The Curse of the Cool Girl, And Why I’m Done With Pretending Not to Care

“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.” – Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl.

We’ve all met a Cool Girl, with their long hair and perfect arses, their craft beer knowledge and their fluid sexuality. Or, rather, we’ve all met a girl who is pretending to be her. I should know, I tried for a long time to be exactly that. Maybe I still look a bit like her, because some of the Cool Girl traits also happen to be real human woman traits too. I love whisky and craft beer, dirty jokes and eating an entire pizza. Those things are fine; I actually like those things. But some of the other Cool Girl traits aren’t me at all, and I’ve found them hard to give up.

I’ve always prided myself on being good at being one of the lads. Me, with my four older brothers and my devil-may-care attitude to wearing clothes in the house. Tall and blonde and filthy. Show me the girls you’ve matched with on Tinder whilst I’m laid in your arms on the sofa, because I don’t care. Ask me who I think is hotter. Call me up when you’re between women. Act like you barely know me when we’re with your friends, but forbid me from seeing anyone else. I don’t care, because I’m fucking cool. I put up with all of your shit and never call you out on it, whilst hiding any of mine – or worse, carefully not having any – so you don’t get hurt. Don’t I sound chill?

Spoiler alert: I’m not chill. I’m angry and stressed, I can’t sleep, I have a crick in my neck from that awkward position I never say anything about, my friends are fed up of listening to me. Why? Because what the Cool Girl attracts is an endless parade of scumbags. Men who put your needs last, because they can. Men who are seeing other women, because they can. Men who never text you unless you text them. Men who never take you on dates. Men who make you feel small and stupid when you haven’t heard of a band/niche French playwright/school of philosophical thought. Men who never go down on you. Men whose friends ask if you’re together and they say “No! I mean, I duno, I guess we’re sort-of-semi seeing each other?”. Men who can’t stand to see you with someone else, but will never ever commit to you. Cool Men.

I read this article the other day, about how the ‘cute but psycho’ joke is normalising abuse and women need to stop saying they identify with it. Whilst that’s a valid argument, all I could think about was how the ‘cute but psycho’ trope is just a reaction to the ever-pervading Cool Girl. She’s the opposite of the Cool Girl: she keeps a tight leash on her man, checks up on him, insists on a terrifying level of control. No one can deny it’s problematic. But, as women who have been denied any control, who have forced themselves to put up with all kinds of crappy treatment under the guise of being ‘cool’, is it any wonder that the reaction is to push back and claim some kind – any kind – of control?

We constantly talk down about women who have a dominant or, let’s face it, even an equal role in relationships. This is why I detest the word ‘whipped’. I hear people describing men as whipped all the time. Does he drive down to see his girlfriend at the weekend? Whipped. Did he bring her a glass of wine when she asked? Whipped. Does he cook all the meals while she cleans? Whipped. This rhetoric perpetuates the idea that women don’t deserve to be treated well, that being kind or considerate to your girlfriend is unmanly. There is no word to describe a woman who fetches her boyfriend a beer, who lovingly makes dips and buys in crisps for boys’ night. It is expected. Not only does the idea of being ‘whipped’ shame women for having needs, it also shames men for acting in a caring, nurturing way. It looks at healthy, loving relationships and calls them out for not adhering to some ancient 1950s stereotypes of how to behave.

How we talk about relationships is so important, because it shapes our expectations and the expectations of those around us. To be desirable, I felt overwhelming pressure to be the Cool Girl, no matter what the cost to my enjoyment and even my mental health. No matter what awful sort-of-semi relationships I had to endure. Pretending not to care, not to have any needs, is emotionally exhausting and damaging. I’ve seen girls put up with horrific behaviour and never call it out, because they’re scared of looking like they’re not a Cool Girl. I’ve done it myself. It’s time for us to start demanding what we require, and breaking off the damaging, sort-of-semi relationships if they fail to provide for our needs. We need to start saying no to that thing he’s asked us to do that always hurts, because doing it isn’t cool: it’s problematic. We also need to stop shaming men for being caring. It’s not fair to say we aren’t having our needs met, and then make men feel bad when they are meeting those needs. We need to pay attention to how we talk about relationships. Stop putting up with it. Stop perpetuating it. 

The Fuckboy Phenomenon, And Why Boys Fear the Blogpost

Ah Fuckboys, the ubiquitous defining man of our generation; talented, good looking, charming and repulsive in equal measures. The phrase is used in various ways by different communities, but for my social groups it is always used like that. Maybe he is stylish, has a good haircut, drives a fancy car, but he always has one defining feature: women. Not just in his bed, the term is not one of sexual behaviour shaming, but rather a shaming of emotional behaviour. Alana Massey said in this article that ‘Fuckboy is not a dating style, so much as a worldview that reeks of entitlement but is aghast at the prospect of putting in effort…Fuckboys become emotional vampires to women who aren’t even their girlfriends.” And that, that nails it exactly.

I watch my friends fall for these men, I date them – inasmuch as it can be called dating; they are all around us, our friends, our brothers, our entitled boss. These are the men that approach me and tell me how my blogpost on emotional labour touched them, made them uncomfortable, because they saw the women that they string along in that post. It is descriptive of their behaviour, where not just physical connection, but emotional support is a glass of water they drain without ever filling up. What these men say to me is that they fear being the subject of that blogpost, or one like it. Not that they think they should change their behaviour, that they’ve recognised the emotional damage they are doing to women that they should be delighted to go out with and they’re going to stop. Rather, they fear being revealed for what they are. The Fuckboy relies on illusion, on the ability to convince a girl that she’s special, she’s different, for his success. Both myself and several of my friends have had boys tell them, “But you’re the only one emotionally”, as though them deigning to feel anything other than a physical attraction to us is some trophy to be polished and put on the mantle piece. He’s sleeping with half of the city, but he likes us. He’d speak to us when we’re dressed! Aren’t we lucky?

But, as Anne Lamott once said, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” So, Fuckboys, this one’s for you. It is not good enough. You are not good enough. Wipe that pained expression off your face, stop trying to change the subject, because I won’t stand for it anymore. You will be held accountable. There are a thousand men out there that would love to be seen with me, that would love to be seen with my beautiful, clever, successful friends. There are men that text us when they’re drunk to tell us we’re the loves of their life and they can’t believe they let us get away. Stop telling me to ‘take it slow’, because boy, you’re on probation. I haven’t decided if you’re good enough for me yet, so stop acting like you are the ultimate hunting prize and I might win you if I creep up more quietly and more slowly than all the other lionesses. Talking to me every day and cooking me dinner isn’t a grand gesture, it’s the basics in decent human behaviour. Take me on a fucking date. Because I don’t know if I like you yet, and if you want to impress me it’s going to take a lot more effort than I’ve seen so far. If this blogpost is making you squirm, good. It’ll prepare you for the next one where I eviscerate your character, not because you hurt me, but because you didn’t measure up. I am not waiting, I am not pining. I am not impressed. Boot up and suit up, baby, because I’m a battle that none of us think you can win.

New (Reluctant) Acitivities

Being new to the world of dating apps, what I have discovered is that I am, in fact, extremely picky. Now, in real life I have no such issues, look a bit sweet and vulnerable, tell a couple of midway decent jokes, and indulge in some armchair intellectualism and I’m yours. Online, however, I’m a completely different beast.

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Reasons I have rejected people this week include: not good looking enough (a given); extremely good looking, but in the wrong way; too intimidatingly good looking; having a girl in the picture (who is that?); having an elephant in the picture (do you know nothing about the ethics of captive elephants?); bad joke in bio; too serious in bio; having a shirtless picture; having too impressive abs; having a picture on a motorbike; looking “a bit douchy”; looking too posh; looking too scruffy; can’t work out if grungy or dirty…it goes on.

This has lead to me having about four matches, which I have then proceeded to complain about because I feel like, four? Surely I’m better than four? – As you can tell, the trial period has been difficult.

All this got me to thinking, why are we so much more critical of each other online? I look at men that, if they talked to me in a bar, I’d dissolve into an awkward, flustered mess over, and think naaaah. I’ve seen it in other people as well, nice lads who’ll go on three dates in a week and not bother to speak to any of them again. Why? Because we constantly expect someone a bit better to be a couple of swipes away. Suddenly, everyone is disposable.

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Back in the day, you had to make do with what you had. Either you married Harry from school, or you moved to the city and married your coworker/friend/someone you met at a dance. You were probably going to meet less attractive people in your life than I can swipe past in less than a minute on my lunch break.

So, what does this mean for dating? Because, the thing is, even though we are all so incredibly picky online, and many of us get to go on dates with people who are much more attractive than we’d usually manage, I actually don’t know many people who have met this way. It’s hard to know if there’s a spark through a phone screen, and we’re all swiping past The One to go on an awkward downing-your-beer date with a solid ten who has no personality.

Is it time to ditch the dating apps? Or do you think online shopping for a date is essential for our super-speed lifestyles? Let me know in the comments.