I Tried to Be the “Cool Girl” — and It Nearly Killed Me

I Tried to Be the “Cool Girl” — and It Nearly Killed Me

They always told me I was “different.” Not like other girls. Fun. Low-maintenance. Chill. The kind of girl who could hang out with the guys, drink whiskey straight, laugh at crude jokes, and never, ever ask, What are we?

And I believed them. I believed that was the highest compliment a woman could receive.

So I built my entire identity around being the Cool Girl.

It worked — until it almost destroyed me.


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The Making of a Cool Girl

Growing up, I got the message early: girls who wanted too much scared boys away.

In high school, I watched the “popular” girls win attention by laughing at every joke and brushing off bad behavior. The ones who cried, who asked for clarity, who admitted they had feelings? They were labeled “crazy” or “clingy.”

So I learned to silence myself.

By college, I had mastered the role. I was the girl who ate pizza at 2 a.m. with the guys but made sure to run five miles the next morning so I stayed “effortlessly thin.” I was the girl who could shotgun a beer, who laughed when a guy made a sexist joke, who didn’t complain when I was the only one cleaning up after the party.

And when it came to relationships, I became exactly what I thought men wanted: a girl with no expectations.

I told myself I was liberated. But in truth, I was terrified.


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The Relationship That Tested My Limits

At 25, I fell into a relationship with someone I’ll call Ryan. He was magnetic, the kind of man who lit up a room. Everyone wanted to be around him — and I was determined to keep him.

From the start, I molded myself to fit him.

He didn’t like texting much, so I waited hours — sometimes days — for replies without complaint. He wanted to keep things “casual,” so I pretended I was fine with being just another girl in his orbit. He loved late nights out with friends, so I went along, even when I had early meetings and could barely keep my eyes open.

When I was hungry, I said I wasn’t. When I wanted more affection, I laughed and said I didn’t care. When I felt jealousy twist in my stomach as he flirted with other women, I forced a smile and told myself that being secure meant never saying a word.

Inside, I was slowly vanishing.


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The Breaking Point

The Cool Girl mask began to crack one night after a party.

I hadn’t eaten all day — partly because I wanted to look slim in my dress, partly because everyone else was just drinking. By 1 a.m., I felt lightheaded, but I didn’t want to be “the girl who couldn’t keep up.”

On the Uber ride home, the world went dark.

When I came to, Ryan looked more irritated than worried. He sighed and said, “You should really know your limits.”

I apologized — as if fainting from starvation was my fault for not being chill enough.

That night, lying awake with a pounding headache, I realized the truth: I had been starving myself — not just for food, but for care, for respect, for love. And for what? To be someone’s fantasy of effortless perfection.

I had erased myself so completely that I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.


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Why Being the Cool Girl Is Dangerous

Here’s the thing about the Cool Girl myth: it sounds empowering at first. Movies and TV romanticize her. She’s the girl who eats burgers without gaining weight, who loves football but never interrupts the game, who’s amazing in bed but never asks for exclusivity.

She’s sexy because she doesn’t need anything.

But needing nothing isn’t sexy. It’s inhuman.

To be the Cool Girl, you have to slice away parts of yourself until there’s almost nothing left. You stop asking. You stop feeling. You stop being honest.

And slowly, you start to disappear.

For me, that disappearance was literal. I lost weight. I lost sleep. I lost my voice. I lost myself.


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Learning to Take Off the Mask

Leaving the Cool Girl behind wasn’t easy.

At first, I didn’t even know how. When you’ve spent years performing, you forget what you actually like, what you really need, and what you’re willing to stand for.

I started small. I told a guy I actually didn’t like beer — I preferred wine. I admitted when I was hungry and ordered the fries I’d secretly wanted all along. I practiced saying no when I didn’t want to go out.

It felt terrifying. Every time I asserted myself, I braced for abandonment.

And sometimes, people did leave. But slowly, I realized that was the point. The ones who only wanted the performance — the chill, effortless version of me — weren’t capable of loving the real me anyway.

In therapy, I dug deeper. I unpacked why I felt unworthy of asking for more. I learned that being vulnerable didn’t make me weak — it made me human.

Piece by piece, I stitched myself back together.


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Who I Am Now

I’m not the Cool Girl anymore.

Now, I’m the girl who cries when she’s hurt instead of swallowing it down. I’m the girl who texts back quickly because I want to, not because I’m playing a game. I’m the girl who eats dessert without apologizing, who admits when she needs reassurance, who says I love you first if she feels it.

And I’ve discovered something shocking: the right people love me more for it.

The people who matter don’t want me to be effortless. They want me to be real.

Looking back, I feel tenderness for the girl I was. She thought she had to disappear to be loved. She thought being Cool would protect her.

But I know now: being Cool almost killed me.

Being myself saved me.


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A Final Word

If you’re reading this and you’ve been playing the Cool Girl too, let me tell you what I wish someone had told me years ago:

You are allowed to want things.
You are allowed to ask.
You are allowed to be messy, emotional, complicated, human.

The right person won’t call you “crazy” for having needs. They’ll thank you for being honest enough to share them.

You don’t have to be Cool.
You just have to be you.

And that’s more than enough.