Wedding season.
It’s summertime, and it seems like everyone I know in their 20s and 30s is either getting married, in a bridal party, or at a destination somewhere, posing for group photos in coordinated colors. While weddings are beautiful, it’s become more than just a string of ceremonies; it’s a mirror. These gatherings have a strange way of making us reflect: not just where we are in life, but who we are. Because in the middle of champagne toasts and carefully curated Instagram stories – we’re all comparing ourselves into oblivion.
These big moments unfold, and suddenly, our own timelines pop into focus. How do we measure up? To the newlyweds, sure, but also to everyone else in the room: the “cool friend” who has thousands of followers, the cousin dressed in designer with a high-paying (and seemingly fulfilling) career, the guy who just bought a house and runs 10 miles every day before work.
It’s clear to me that the more we compare, the more we become the same. We borrow the same aesthetics, speak in the same captions, and perform the same versions of happiness. And at least for today, in this example, we’re not only celebrating love – we’re surrendering originality to feel better.
Take the cool friend, for example. We all know her, or at least someone like her. Someone who perfectly embodies effortless cool. She always has the best style, the most impeccable taste, and the most niche interests. Compared to who? Well, to the rest of us, of course, who are only striving. We’re all, in a way, trying to be her. We often end up adopting similar influences: speech patterns, hairstyles, and a smorgasbord of mismatched micro-trends that speak not of a lifestyle lived, but a desire to stand apart. Not so far apart as to be unfashionable, mind you, just enough to be cool.
The thing about the cool friend, and what draws us in about her – what makes us admire and aim to replicate her – is the fact that her coolness is perfectly crafted out of her individuality. The cool friend loves oldies because her parents played records throughout her childhood. She cherishes her mother’s old jewelry because it was all gifted to her. And as a girl, she spent countless hours playing dress-up in her grandmother’s closet. Of course, she knows precisely what she likes and dislikes in colors, fashions, and hairstyles. She’s always known. She stands out because she has never identified trend-first, but instead because she authentically weaves pieces of her own story into how she presents herself to the world.
This observation, particularly resonant during the hurricane of wedding season – and the way that it seems to bring people together just as insistently as it can tear them apart – has led me to a softer revelation: embracing my unique influences might be the key to becoming the ‘cool friend’, while rejecting the sameness demanded by a parasocial age.
Now, I’ve had my fill of the same ‘clean girl’ aesthetic with a slicked back bun and milky almond manicure or ‘alternative’ as repackaged with platform boots and studded jeans. The coquette bows, or the stacking of jewelry – not because of a relationship carefully cultivated with each piece, but instead a reflection of someone else’s curated aesthetic.
We all want to be seen and not judged, so why do we allow social trends to herd us into hegemonic judgements of others and ourselves, while silently yearning for the freedom to feel liked for who we are? Or the freedom to like what we like? It’s a prison of our own making.
We aspire to be like free individuals, but free individuals do not aspire to be like others. Free individuals are just free.
Each part of us holds something original, something unique, and that often slips right under our noses. If one leaned into details like personal histories or family quirks, they might move one step closer to the admiration that we all pine after without losing ourselves in the process. Perhaps your parents were immigrants, or kids of immigrants, and their discovery of ‘American’ music left you with a genre-spanning CD collection. Maybe they came from the Deep South, and you’re one conversation away from a treasure trove of timeless vintage clothing.
With individuality on the line, we must navigate the world in a way that truly honors our own story.
We see someone special, and because we, too, long to feel special, it becomes achingly easy to sacrifice what makes us distinct for the comfort of acceptance.
But when has an icon ever been merely “acceptable”?
