Ahead of the January mini-issue, editor Meabh Savage shares why her definition of 'cool' changed, why it's okay to care too much, and how being a try hard can make the ones around you feel loved.
"Whoever it was that decided it was cool to be detached and uninterested left me off of the email blast."
The quintessential vision of ‘coolness’ can be summed up in just a few words: effortlessly impressive, aspirationally stylish, and mysteriously aloof. It’s leather jackets, slicked back hair, and dangerous motorcycles. It’s untouchable rockstars, curated dishevelment, and glamorous lifestyles. It’s risk-taking with little perception of risk, individuality without self consciousness, and self-assuredness without awkwardness. Coolness, as I understand it, requires a whole lot of effort, but without appearing to have put in effort at all.
When I think of the people in my life who I thought were particularly ‘cool’ growing up, I think back to my older cousin, shrugging after shouting “motherfucker” over a vicious game of Beyblades in my auntie’s back garden far away from adults’ ears. I think of the boys in my school, getting back on the school bus after a day ditching classes, glowing and unkempt after a long day of mischief elsewhere in the town. I think of my peers who had perfected their beauty skills at 14 years-old when I was still silently battling it out with my dry skin and Dream Matte Mousse Foundation every morning.
The common theme here is that, from all of these people, I saw only what they wanted me to see. Looking back, I know my cousin was scared shitless of his mom, and his dramatic shrug was overcompensation to balance how he felt within himself. I know the boys in my school were going through shit at home, enough to make it nearly impossible to focus in a classroom. I also know that, most of the girls I saw as beauty queens as a teenager, were all inspired by insecurity to sink countless hours into makeup application.
When presenting everyone around me with who I am as a person, I’ve never been able to leave much of the rough work out. There are parts of my life that I like to keep private, of course, but more or less, I keep my heart stitched firmly on the end of my sleeve. While I’m okay with it now, it was something that often made me squirm with embarrassment at myself.
When I went to university, I met my friend Kellie. Kellie was (and still is) intimidatingly impressive. She’s insanely intelligent, incredibly motivated, and ridiculously hard working. Throughout our three years in college, she was consistently top of her class, was truly adored by everyone she met, held down a job, and for all the world to see, was successful in every way a college student could be. And because it all seemed like effortless perfection, she just seemed so cool to the rest of us.
When I think back now on what we were like at 20, surprisingly, I don’t really remember loving this dear friend of mine because of how “cool” she was. I remember loving her because of all of the reasons listed, and moreso, because of how honest and open she was with those around her.
The thing that I appreciate the most about Kellie is that, after you’ve known her for just a short period of time, she has no problem talking about her life in a way that draws back the curtain of perfection. We’ve had conversations that made me realise that she too has the same worries and concerns about the future as I do, she too cares a lot about how others view her, and she too just wants to succeed.
Kellie tries really hard at everything she does. Behind every 1:1 grade she achieved were hours spent studying, writing essays, and researching. She made her friends feel valued because of how much quality time she spent with us. Even now, as a teacher, she puts her all into her lesson plans and projects with her students.
Over the seven years I’ve known Kellie, I’ve realised that she was always cool, but not because of how chilled out or detached she was. She was always so incredibly cool because of how much she cared.
In all honesty, I wish everyone had a Kellie in their lives. In this mini-issue of TOO LOUD, we’re going to write about being seen as a Try Hard, how we’ve decided to define what “cool” is, and how trying so damn hard can be so rewarding.
There’s no such thing as trying too hard, and there’s no such thing as caring too much. And as part of Too Loud, I’m excited to create a space for my loved ones to feel the same way Kellie made me feel!
Best,
Meabh Savage
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