There’s a quiet epidemic creeping into every corner of our lives—a nonchalant, detached attitude that suggests trying too hard is something to be avoided, even mocked. Whether it’s in our relationships, our work, or the hobbies we pursue, there’s an overwhelming sense that we should appear effortless, cool, and above it all. This culture of nonchalance is everywhere, and frankly, it’s exhausting. When did it become so uncool to care?
I trace part of this shift back to a moment that affected us all: the pandemic. For many of us, it struck at a particularly sensitive time. In my case, it was during the last two years of high school—those formative years when socializing, forming bonds, and connecting with others were crucial for personal growth. COVID-19 isolated us at a time when we needed human interaction the most. But the separation didn’t just make us crave connection—it subtly convinced us that maybe we didn’t need to try so hard. It became easier to stay detached, to keep things casual, and to avoid vulnerability. After all, trying too hard could make us seem desperate, right?
But here’s the thing: this culture of effortless, nonchalant detachment has made everything boring. Relationships, whether romantic, sexual, or platonic, are no longer about deep connections or real effort; they’ve become about not caring, about playing it cool. This is the rise of the “situationship,” where emotions are avoided, and emotional investment is seen as a sign of weakness. We’re afraid to try, to be seen as too eager, because that’s “uncool.” And yet, in doing so, we’ve stripped away the very thing that makes life meaningful—passion, care and effort.
The art of loving someone—whether romantically, sexually or platonically—seems to have become a lost skill. Investing time and energy into the people we care about has somehow become less important. We’ve bought into the idea that the key to success in relationships is to care less, to avoid being too vulnerable, too invested, or too present. Romance, friendship, and even family relationships are now reduced to a game of who can seem the least affected, the most “chill.” But in this game, no one truly wins. All we’ve done is distance ourselves from the very thing that makes these connections real—authenticity.
This detachment isn’t just an issue of love and friendship. It’s woven into every aspect of life. Look around: even ads, logos and brands have been simplified to the point of being lifeless. The messaging is sleek and clean but devoid of soul. TV shows, movies, and even art follow this minimalist trend—bereft of the rich, intricate details that once made them stand out. Everything is designed to be consumed quickly and efficiently, with little regard for creativity or emotional depth. No one’s taking the time to create something that moves us and makes us feel. It’s all about the bottom line.
The rise of AI and automation is only accelerating this problem. We’re cutting corners, replacing human interaction with lifeless algorithms and soulless machines. Sure, AI can save time and money, but at what cost? By eliminating real human faces, voices, and thoughts, we’re losing something essential — our connection to one another. Our conversations, our interactions, the quirks that make us human — all of that is being stripped away and replaced by something easier, quicker and more efficient. But in the process, we’re erasing what makes life meaningful.
Even social media is now the epitome of this curated, effortless persona. We present these polished, perfect versions of ourselves— unflappable and flawless—because showing our true selves is deemed “cringe” or “uncool.” I’m tired of seeing posts that feel robotic, that have no personality, that leave no trace of real human emotion. We’ve fallen into a trap where we think we need to be flawless to be loved, to be accepted, to be seen. But the reality is, perfection is boring, and it leaves us hollow.
I don’t care about “doing too much.” In fact, I’d rather do too much—express my emotions freely or even make a fool of myself—than sit back and try to be “chill” all the time. Because here’s the truth: it’s in the effort that we find beauty. Trying hard is where the joy, the passion, and the connection lie. It’s okay to care and invest in the people and things that matter to us. It’s okay to be earnest and vulnerable and to take risks—even if it means getting hurt.
It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to be cringe sometimes. It’s okay to want things out of life, even if they seem impossible or unattainable. Wanting things doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human. We’ve been taught that failure is something to avoid at all costs, but failure isn’t the enemy. It’s a natural part of life. We all fail. We all get hurt. And yet, it’s in those moments of failure that we grow. We learn. We become better versions of ourselves. The pain of failure teaches us resilience and humility and ultimately helps us understand what really matters.
We’ve convinced ourselves that caring too much will hurt us. But the reality is that not caring enough is what will hurt us in the end. We rob ourselves of joy when we distance ourselves from life—when we refuse to try because we’re afraid of what might happen if we do. We’ve been taught to fear vulnerability and avoid being “too much,” and it’s costing us everything that makes life worth living.
So, let’s stop pretending that nonchalance is the answer. Let’s embrace the messiness, the imperfection, and the effort that comes with truly living. Let’s try hard. Let’s care deeply. Let’s love with everything we’ve got—even if it means failing sometimes or getting hurt along the way because, in the end, it’s the people who try the hardest, who care the most, who make the world a better place—not by being cool, effortless, or detached—but by being human and unapologetically real.