Coolness

Sheep aren’t cool. And yet where are the wolves? Because it seems that everyone we meet reeks with sheepish trendiness: every mode of parlance, every ripple of silk, every gesticulation from everyone and his brother reveals a fashion savvy. The bourgeoisie is no longer confined to a borough of Paris, and the hippie has wandered a long way from the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Indeed, it’s well nigh impossible to imagine a society of any size today without these familiar players. Even Micronesians who a generation ago were bare-breasted and living in huts are now posing for our cameras in the karate-kick stance of their favorite movie stars.

Most disturbing is the fact that coolness exists. We would like to wish it away, damn it to the depths and be done with it once and for all. We resent the envy with which it taints our rosy picture of things—and, worst of all, we look into the mirror one fine morning and come to the shocking and revolting discovery that we’re cool, too. God knows how much time we’ve invested in trying to scrub away this superficial blemish, just to discover we’re cooler than ever. It won’t go away! We imagine aging will rid us of this pest, perhaps marriage or career, but, alas, all of it is to no avail. Society keeps getting cooler.

Then we give up. We resign to the idea that trendiness is our lot. We turn on the tube and meekly smile to our televised counterpart. He puts on his sunglasses and we slap our knee with the joy of knowing that we bought that model first. We belt out a chuckle and cry to our loved one in the kitchen that we just can’t help it! And yet, at precisely this moment, from somewhere in the far reaches of our consciousness we sense the truth: that beyond cool is real, and in the end it’s the twinkle in the eye that attracts¾the look of a confident ego¾not sunglasses.