You don't have to be the cool girl

 

I've always wanted to be the cool girl. You know exactly the girl I'm talking about too - your mind conjures up that particular brand of effortless-easy-breezy-Effie-Stonem-doesn’t-give-a-shit chic. She can put together the perfect all black outfit, complete with smoked out midnight liner and a milkless espresso to match, but in a way that makes it look like she doesn't care. Like she rolled out of bed from a party the night before and somehow looks the perfect mix of careless yet put together. An effortless contradiction. In other words, she doesn’t exist.

I think my first desire to be the cool girl was at school (i.e. the breeding ground for all of our past trauma, but dear reader, that's another blog post for another time). I remember every hint of explicit femininity being demonised; from owning a glittery pink pencil case to shedding a single tear on the school playground because you tripped and ripped open your knee. Anything vaguely linked to teenage girlhood was seen as a weakness and a flaw. As far as I knew, boys didn't want girls who expressed how they felt, boys wanted girls who didn't outwardly seem to exhibit any emotion at all. And back then all my self-worth lay with, you’ve guessed it, male validation, so naturally, I rose to the challenge. Unlike the ‘not like other girls’ girl, the aim of the cool girl is not to be desired. It is almost the opposite in fact, not caring if she desired at all, and why would she? She's got to focus on making sure her hair looks just tousled enough to look like she didn't spend two and a half hours on it.

Of course, experimenting with different aesthetics is pretty harmless, and something we all dove into during successive pandemics. But it becomes more of an issue when parts of a particular character seep deeper than surface level, namely when you're locking away crucial parts of who you are for so long that you can no longer find the key. Or even worse, you forget there was ever a door.

From the point I realised I was interested in boys (a dark time), I've thought - or at least I've told myself - that I wasn't dependent on having relationships. That somehow wanting a connection with someone else was a weakness, and that they were something I could easily take or leave. Rather than seeking anything out, I'd often find myself in the position of becoming friends with someone I really liked, before either getting out as quickly as possible or reluctantly entering into something I didn't really want to, because (and this is painful to type), I was straying from being the cool girl. In either case of course, I was doomed to fail. I was clinging so tightly onto being this version of something I thought was right - namely easygoing, distant, the opposite of 'needy' - that it made me lose sight of what I really wanted. Of course, this hard exterior often faltered, namely in the form of Tumblr poetry saturated with my inner-most feelings (and pretty poor metaphors). But also in my breakups. While throughout the relationship itself I’d manage to give a pretty convincing performance of being the ‘one who cares less’, when it reached its inevitable end, the emotions would sweep me off my feet like a tidal wave. Suddenly it would hit me how much I fucking cared about this other person and how much losing what we had was going to hurt. The cool girl was nowhere to be seen.

Even now, even with all the hindsight and self awareness, this longing to be someone I think I should be is still very much there. I’m still scared of caring too much, of being too much, of immersing myself fully. I give people parts of myself, but never everything, and that’s ok of course. We all have worlds inside of us that noone may ever know anything about. But it’s something that has swelled to the surface recently, being at a point in my life where I’m having to make proper grown up decisions about things. I’ve convinced myself I don’t want to do things despite holding myself back so tightly I wouldn’t actually know if I did. The longing to be the cool girl has morphed into something else; more than lived in liner and refusing to message first on msn, it’s an entrenched fear of wanting to get too involved in anything. Why? I guess there’s a million reasons, but most vividly, is the fear it’s going to go wrong. That I’ll have cared so much, when it does go wrong, it’ll hurt.

And that’s what I’m just now beginning to come to terms with. That being hurt is part of being human. That feelings are messy and spill out over the sides. That emotion isn’t a weakness. That things can and do go wrong. But maybe it's not that they're wrong, maybe they’re just not what you expected them to be.

Unfortunately this isn’t one of those posts that can be neatly enveloped and sealed with witty conclusion. But if it is something you can relate to, I hope it makes you feel a little less alone. I’m sending you all love during these stranger than strange times (though that word barely seems to touch the sides anymore) and stay safe. 

Georgia xxx

T shirt weather

I just wanted to share some photos of me swanning around London as a reminder of life before (and after) lockdown. T shirt weather, here we come. Probably underneath a big coat.

Sending love xxx

Photos by the fab @jaieart

 

Finding Joy

 

I’m currently living the cliche Sunday morning dream; coffee in hand, mindless laptop scrolling with lofi music softly playing in the background. Noone else is up. Quiet, even if it is only for an hour or so. 

These small moments of joy are so fleeting, it’s such a rarity for me to actually stop and acknowledge the moment when I’m in the middle of it. When life is moving a much slower pace (thanks panoramic) one of the only silver linings is that growth of appreciation. I don’t know about you, but this period has really put my life into slow motion, and allowed me to see it for what it really is. Frame by frame. 

Of course, that change of pace also means a lot more time for thinking, thinking, and oh yeah, thinking some more. Whilst most of the memories my tired mind brings up are soft and comforting bursts of hazy nostalgia, there is a small portion which revisits forgotten friendships and poor decisions. Often followed by a knot in my stomach and a strange sense of remorse. 

Should I feel guilty for relationships I’ve lost and the choices I’ve made? 

What I’m starting to realise (it’s taken me long enough) is that life isn’t straightforward. Not every friendship is forever and no choice you make has to define who you are. Just because you are X one day doesn’t mean you can’t be Y the next. Things will move in and out of your life, but they don’t necessarily need to be good or bad.

I used to spend so much time worrying about things in my life that happened - literally - years ago, but why? Cliche (I mean c’mon do you expect anything less from me?) but I can’t change the past. As much as I’d like to hop in the DeLorean, there’s no way I can venture back to teenage me and try to rekindle something for the sake of rekindling it. Plus, that would mean putting concealer on my lips again, and I don’t think anything is worth reliving that phase *shivers*. 

So what’s the point of this post you may be wondering. Really, it’s a bit of a reminder, to you and honestly me too. A reminder that those moments of joy really are there, even in those times where the waves are crashing around your ankles and you feel like you’re treading water. It’s easy to forget what joy feels like, but you’ll feel it again soon, I promise.

I would love to know what joy feels like to you. Hope you’re keeping safe and well, and sending love, as always x

 

P.s. For me, joy also very much looks like this vintage Haunted Hollywood Planet Hollywood t shirt which I tracked down on Etsy after a relentless search. Gotta love the internet.