Like the Cool Kids?
by Kat de Naoum
Judgement. We are subjected to it from the moment we are born.
“Her eyes are a bit squinty.”
“She sounds like a chicken when she cries.”
“Wow, her poop smells real bad.”
Our parents, relatives, peers, colleagues, judges, God, passers-by…Everyone. Every-damn-one.
Is caring about people’s opinion healthy or worth it? When should we care?
Obviously with God; we should defo care what he thinks. So don’t do things considered bad, like have sex out of wedlock or be gay.
The law is also a good one to care about, so no murdering (apart from in Gaza, that’s completely fine apparently), selling drugs or forgetting to pay spousal support.
To avoid judgement from parents and or/relatives, make sure you become a doctor or an astronaut or at the very least, a YouTube sensation.
Colleagues? Apparently breathing is one of the things that could offend them so be careful with that.
I’ve made a decision recently that I will only care what the law thinks, mainly because in prison I will most likely end up being someone’s little bitch and I really, really don’t want to muff-dive.
Apart from trying to stay legally and morally correct, when it comes to being socially acceptable, it seems futile to spend one’s life caring or trying to adapt our behaviour to something that everyone in our circle will be content with.
A friend recently dared to FB status that she started watching Breaking Bad and found it boring. I remember feeling exactly the same when I first started watching it but I was too embarrassed to tell anyone because I was seemingly the only one who felt this way. A barrage of very angry comments ensued telling her that she should stick with it because “it’s the best series, like, ever”. (Granted, I did stick with it and eventually liked it but I wouldn’t say it’s the best series I have ever seen. Bring on the hate mail.)
I’m totally done with being considered socially acceptable.
I want to not wear a bra, ever.
When at a café I want to order a Frappuccino and a waffle with Nutella and ice cream and not feel self-conscious because everyone else is ordering espressos neat (can you even refer to coffee as neat?).
Oh, I’m sorry that me having a PBJ for lunch makes you tut in disapproval. I’ll leave the room and let you get back to your yummy lettuce.
I want to drink fruity cocktails. (Sorry, Carrie Underwood but just because I like “fruity little drinks coz I can’t shoot whiskey,” doesn’t mean I’m a tramp).
I want to not care about getting my roots done every six weeks primarily because I loathe sitting in a chair for three hours getting an opinionated high-pitched commentary over my shoulder on the magazine that I am flicking through (“J-Lo thinks she’s still 20, I mean look what she’s wearing… I think Casper cheated on her with a tranny coz she’s too into herself.” Who the eff is Casper when he’s at home?)
I want to proudly read a chick lit book on the beach and on the train and in waiting rooms without having to hide it behind a copy of the Financial Times.
I want to talk to my animals and not be called a lunatic and letting my cat nibble off my plate when I’m done with my food does not mean that I’m a weird old cat lady. (OK, grandma?)
I want to adopt more animals without having the condemnatory, “oh my God, you got ANOTHER one?” which I’ll probably get when I also start having kids (fingers crossed). The same goes for tattoos, and if you don’t like them, how about you go back to the person who asked for your opinion and tell them?
What if I shape my nails and eyebrows however the fuck I feel like it and you do the same with yours, and we keep our opinions to ourselves, unless otherwise requested?
My chipped nail polish offends you? I’ll remember to cry about it in my spare time (which I do not use up removing my nail polish).
How about I greet, speak to and hang out with whoever I want to greet, speak to and hang out with and not care that they are not ‘one of the cool kids’? And if I go for a drink with them it does not mean I am desperate; it means I like hanging out with them (and probably not with you).
Why do I have to like house music and not pop or country without being a gigantic nerd?
So I don’t iron my clothes, and what? They’ll iron out on my body at some point and I’ll have saved hours of my life.
And if I want to quit my “proper job” to be a writer and yogi then that’s what I’m going to do and I’ll leave you there in your nine to five (AM) while I’m lying on my lawn with my animals soaking up the sun, reading chick lit and eating chocolate soufflés for dinner.
To stop caring about being socially acceptable and live the life we want to live and do what we want to do (within the bounds of the law and morality) I can only imagine leads to happiness and a much better quality of life. I highly recommend (not impose) it to everyone!
That was the Convo two cents (or dollar bill) for this week.
So, let’s raise our passion fruit martinis in a toast to not being socially acceptable before we tuck into our mozzarella sticks and jalapeno poppers.
**Xeni Kouveli makes the Convo collages with pics found on Google images – we do not own them (except for the ones we do own).