I’m Not a Cool Girl

When I was in high school, a girl I was in a musical with blocked me on AIM. When a mutual friend dug deeper into the root of the offending act, she told her that I was “over the top.” That was not the first time—nor the last—that I would ever be called such a thing.

My whole life, I have been told that I’m too much, too loud, too weird, ad nauseum. I have never once been referred to as simply “nice” or “chill.” Two qualities that are the holy grail when it comes to being a palatable woman. I am an acquired taste, or as I like to call it, a slow burn of a person. I’m a lot to handle when you first meet me, but once you get to know more about me, you get a better sense of who I am and where I’m coming from. And you might even like it!

I’ve always compared myself to the archetypal “cool girl.” That girl who oozes grace and class, but can also throw down a beer and believably root for a sports team. A girl who can be one of the guys yet looks smokin’ in a skin-tight dress. “Cool” I am not, and I’m bad at drinking and find sports to be exhausting. I also can’t walk more than a few steps in heels before looking like a flailing baby deer.

These girls are always put on a pedestal because they’re so uncomplicated and pleasant to be around. There’s no challenge, no drama, no conflict. While I’ve aspired to be this manic pixie dream girl of a person, I have too many (oftentimes messy) feelings to deliver. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll accidentally say the wrong thing or get offended by some minor perceived slight. I am not what anyone would call laid back and I certainly have no chill.

As much as I do still, at times, want to be this magical species of woman, I’ve had to stop giving any fucks (for the most part). It’s just not me, and even if I somehow managed to present myself as such for a short period of time, it wouldn’t be long before I threw it all away with a disproportionate reaction or display of emotion. And as I inch ever closer to 30, I am starting to lose all interest in even trying. If you’re gonna like me, you’re gonna like me. If not, that’s okay, the door’s that way.

Ultimately, all any of is looking for is an actual connection with another human. As the bane of my existence/my icon Carrie Bradshaw puts it, that “ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.” (Yes, it’s 2017 and I’m still quoting Carrie Bradshaw. It holds up!) If you ask me, and no one did, something like that requires some degree of stakes and messy emotions. If you care about someone, it’s going to be uncomfortable once in a while. If it isn’t, then it probably doesn’t go that deep.

If a “cool girl” who doesn’t cause any fuss is what you’re looking for, that ain’t me. I’m noisy, opinionated, sarcastic, combative, fickle, sensitive, inappropriate, high strung, unsure, confused, jealous, and sometimes monstrous. But I’m also compassionate, understanding, silly, (debatably) funny, driven, strong, honest, reliable, thoughtful, and can be pretty enjoyable to be around. I usually can’t identify which city a sports team is from, but I can talk about deep-sea-creatures-from-where-the-ocean-gets-no-light for hours. You know, if that’s your thing.

I’m hopeful that one day I’ll find someone just as weird and complicated as I am. Or at the very least appreciates those things about me. Until then, I’ve got a ragtag team of beautifully chaotic friends who love me for exactly who I am. And that’s reason enough for me to stop trying to be anything I’m not.

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Sarah duRivage-Jacobs

Written by

Content creator/copywriter/comedienne with a fondness for mugs.

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