I’ve been wrestling with the idea of what it means to be cool.
When I was in high school, I looked for cool in unconventional places—not among the “popular” students, but among those who were openly counter-cultural. Even though I didn’t talk to them overly much, I was interested in the goth kids. They seemed kind and interesting, and I liked the aesthetic in which they chose to dress. A part of me always wanted to make friends with them, but I was held back by the feeling that I couldn’t live up to the level of “cool” that I perceived in them.
Recently, I inherited a pair of boots and a few pieces of jewelry from my late mother-in-law. The boots are cowboy style in a very dark brown, almost black, with a metallic coppery finish and an intricate embroidered pattern across the shaft. They are absolutely beautiful. I keep saying that they are obviously way cooler than I am. They are the kind of thing that I would never have purchased for myself, fearing that I was not as large, loud, or interesting as the image an item like that projects ahead of me. My mother-in-law, though, had exactly the blend of cool confidence needed to pull them off. She loved to look good.
By comparison, I have always been a bit on the fence about looking good. It’s not that I have an opposition to caring about fashion or style, it’s just that I’ve always had other priorities—things like comfort, budget, and a driving need to never, EVER be required to dry clean something that I own. Behind those priorities, though, is a hidden issue with my self image. Wearing something that looks too good, or even too specific, has always felt like it draws attention to me. If I’m in an actual costume, that’s great, but if I’m just going about my day to day life, I don’t really want to be in an “all eyes on me” type of situation. This is the other reason I never really tried to pull off a goth look. It always felt to me like a visually “loud” way of going through the world, and in a lot of scenarios I like to be more quiet than that.
Growing up, I had a friend who as an adolescent tried very, very hard to look cool whenever she was in public. It bothered me that we had to stop all silliness—or anything else that gave us joy or fun—in service to this façade. In fact, I actively fought against her efforts, making sure to behave extra visibly dorky around her (mostly through the application of silly walks) anytime she got overly serious about looking cool. There is perhaps nothing as attention grabbing as a silly walk, but I was never bothered by the possibility of being seen looking objectively ridiculous. I only cringed at how ridiculous I would feel being caught trying to look cooler than I actually am.
I would like to say that as an adult, I no longer bristle at the idea that someone might catch me playing the “coolness” part, but that anxiety hasn’t totally gone away. These days, I do want to look and feel cool, I just want to do it in a way that doesn’t feel inauthentic or like it’s shouting look at me to everyone in the room. After all, someone might actually talk to me and find out I’m just a nerd in a fashionable person’s boots. Now, after a lifetime of dressing in a way that avoids creating too many expectations, I’m finding a lot of the choices I made in the past to be… kind of boring.
Maybe I’m trying to emerge back into the world better after being confined by covid and secluded due to the work-from-home nature of my recent employment. Maybe I’m seeing a lot more fashionable people on the internet and wishing I had a bit more of what they do. Maybe it’s just restlessness. Whatever the reason, I’m finding that my old clothing just isn’t living up to my new standards.
In the midst of this wardrobe-based malaise, I was gifted my mother-in-law’s beautiful boots. They are daring and lovely to look at, but they also represent a connection to my lost loved one. It feels only right for me to wear them openly and often. At another time in my life, I might be tempted to keep such a cherished item stored away, pulling it out for only the most special of occasions. Now, though, I don’t want a life filled with lovely possessions that never get used. I want the things in my life to be useful and meaningful in their use. More than that, I want to be the person who wears the boots.
I want to wear Patricia’s boots and channel all the ways that she was completely, comfortably, coolly herself. I want my own wardrobe to be made cooler by having a bit of hers in it. I want to give this item that she carefully chose a life beyond the end of hers. In its new life, I want this pair of boots to reflect and embody my confidence in my own kind of cool, and to reach toward the higher levels of coolness to which I still aspire.
One beautiful pair of boots does automatically give me the power to look like myself, but in a cool way. Rising above this particular brand of imposter syndrome cannot be the work of any piece (or even closet full) of clothing. Still, I can thank my mother-in-law’s good taste and my father-in-law’s desire to see her remaining things put to use by those she loved for giving me better tools to be a better (dressed) version of myself. I can wear these boots and, in doing so, look and feel cool in a way that is wholly my own. And, in making them my own, I can also honor the spectacular coolness of the woman who left them behind.
