I've had the privilege of not
ever being considered cool in my entire life. This is good, because you cannot
lose what you don’t have, and I don’t have to upkeep a mysterious, underground
persona. How do you know I’m telling the truth? Here’s how— no cool person has
ever used the word ‘cool’ in their entire life. They just haven’t. They’re too
busy looking spectacular in neon clothes at festivals. It’s just not something
they say. I don’t know how old I was when I realised I was uncool. It might’ve
been when I got cast as Ant and Dec in a primary school play or when I clapped during a plane landing when I was thirteen. You don’t decide to be uncool, it just
sort of chooses you. It’s the product of being the girl who is perpetually
clumsy in P.E lessons and literally cannot throw a ball to save her life, or
being someone who loses their shoe whilst walking up a flight of stairs and continues
to walk because they're embarrassed to acknowledge what just happened. You'd rather walk three miles in one shoe than have to ask someone to "please get off my shoe" and then continue on having a normal day. What exactly
does it mean to be ‘uncool’? Here’s a few tell-tale signs—It’s when you have
to try and pronounce the name of lagers you don’t understand in a pub full of
attractive bearded men because you literally don’t have the slightest clue
about what a ‘cool’ beer is and don’t want to embarrass yourself in a micro-brewery.
It’s forgetting how old you are when somebody asks you and saying “um” before
telling a stranger what your name is. It’s unironically saying phrases like “blimey!’
and “what’s the delio?” (the latter of which not even I condone in a public
setting.)
People who choose to reclaim their awkwardness
are often viewed as borderline unbearable, like they’re so scared of being
normal that they desperately try and explain how quirky they are to everyone
they meet. See: the people who have ‘I’m just a bit of a spontaneous nerd.
Sorry!!!!!!’ written on their Tinder profiles. Look at the character Jess from New Girl—she is both adored and despised.
She’s the poster girl of uncomfortable personalities, constantly wearing
oversized glasses and not understanding popular culture. I’m part of the group
who fell in love with her character on the show, often relating to her complete
inability to ever say something remotely smooth. It’s a pleasure to watch
somebody acting so painfully awkward yet still being loved by all their friends, even by
Cece—who represents the archetypal ‘cool girl’. In my opinion, those of us who
are undeniably awkward should be allowed to find joy in it. It should be a
deal, if you had boys in secondary school laughing at you because of your
personality then you’re legally allowed to romanticise your awkwardness. It’s
just fair game. If you’ve ever had a football land smack bang in your face in
front of your entire year group on what would’ve been a joyous summer day, then
yes, you’re well within your rights to call yourself quirky when you enter
adulthood.
Here’s what I believe though—aren’t we all a bit awkward?
Don’t even the coolest of the cool sometimes trip over thin air and bump into a
table in front of someone they fancy? Haven’t we all mispronounced the word ‘necessary’
whilst giving a presentation? Learning to love the awkward quirks that we all have
is the beauty of life. Is that not friendship, after all? Is it not breaking
down the shell of your cool persona until you’re both comfortable enough around
each other to snort laugh at rubbish jokes? Here’s a toast to awkwardness, to my teenage self and to self-acceptance.
The next time I spill a drink I’ve just ordered down myself in a crowded bar, I’ll
think of this blog post. Then I’ll probably slip over said drink because I’m
too distracted by my own writing. But it’s cool now, because I said so.
CONTINUE READING
