One of my favorite song lyrics is from Chappell Roan’s “Casual.”
And I try to be the chill girl that
Holds her tongue and gives you space
I try to be the chill girl but
Honestly, I’m not.
I love it not because it’s something revolutionary, but rather precisely because it isn’t. Because the feeling she explains is one that so many people have found to be a mirror to their present or past, probably contributing to the mass success of the song itself. A canon event, as they say.
In the song, Roan tries to be the chill girl. The girl who holds her tongue and gives someone space, even when that isn’t really what she wants to do. Eventually, she admits that she isn’t her.
I think back to the iconic Cool Girl monologue from Gone Girl.
Amy describes the girl who is hot, fun, game and, most importantly, never angry. The girl who likes what he likes. The girl who can say, “I ate cold pizza and remained a size two.” The girl willing to mold herself around someone else’s desires while making the whole thing look completely effortless.
And then comes the part that has always stuck with me: “Men actually think this girl exists.”
Maybe they do because, to some extent, we have all been taught to become her.
The Cool Girl has evolved since Gone Girl, but she hasn’t disappeared. She doesn’t necessarily need to love football, poker or action movies anymore. Now, I think being cool means being detached.
She can hook up with someone without catching feelings. She can spend months talking to someone without asking where it’s going. She can do everything people in relationships do, but without committing the social crime of calling it a relationship.
We are constantly reaffirmed by society to be cool. To be chill. That emotion is a weakness. That the “what are we?” conversation is one to be avoided. That we are DTM, or “doing too much,” when seeking clarity. That asking for more pushes people away. The push-pull method. The three-month rule. Never double-text. Never seem too interested. Be low-maintenance.
There always seems to be some rule for how much we are allowed to care, and how much of that care we are allowed to show.
Maybe this also explains why pretending to hate men has become its own kind of performance. Girls repost videos about how terrible men are, joke that romance is dead and insist they have completely detached from the idea of love. Then, privately, they wait for one specific man to text them back.
I don’t think that makes them dishonest. If anything, I understand it. Sometimes irony is easier than sincerity. Saying “I hate men” gives us an escape route. It lets us talk about romantic disappointment without admitting how badly we wanted something to work.
It’s easier to pretend you never cared than to admit that you cared and weren’t chosen.
We have somehow made wanting love embarrassing.
I see this especially within college hookup culture, where being casual sometimes feels less like one option and more like the option we are expected to choose.
And, to be clear, sex can be casual. Sex can and should be fun. Not every kiss has to turn into a relationship, and women should be able to enjoy sex without feeling as though they have given away some part of themselves.
The problem isn’t casual sex. The problem is pretending to want something casual when the situation is making you unhappy. It’s acting like you are fine with ambiguity because admitting you want more would make you clingy, traditional or, perhaps worst of all, uncool.
For some people, casual really is casual. But what if it isn’t for you?
What if “casual” is just the word you use because the alternative requires admitting that you care? What if one person gets all the intimacy of a relationship without any of its responsibility, while the other pretends that this arrangement doesn’t hurt them?
There is a difference between choosing something casual and accepting it because you believe asking for more will make the person leave. There is also a difference between genuinely not caring and caring a lot while trying very hard to look like you don’t.
The Cool Girl isn’t just the girl who enjoys casual sex, drinks beer or likes hanging out with men. She is the girl who never seems to need anything from anyone.
But even outside of dating, women are constantly placed into categories that somehow always become insults.
Be too comfortable around men and you’re “one of the boys,” which eventually makes you a “pick-me.” Be too feminine or vocal about having high standards and suddenly you’re a princess or high-maintenance. Like traditionally feminine things and you’re basic. Like things more commonly associated with men and people assume you’re doing it for the male gaze.
So, which one is it?
There seems to be no way for a woman to be cool without someone eventually accusing her of trying too hard to be cool.
I think of Inde Navarrette, whose rise after Obsession was almost immediate. People initially loved that she seemed funny, expressive and genuinely interesting. Then, almost as quickly as people became obsessed with her, they started looking for reasons not to be.
After a playful clip from Hot Ones Versus went viral, people labeled her a “pick-me girl.” Some people saw a woman laughing and feeling comfortable around her male co-star. Other people saw calculated attention-seeking.
Suddenly, the same personality people had praised became annoying. Her enthusiasm became performative. Everything that initially made her cool became evidence that she was trying too hard to appear cool.
I feel like this happens whenever a woman receives too much attention too quickly. First, the internet turns her into its newest “it girl.” Everyone loves her personality, her style and how refreshing she seems. Then, once everyone has agreed that she is beautiful and interesting, people begin searching for the flaw that will justify tearing her back down.
Women are allowed to be cool, but never too aware of it. We can be interesting, but we can’t look like we are trying to be interesting. We can enjoy attention, but we can’t appear to want it. We can have big personalities, but only until other people decide we are taking up too much space.
It all has to look effortless. Even when creating the appearance of effortlessness requires a concerning amount of effort.
My first experience realizing I wasn’t the Cool Girl was my first breakup.
When I felt my boyfriend pulling away, I asked him why. Why the texts became less frequent. Why the compliments stopped. Why things were no longer the same.
My dad told me, “If you ask for more, every guy is going to push away.”
My mom told me, “Be more distant. He will want you more.”
This so-called advice puzzled me. Why would wanting a closer relationship with someone require me to further remove myself from him? Why couldn’t I just ask for what I needed? Why did I have to be cool about it?
When the relationship ended, I decided that maybe they had been right. Maybe I had asked for too much. Maybe I was needy. Maybe I had made myself too much work.
And so, I carried this with me.
The next time I liked someone, I tried to do everything differently. I wanted to text him, but waited because he hadn’t texted first. I missed him, but didn’t say it. I avoided asking for clarity because I thought being easygoing would make me easier to want.
If I expected less, required less and created less work, maybe he would like me more.
I became so focused on not seeming needy that I stopped being honest about what I needed.
But being cool didn’t protect me from caring. It didn’t make someone want me more either. All it did was leave me quietly accepting something that made me unhappy while pretending I was fine with it.
The first time, I asked for more and blamed myself when he pulled away. The next time, I asked for almost nothing.
And that didn’t work either.
Maybe that’s the real problem with the Cool Girl. She convinces women that if we can become less emotional, less demanding and less ourselves, we can somehow control whether someone chooses us.
But making ourselves easier to love doesn’t guarantee that we will be loved. Sometimes, it just means the person being loved isn’t really us at all.
I don’t want to be chosen because I made myself need nothing. I would rather risk being “too much” than spend another second pretending I’m fine with less.