By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer

She walked in the cafeteria with perfectly spritzed bangs, her crimped hair cascading over her bare shoulders. In stone-washed jeans with ankle zippers and with an armful of Swatches, she was the fashion envy of every teenage girl, who desperately wanted her wardrobe of denim jackets and stirrup pants.

She was, in 1989, the epitome of cool.

Of course, there's nothing cool about side ponytails and slouch socks now.

But back then, our raging hormones told us that neon crop tops and plastic bracelets transformed us into cool. In rolled-up denim shorts and Converse high-tops, we could proudly strut around campus, confident we had constructed the accepted look that made us less dorky that we actually felt.

But it wasn't just the look you wanted; it was the attitude.

There was always that one kid who tried so hard to fit in, who bought all the right combinations but couldn't pull it together. She paired high heels with sweatpants; he wore his Jobbers hat sideways.

The definition of cool extended way beyond fashion sense to incorporate an entire package that included vocabulary and body movements.

The cool kids in high school were more often the prom queens than the valedictorians. They cut school, owned cars, drank Bacardi without chasers. They hung out in phone booths, skateboarded, never used backpacks. They weren't the honor students, the weirdos or the band geeks. Most of the time they were hardly around. That's what made them so cool.

I have always been in cool limbo. I never really belonged to any one group in high school, shuttling between tables in the cafeteria during lunch. I played Trumps with the woodwinds, went to movies with the granolas, cruised with the skaters.

I didn't belong to any group and no one group owned me. Instead, I wandered aimlessly through high school, not fitting in but never standing out.

The notion of cool didn't go away when the principal handed you that now-lost diploma. But what we consider cool now, after dead-end jobs and monthly car payments, has changed.

Cool is owning your own three-bedroom home off Diamond Head at age 30.

Cool is buying a new truck only to transport your 22-foot Boston Whaler.

Cool is running a marathon in less than five hours, crossing the Ka'iwi Channel on a paddleboard, surfing an epic eight-foot Backdoor unscathed.

We are impressed with college names and job titles. We are obsessed with knowing how much money people make. We count success in the number of toys we own.

But what transcends all the makings of cool, what matters more than salaries and financial portfolios, is still attitude.

You could be the highest-paid engineer under 40. You could've started a multimillion-dollar catering business. You could be the world's greatest longboarder. But if you're obnoxious, arrogant or lack any semblance of compassion or courtesy, you are cool wasted.

Because cool, at least to me, is more about appreciating what you've got and being happy about it. It's about knowing who you are and staying true to that. It's about not letting anyone else dictate what's cool.

You can be cool without the boat, without the house, without the 401(k).

But the Members Only jackets and Dove shorts will have to go.

Reach Catherine E. Toth at 535-8103 or ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com.