People often tell me I’m rather blasé. Perhaps I picked this trait up in Paris, it casually became part of who I am in the same way one might eat many croissants in the city. Oh how funny, a girl bursting with inner anxieties and a brain that often feels on fire, is outwardly perceived as blasé. I guess to most I do seem that way, I certainly act unimpressed most of the time. Usually because I am. Now snobby and blasé might be cousins but they are not twins and definitely not sisters. I am never snobby, just generally unenthusiastic about people I interact with on a superficial level. From the men that loiter and stare while we shoot or the women who outwardly laugh, shaking their heads as their eyes scan me from across the sidewalk. Or people that so avidly try to catch me out on social media, analyzing my captions in hopes of spotting a lie. Or the boys I meet who tell me I work too much. For these people, I pull out my handkerchief of blasé and wave it around, accompanied by an eye roll that quite like blinking itself, has become second nature to me. You see, unless we’ve been friends for a few years (and I consider all of you who read this, good friends) than I frankly don’t give a hoot about your opinion. I was bullied at school, girls would push me around at my locker, sometimes stealing my ‘not cool’ healthy lunch my Mom spent a lot of time making each morning. Boys told me I was ugly in my glasses and backpack. At University when girls found out about my blog, I was targeted in a very horrible way. I was made to feel ridiculous. I was made to feel ashamed of an outlet that brought me everything my degree lacked. For a few months, I was nervous even stepping out of my student halls. And collections of hateful comments gathered on my back then baby blog, comments from peers I shared walls with. Now, a sob story this isn’t. Those mean spirits made me strong. And blasé is okay, it is okay not to care about most things in life, mainly the ideas others have of you. That, my dear is a good thing. Get your own scarf of ‘I don’t care’ and wave it in the face of whoever is trying to see you in a way you know you will never be. Roll your eyes, dramatically sigh. Not but because it affects you, but because this minor inconvenience is irritating. I got very tired of people trying to quickly define me, grasping at false notions and clumsily coming to conclusions. It made me resolute, absolutely resolute to never judge anyone. It also made me fierce in clutching at this air of blasé. Sometimes the best thing to do is to not care at all. To care is to commit and there is no way I will ever commit to what other people think. Never ever. So girls, go get some blasé. Eat it like a croissant or wear it as a scarf. And always, always roll your eyes. Some people’s opinions should be washed away like a lie.