurity just using that as an excuse?
Either way, I was back in high school, and it sucked.
The next day I lay in bed and rewatched Party Girl, that 1995 cult-classic starring Parker Posey as Mary—the ultimate embodiment of effortless charm. I’ve always thought Mary was so cool. She was witty, a little awkward, chatty, a total nerd. Yet she held this undeniable magic. She wasn’t cool because she was chill. She was cool because she embraced exactly who she was.
I like to think I’m the same way.
Party Girl reminded me that “cool” isn’t a dress code or a vibe. It’s authenticity. I am cool. And just because my insecurity insists those market-goers aren’t actually cool doesn’t mean they can’t be, too. Cool isn’t a club with a single password.
Now, I don’t want this to sound like “I’m not like other girls.” I hate that trope. But I’m not like the others—and they aren’t like each other. Maybe none of us fit anyone else’s mold.
All I know is I’ll never be cool if I believe “cool” has only one definition—because it’s not me. And that’s perfectly okay. That’s not how being cool works. We’re all cool. And chances are, those market kids weren’t putting on a show. That’s just how they are, and they own it. And that makes them cool. Or maybe some of them are hiding under layers of vintage designer clothing. If that's the case, I hope that they learn to embrace their own coolness, too—just as I’m learning to do.