Death to the Cool Girl

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Right after my most recent break up, I had my “I just want to have fun and keep things light” phase which meant me dating multiple people and not expecting anything serious. I wanted to be the Cool Girl: free, spontaneous and maybe a little reckless but like, in a hot way. You’d think I would have learned something from watching the iconic Gone Girl monologue about this very topic, but I guess not. This is also obviously an interesting decision for a lover girl like myself— someone who at their core, values deeper connections, enjoys giving her attention to one person and seeks love. But I was tired of being vulnerable and brave— putting my heart out there just to get hurt. However, I also wasn’t ready to be fully left alone. So this casual dating situation, I thought, could be a good middle ground.  Fully ignoring my BPD diagnosis, I told myself that since my feelings were mine that meant I could have control over them. That if I set clear boundaries and explicitly expressed them, I would be good to go for short lived romance filled with lust and cute stories to tell my friends.

I was committed to be the Cool Girl, a man eater. I had to be chill. I had to kill the cry baby bitch in me. This girl doesn’t give a fuck about anything. She treats sex like a man— it’s just physical, it doesn’t have to be deep. She’s so free, her hair is always blowing in the wind, I picture her in biker boots and cut off shorts. She cuts her own hair and she’d look hot bald. Most importantly, she has full control, you’re not using her, she’s using you. This is modern feminism right? She’s reclaimed the power, men are here for HER pleasure. No more cute gestures, no more hand written notes or morning messages— Cool Girl has no time for that shit. 

After my pseudo mental metamorphosis, I put myself out there. I tried dating apps, speaking to people more, I even gave out my number the old fashion way— written with a dull lip liner on a piece of cigarette paper. I did feel liberated at first and excited, it was a new era. I was exploring new parts of the city while on dates and learning about things I wouldn’t necessarily be curious about on my own. I was confronted by different personalities and opinions which I found super stimulating. I’ve even reconnected with old flames from my high school days, which was sweet. Even though our lives have changed so much and we’ve all grown up, a bit of that teenage spirit still lingers when we reunite.

We could say that I did have fun and I did provide the girls with fun stories. But I cut ties with most of these guys quite fast, swiftly moving on to the next thing— unable to be entertained by anything that didn’t constantly keep me on my toes. I knew that it was commonly said that slow and steady and even sometimes boring can be signs of a healthy relationship but I was not in a place to build anything at the time, I was chasing a thrill. However, I carried the hope of finding The One with me, tucked away somewhere in my heart, but obviously I couldn’t admit this to myself because I was Cool Girl now. She doesn’t believe in love like that. 

Obviously, my fabricated desire of wanting only meaningless and casual relationships attracted truly emotionally unavailable men. And these type of men were always able to keep me on the edge of my seat, so I kept them around longer than the rest. They were clearly so uninterested in anything serious at first which made me feel comfortable, nothing real could happen, surely they won’t break my heart, I thought. We would keep things light, go on fun dates here and there. Then there would be a shift— the talks got deeper and we’re sharing intimate details about each other’s lives, forehead kisses and sleepovers. I liked it, I was not alone but I was still free. I felt like I could handle this, easy work for Cool Girl. So we’d keep this dynamic up but as a fake emotionally detached person, I slowly but surely still grew attached. I naturally would not admit this to myself. Then came the infamous ‘What are we doing?’ talk, where I had to ignore the pinching sensation in my heart as they told me they weren’t looking for anything serious. ‘Me neither,’ I’d say.

One faithful day, they’ve gotten bored. Now only text me whenever they’ve got nothing else to do, multiple cancelled dates, see them maybe a couple times a month. Because I mean, no strings attached right? They don’t owe me shit, doesn’t matter if they’ve looked at me and stroked my face like I was the love of their lives a couple of weeks ago, we said we were nothing serious! 

I had to act like it didn’t bother me when they’d only reach out only once in a while. Punish myself for wanting to do a kind gesture for someone I’ve grown to care for because for some reason caring is a sign of weakness now. Sometimes, I would slip up and the regret I would feel for being nice would eat me alive. I told myself I wasn’t standing on business enough, I had to keep the ice in my heart cold. God forbid if I messaged first or double texted. I had to keep the communication short and dry, I couldn’t sound too eager. As somebody who pays attention to details and romanticises everything, I forced myself to believe that things I would consider special weren’t special anymore. 

Before I knew it, the vines of my disregarded feelings have taken over, wrapping around me in a chokehold. I am fighting for my life over a story like. Social media posts are more calculated, messages triple checked by three different girlfriends. Long walks to try forget that it’s been weeks since I’ve seen them. Who are they seeing now? Who will they leave for? 

Nothing feels light and casual anymore. The hope I kept in my heart has come out of hiding, I’ve finally been able to admit to myself that I want them to be mine. However, the Cool Girl way to go about things is to not communicate about her feelings, Cool Girl is patient and believes that her coolness will somehow change his mind. I’ll have to keep everything bottled up and make sure nothing spills over. My feelings will scare them off, they can’t know. I can’t have them leave me because having them just a little bit is better than not having them at all. I’m trying to keep up with them, wonder how it is they can say or do things that make it really fucking seem they have feelings for me but truly have none. I try to analyse everything they say to me, hang on to any signs that they might finally like me back. I feel delusional, crazy and silently desperate. Cling on to the idea of what we could be together if they just saw how fucking cool I can be, hoping that the next time they’d see me they’ll look at me differently. I may have been indoctrinated by romcoms where men always change their minds and finally realise that she was the one all along. I’ve learned that it can happen however always a little too late when we’ve already gotten the ick. 

No matter how hard I tried to keep up, I failed to grasp one simple truth—this is just who they are. Careless and nonchalant isn’t an act for them; it comes effortlessly. While I’m drowning in heartache, for them, it’s just another Tuesday.

At the end of the day, the Lover Girl in me always wins the battle and after a long and painful fight, Cool Girl dies— leaving my true self wounded, drained and tired. I’ve tried going against my nature so many times and at different stages of my life. Building unnecessary walls that don’t end up protecting me from getting hurt anyway, just killing me slower. Maybe it’s time to embrace the Lover Girl in me. Life is filled with pain and rejection anyway, might as well make it as romantic as it can be. 

I’ll remember their favourite ice cream flavour and bring it the next time I see them. Every birthday gift will come with a five-page handwritten note, filled with all my favourite quirks about them. Every special moment will be commemorated with a keepsake, safely tucked away in a box. Every kiss, truly cherished. Every feeling, expressed loud and proud. 

Ready for BIG FAT ROMANCE. 

Vahine Blaise. Gili Air, March 2025