The Myth of Contemporary Coolness: Balancing Uniqueness and Conformity

Coolness, as a definition, has evolved over time.  It used to be synonymous with what we would now call "normie-core," a narrow definition emphasizing conformity. This is most memorably displayed by the jock, cheerleader, nerd, and outcast archetypes of the 80s and 2000s. Today, we’ve flipped the switch. We prize individuality above all else, and there is thus a pervasive and desperate thirst for things that will make us feel unique, and therefore “cool.” But there is a paradox here. In order for something to be widely recognized as “cool,” it requires a digestibility that makes it palatable to a larger audience. Thus, the very nature of “coolness,” which constitutes something Pinterest-board-worthy, by its very definition, can only be so unique. 

This is exemplified and worsened by the shortened online trend cycle. In a landscape where the average zillenial spends multiple hours a day using some form of social media, media moments go from niche to mainstream, irrelevant, and overdone in a matter of weeks. Young people are perpetually starving for something new and fresh to sink their teeth into, but as soon as they get the sense that everyone else has taken a bite, they lose interest.

These random bites of uniqueness - see the rise in insect iconography, tinned fish, bows, and Snoopy as bona fide mainstays in every clothing store conglomerate and boutique - become gentrified and subsequently stuffed down the throats of consumers until their teeth ache and they decide they’ve had enough. To keep up with these arbitrary identifiers of being “in the know” is a performance only attainable for the wealthy.

Real coolness, the kind that we look back on and admire (think Jane Birkin and her non-Birkin bag), is cool because it was something entirely its own. It doesn’t require a rotating wardrobe, or a base level of chronically-onlineness. It simply is because it exists outside of those social expectations intertwined with contemporary coolness. But it is not always widely appreciated and revered in its time, which is a hard sell for a young generation seeking acceptance. 

Cringe culture is not as dead as we would all like to think it is. Still, we all want to be unique. More than ever before, we are desperate for it; we’ve tried convincing ourselves that being weird is hot. But even that attempt is mere fantasy. In reality, there are defined types of weirdness that are deemed hot. “Niche” hobbies and academic interests that, while perhaps uncommon, are socially acceptable.  Someone may have a truly strange hobby, but they are still accepted by society because they are objectively physically attractive or have some other socially redeemable quality that prevents them from slipping into the social fray. But weirdness in and of itself is still just weird. If someone came up to you wearing a necklace made of their own baby teeth, or wearing a silicone mask of a politician, animal, or cartoon character, I would venture to posit that you would not jump at the opportunity to become good friends with them. You might even consciously try to keep your distance. While there is nothing inherently wrong with weirdness, we should stop worshipping at its altar in vain when in reality, we still gatekeep who can and can’t sit with us. 

We do this for two reasons. Generally speaking, we want to sit with people who have something in common with us. Similar interests and values tend to be the foundation for most romantic and platonic relationships. We’d like to think the reasons stop there, but the reality is that we also make these selections partially out of fear. Who has a seat at our table says something about us. Being conscious of that means choosing wisely, and more often than not, choosing with social perceptions in mind. It may not be obvious, the ways we selectively guard our inner circle, but they are real. Whether a conversation with a classmate is carried outside the lecture hall, whether eye contact is held and maintained, whether our disposition in a given interaction exudes warmth or remains curt. It’s not always conscious; in fact, I would argue that it is more often unconscious than not, as we approach interactions with less of a deficit mindset. We subconsciously think: do I want to be friends with this person?, and not: why don’t I want to be friends with this person? It’s not a malicious act, but it is a biased one. 

We tell ourselves the story that we want to be unique and individual, but actually doing so runs the risk of being perceived in a way that does not align with the paradoxical definition we have constructed, that is, digestible uniqueness, or “coolness.” We play it safe with Pinterest trends. We all buy the same thrifted brown leather jacket and vintage Levi's because we’ve decided it meets the baseline definition of uniqueness without straying too far into the fray to be looked at sideways. We play it safe.

Ultimately, we are living a lie we’ve sold to ourselves. Stuck in the narrow gap between uniqueness and social acceptance, none of us are cool. Rather, our teeth and stomachs ache from the monotony of sitting at the end of the trend cycle conveyor belt with our mouths open, ever promised absolution from our own banality, and never satisfied.  

Anna Viden is a senior majoring in Psychology with minors in Sociology and Media Studies.