The Good, the Bad, and the Awkward
BuzzFeed Canada’s Scaachi Koul’s debut collection of essays on growing up in Calgary, body hair, and (not) fitting in
By Erica Ngao
MOST OF US FEEL LIKE OUTSIDERS at some point in our lives. Scaachi Koul’s debut collection of essays, One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter, encapsulates those moments of dread honestly, with her trademark brand of dry humour and wit. Through stories of growing up in Calgary, guring out her relationship with her parents, and navigating the media industry, Koul provides readers with an open and un inching glimpse into her life. Entertaining and insightful, with a good dose of cynicism, her essays are a strong reminder that, even if we’re miserable, at least we’re all miserable together.
Currently a senior writer at BuzzFeed Canada, Koul’s work has previously appeared in The New Yorker, Hazlitt, and The Globe and Mail. Known for her sharp — or, depending on which white guy you ask, controversial — observations on race, sexism, and culture, she explores these issues as they intersect with her experiences. Individually, the 10 essays in the book stand out as seemingly average moments in time — taking a family trip to India for her cousin’s wedding, moving to Toronto for university, waxing hair. Together, they represent the complexities and nuances of a life lived in the balance between cultures and expectations.
Reading One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter is an intimate experience, just uncomfortable enough to keep the reader wanting more. On the time that she was stuck in a skirt and had to be cut out, her underwear accidentally getting caught in the process, she assures, “If you have never experienced the sensation of your naked labia rubbing up against freshly washed denim as you manoeuvre through a subway car with broken air conditioning, you have had more than your fair share of luck in this life.” Koul is unrestrained, detailing every thought and emotion with a certain confidence that persists, no matter how embarrassing or heartbreaking. Reflecting on feeling out of place while shopping for a wedding outfit in India, she writes, “Fitting is a luxury rarely given to immigrants, or the children of immigrants. We are stuck in emotional purgatory. Home, somehow, is always the last place you left, and never the place you’re in.” It’s reminiscent of what the dog-eared, tear-stained pages of all diaries hold: a certain vulnerability in trying to make sense of the world. It’s why, even with Koul’s distinctive voice, we can all find a piece of ourselves in her book.
It’s tricky to balance the personal with the big picture in a first-person essay, but Koul does so with ease and clarity. Those familiar with her writing know that she’s not concerned about filtering her opinions. This book isn’t for readers who dislike her sometimes-abrasive tone—and she probably doesn’t care. For a woman of colour, child of immigrants, and aspiring writer like myself, Koul’s experiences reflect my own. “It changes you, when you see someone similar to you, doing the thing you might want to do yourself,” writes Koul. “We are deeply afraid of making marginalized voices stronger, because we think it makes privileged ones that much weaker.” It’s part of what makes this book important: it gives voice to those who are too frequently denied it.
Editor’s note: Koul is a former member of the RRJ.
Erica Ngao is a senior print editor at the RRJ. Follow her on Twitter at @ericangao.
