Or, Not.
But first: for the very premier instance in my whole life, I did this kind of thing that some people do on the dreaded V-Day. Lo, I purchased thusly:
This looks pretty good on me, although/because I am not a malnourished bitch with implants, frightening sunken collarbones, wishbone arms, and lavish airbrushing.
What I have been thinking about is cool. Sorry, I mean: What I have been thinking about is "cool", the concept. A while ago I read a New York Times feature article on the demise of "cool," but man, they had really been scooped on that one. We've been talking about it for years. Well, not in the same terms. The Times article was, as I remember something about how "cool" wasn't "cool" anymore, and now the way to be "cool" was to be "hot." Thank you, stylewriter mindfuckers. That's neurosis-nourishing mental contortionism at its finest.
One of my pals—the husband of one of my friends, actually, and about twenty years our senior—commented to me years ago that one of the most comforting moments in life comes when you realize that, actually, nobody is cool. You, dear reader, may say to yourself: But surely I am cool--well, I am at least a wee little bit cool, Am I Not? Really, I'm not trying to speak for anyone else. Certainly, I am not cool, thank goodness. See? What kind of cool individual says 'thank goodness'? You see where I'm going with this.
And no: it's not über-cool to not be cool. It's not. It's quite simply dorky, nerdy, spazzy, clumsy, gauche, occasionally boring ... and often unselfconsciously funny in that way where you sometimes inadvertently drool a bit.
I made my peace with this whole number some time ago ... which is not to say that I don't sometimes trip over myself playing it cool, or more likely laughing at myself for my twinges of lust (or perhaps merely nostalgia) for cool. But I still see around me herculean strivings in the direction of cool. At times I assume that everyone else has struggled with the cool delusion and moved on, but sadly this is not so. Recently I came to the stunning realization that one writer that I really like—someone whose weblog is (I use this word soooo sparingly) unique—still saw 'cool' as an attainable object. Don't think that I feel 'above' that ... certainly I don't. I'm a mass of vanities, insecurities, and small mean gestures, myself; I'm 'above' nothing. But I shrink from places where 'cool' still has a foothold.
Likewise, I freeze at irony and cynicism, and guarded, laconic displays of kitsch intended to evoke expressions of oblique, wry pseudo-admiration. I think that this sort of thing lost its charm for me in my earlier experiences in graduate school. I do involuntarily raise one eyebrow, but it's not an ironic gesture; it's just a quirk of how my face has aged.
To summarize: there is no cool—at least, I don't think there is. And I may be wrong, because I often am. So if there is cool, then I'll leave it at this: I am not cool. Are you? And have you uncovered any pernicious myths of your own?