I used to like a boy who described everything as “chill:”
“How have you been?”
“Chill.”
“What have you been up to?”
“Just chilling.”
And my personal favorite:
“What are we?”
“…chill?”
Talking to Chill Guy was always perplexing, because I could never understand how he existed in a constant state of chill-ness. It seemed like his nonchalance was perpetual — regardless of any situation, especially ones that dealt with emotions or feelings, he would always just be “chill.”
I wasn’t heartbroken when things didn’t work out, but I was still upset. I was sad to close that chapter of my life. I felt slightly stupid for letting my guard down. And, despite his constant insistence that we “should really stay friends,” I knew that we would probably never be friends again.
However, he seemed to be doing just fine. I learned what he had been saying to others about how it all went down: that things between us were “chill,” that I was “cool about everything,” that we were “never a big deal to begin with.” Ouch!
In response, I upped the chill-ometer. I acted nonchalant and effortlessly cool. What happened didn’t bother me in the slightest. I even started incorporating his favorite word into my vocabulary:
“How have you been doing?”
“Chill.”
I thought that by pretending I was unbothered, I would emerge from that mess legitimately unbothered. Fake it ‘til you make it, if you will.
But here’s the thing with constantly being chill — it’s a pretty cold affair. And before you know it, you’re shivering throughout the summer and freezing up whenever you see his name. Because underneath those icy layers of nonchalance lies emotions and feelings that you never let properly thaw.
I’ve noticed a fascination with the nonchalant, as if being chill is the best possible response to the dissolution of a friendship, relationship, or situationship. That you have to act like nothing bothers you, that you’re cool about it, and everything’s simply chill. The second you let your guard down and let your true feelings be known, you automatically lose in the game of “Who Cares Less?” In other words, you lose the IDGAF War.
The IDGAF War, which stands for I Don’t Give A Fuck War, is exactly what it sounds like: a battle of who can care the least. In order to win an IDGAF war, you have to be the chillest of the chill, so unbothered and nonchalant that you are practically devoid of feeling — or at least appear to be.
I’m not a nonchalant person in the slightest. In fact, I might be the most ‘chalant person ever. I have tried my hand at the war, and I always lose in the most disastrous way possible. Take Chill Guy for example — I’ve ranted about him to literally anyone who would listen. My diary is full of long, nonsensical, cyclical entries in an attempt to find an answer. And the best part? All of that went down ages ago, and I’m literally still writing about him (AND publishing an article about the whole ordeal).
But when did we start interpreting feelings as weaknesses? At what point did caring about things become humiliating, or giving a fuck be interpreted as “losing” some nondescript game with made-up rules?
Despite losing the IDGAF War, I was able to find something that nonchalance never granted me: clarity. Somehow, through all of my obsessive rumination, I was able to clearly assess the situation, wallow in my feelings, and even kind of understand his point of view. By forfeiting the war and admitting that I do actually give a fuck, I was able to take the first steps to leave Chill Guy in the past.
I think there is something brave and bold in admitting that you care. This sentiment goes beyond dating advice and can apply to life as a whole. There is no shame in caring, because it is in our human nature to care. We should proudly embrace our messy emotions and express exactly how we feel. Instead of fighting each other in IDGAF Wars, we should be fighting the nonchalance.
I haven’t spoken to Chill Guy in a while, but if this article somehow found its way to him, he would have no other response than “chill.” That’s fine — some people are perfectly content in their nonchalance.
But for my fellow ‘chalanters, for those who have also never gotten over anything ever, I implore you to let yourself be unchill. Be super uncool about it. And, most of all, proudly give as many fucks as your heart desires.