
What makes someone cool? A new study offers clues
A new study suggests that there are six specific traits that these people tend to have in common: Cool people are largely perceived to be extroverted, hedonistic, powerful, adventurous, open and autonomous.
The study, which was published last month in the Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, surveyed nearly 6,000 participants from 12 countries around the world. Their beliefs about what's 'cool' were similar regardless of where the study participants lived and despite differences in age, income level, education, or gender.
'What blew my mind was the fact that it was pretty much the same result everywhere,' said Caleb Warren, one of the authors of the study and a professor at the Eller College of Management at the University of Arizona who has researched consumer psychology for two decades.
In the study, each participant had to recognize the word 'cool' in English, without translation, suggesting that they were already familiar with — or maybe even idolized — notions of coolness from wealthy Western countries like the United States.
In that sense, the study offers a window into the spread of cultural beliefs from one group of people to another, said Joseph Henrich, an anthropologist and a professor of human evolutionary biology at Harvard University who was not involved in the study.
'Globally, American success has led to the diffusion of music styles and an immense amount of cultural content, including, apparently, the concept of cool,' Henrich said.
Coolness is not a widely studied subject. Past research has found that coolness is usually considered something positive: Cool People are also friendly, competent, trendy, and attractive. But Warren and his colleagues wanted to know what makes a person distinctly 'cool' rather than just 'good.'
So the researchers asked the participants to think of specific people: one who is cool, one who is not cool, one who is good, and one who is not good. Then they asked the participants to evaluate each person by answering questionnaires that collectively measured 15 different attributes.
While the cool and good people had overlapping traits, compared with their cool counterparts, good people were perceived as more conforming, traditional, secure, warm, agreeable, universalistic (the extent to which a person sees everyone and everything as being equal or equally worthy of care and respect), conscientious and calm.
Those who were perceived as capable were equally considered cool and good.
One limitation of the study was that anyone who did not know the word 'cool' was automatically filtered out. As a result, the data cannot determine how frequently the word is used in different countries or whether in certain cultures coolness will lead to a higher social status relative to others. In addition, while the study included participants with a wide range of ages, the population skewed young: The average age from each region was generally 30 or younger.
Other studies have shown that there are important cultural differences that can affect the traits that we value.
'Factors like aggression make us have higher status in some Western cultures and simultaneously give us less status in the East,' said Mitch Prinstein, the chief of psychology at the American Psychological Association, who has written two books about popularity, which can be a consequence of coolness.
Research on coolness suggests that the desire to be cool is particularly strong during adolescence, and it influences not only what people buy or whom they admire but also how they talk and what they do for fun.
But what's considered cool by the broader culture might not be the same as what you believe is cool. This is why Warren and his colleagues asked each participant to think about the people they considered cool vs. good. Interestingly, across the board, the types of traits that are typically associated with kindness or helpfulness were more often perceived as good instead of cool.
So is coolness a trait that's worth pursuing?
To that end, Warren said, 'I have serious doubts.'
The coolness that involves risk-taking and being socially precocious during adolescence may offer popularity during youth, but one study published in 2014 found that many teenagers who behaved in this way would later struggle in their 20s, developing problems with alcohol, drugs, and relationships. 'They are doing more extreme things to try to act cool,' one of the researchers told The New York Times.
For the popular kids in school, 'status is dominance, visibility, attention,' Prinstein said. But, he added, it is how well-liked you are that contributes to long-term success.
'Even the most uncool kid will probably fare well if they have at least one close friend,' he added.
Perhaps coolness — particularly the dismissive 'too cool for school' variety — isn't all it's cracked up to be.
This article originally appeared in
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Observer
a day ago
- Observer
Repentance's raw power of
There was a time when I believed that the two most powerful sentences in the English language were 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry". I now know that those words can wound, deeply, when they're contradicted by our actions. 'I'm sorry' can even insult our intelligence if regret never leads to repentance. I was reminded of this by an unlikely source, a television show — specifically, 'The Bear", FX's hit drama about a Chicago restaurant and the small community of cooks and servers who are trying to transform a family-owned sandwich shop into a Michelin-starred culinary showcase. 'The Bear' is one of those shows that launched a thousand essays. But for those who don't know it, the series is centred on a young, talented chef named Carmen Berzatto. If you've spent any time in food service yourself, you've probably seen exactly what's depicted on 'The Bear". At the tables, the customers enjoy a wonderful meal and a good conversation. They bask in the hospitality. But in the kitchen, the pace is brutal, emotions are raw and even the best of friends will occasionally be nose-to-nose. Mostly, the anger is quickly forgotten. Mostly, everyone is able to push through the stress, to retain their bonds of family and friendship. But not always. Sometimes people go too far. Sometimes the chaos is too great. And sometimes a boss crosses the line from pushing an employee to breaking one. Sometimes friends do more than test friendships. They fracture them. That's what 'The Bear' is really about: How do we live together when someone always seems to be going too far? It's hard to watch 'The Bear' without seeing ourselves, without seeing echoes of the primal anger that is ripping our families and nation apart. In Season 3, we can clearly see the damage Carmy has done. He has made something great, but each person in the restaurant — each person in his family — is still under terrible strain. This terrible tension and pain can make 'The Bear' difficult to watch. Relationships are splintering across America. It's hard enough to live in a community — we are all inherently flawed, after all. Normal human failings create persistent frictions, and unless we learn to deal with and ameliorate that friction, even the best of friendships can sometimes fade. But we're living through something else, a furious anger in which it seems people actually want to end friendships, where they want to inflict pain with their words. It's one way to demonstrate your commitment, your great and high ideological, religious or political calling. The cause demands it, and you serve the cause. We create relational rubble and find that it's hard to live in the ruins. In Season 4, Carmy lives in those ruins, but he decides to rebuild. And he does so through the most powerful of human reactions to sin and loss: He repents. Let's pause here for a moment and talk about the difference between regret and repentance. Regret is the sorrow we feel for the pain we cause or the consequences we experience. Repentance, by contrast, is active. It happens when we turn away from the behaviours that caused our regret. Rarely has a television show more clearly demonstrated the difference than 'The Bear". Time and again, the words, 'I'm sorry' — the expression of regret — are met with scepticism, at best. Carmy says those words over and over again, and you can see his friends' faces barely change. They want more than an apology. If you haven't watched Season 4, you might want to stop reading now, but there is a single moment in the show that demonstrates the difference between regret and repentance. Carmy realises that he is the problem. Yes, other members of his family and other people at the restaurant have their own problems, but Carmy is at the epicentre of the chaos. And in a single, extended scene in the finale, he makes that clear not just by saying he's sorry, but by turning, by changing. He gives the restaurant back to his family, to his most valued colleague and to his closest friend — to the people he has harmed the most. The star decides to fade so that other people can shine. For a time, he seems to say, I must diminish. I must become less so that you can become the more that you are supposed to be. At first they can't see what Carmy is doing. The mistrust is so great and the pain so deep that they can see Carmy's actions only as another betrayal — this time abandoning them when the restaurant needs his talents the most. When Carmy tells his friend and co-worker, Richie, that he's leaving, Richie feels angry, abandoned and hurt. As clarity dawns on everyone — as they understand what Carmy is doing — warmth and love start to spread across their faces like a slow-breaking dawn. 'I missed you,' Richie says to Carmy. And when Richie knows the new partnership is real, he nods, agrees to the deal and says — using words for emphasis that we can't print in a family newspaper — 'Yes. It is an honour.' I'm such a fallen person that when I saw that scene, I admit that my first thought was of the people who needed to repent to me. But thankfully that moment passed. Instead, I came to feel a profound sense of conviction. I asked myself, 'Who have I harmed?' and — more important — 'How can I change?' At a time of extraordinary fury, we all live in a degree of pain. We all live with regrets. But hope can come from unexpected places — and perhaps a show that features scallops, pastries and Chicago beef can also teach us that only repentance can heal our broken hearts. — The New York Times


Times of Oman
21-07-2025
- Times of Oman
Royal Guard of Oman Band concludes participation in Basel Tattoo in Switzerland
Basel - The Royal Guard of Oman Band concluded its participation in the 2025 "Basel Tattoo" festival, held in Basel, the Swiss Confederation. The festival is considered one of the most prestigious and largest military music shows globally, annually attracting elite bands representing numerous countries with rich military traditions. The Royal Guard of Oman Band delivered musical performances and field displays that garnered the admiration of the audience and the appreciation of the organizers. Their performances were distinguished by precision in execution and harmony in movement, alongside a diverse repertoire that blended classical military pieces with Omani heritage compositions, reflecting the national cultural identity within a global framework.


Observer
13-07-2025
- Observer
How literature lost its mojo
I'm old enough to remember when novelists were big-time. When I was in college in the 1980s, new novels from Philip Roth, Toni Morrison, Saul Bellow, John Updike, Alice Walker and others were cultural events. There were reviews and counter-reviews and arguments about the reviews. If you look at the Publisher's Weekly list of bestselling novels of 1962, you find Katherine Anne Porter, Herman Wouk and JD Salinger. Today it's largely Colleen Hoover and fantasy novels and genre fiction. I have no problem with genre and popular books, but where is today's F Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, George Eliot, Jane Austen or David Foster Wallace? I'm not saying novels are worse now. I am saying that literature plays a much smaller role in our national life, and this has a dehumanising effect on our culture. There used to be a sense that novelists and artists served as consciences of the nation, as sages and prophets, who could stand apart and tell us who we are. As sociologist C. Wright Mills once put it, 'The independent artist and intellectual are among the few remaining personalities equipped to resist and to fight the stereotyping and consequent death of genuinely lively things.' Why has literature become less central to American life? The most obvious culprit is the Internet. It has destroyed everybody's attention spans. I find this somewhat persuasive but not mostly so. The decline in literary fiction began in the 1980s and 1990s, before the Internet was dominant. People still have attention span enough to read the classics. George Orwell's '1984' (an essential guide for the current moment) has sold over 30 million books and Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' has sold over 20 million. People still have the attention span to read a few contemporary writers — Sally Rooney and Zadie Smith, for example — and a sprinkling of reliably left-wing literary novels: Margaret Atwood's 'The Handmaid's Tale' and Barbara Kingsolver's 'Demon Copperhead.' It's just that interest in contemporary writers overall has collapsed. I would tell a different story about the decline of literary fiction, and it is a story about social pressure and conformity. What qualities mark nearly every great cultural moment? Confidence and audacity. Look at Renaissance art or Russian or Victorian novels. I would say there has been a general loss in confidence and audacity across Western culture over the past 50 years. In the 1970s, artists and writers were attempting big, audacious things. In literature there was Morrison's 'The Bluest Eye,' Thomas Pynchon's 'Gravity's Rainbow' and Saul Bellow's 'Humboldt's Gift.' In movies there was 'The Godfather' — I and II — and 'Apocalypse Now.' Rock stars were writing long ambitious anthems: 'Stairway to Heaven,' 'Free Bird' and 'Bohemian Rhapsody.' Even the most influential journalists were audacious: Tom Wolfe, Joan Didion, Hunter S. Thompson. Everything feels commercialised, bureaucratised and less freewheeling today. Furthermore, the literary world is a progressive world, and progressivism — forgive me, left-wing readers — has a conformity problem. Even more than on the right, there are incredible social pressures in left-wing circles to not say anything objectionable. (On the right, by contrast, it seems that you get rewarded the more objectionable things you can say.) Conformity is fine in some professions, like being a congressional aide. You're not being paid to have your own opinions. But it is not fine in the writing business. The whole point is to be an independent thinker, in the social theorist Irving Howe's words, to stand 'firm and alone.' Given the standards of their time, Edith Wharton, Mark Twain and James Baldwin had incredible guts and their work is great because of their nonconformity and courage. If the social pressures right around you are powerful, you're going to write for the coterie of people who consciously or unconsciously enforce them. If you write in fear of social exile, your villains will suck. You'll assign them a few one-dimensional malevolences, but you won't make them compelling and, in their dark way, seductive. You won't want to be seen as endorsing views or characters that might get you cancelled. Most important, if you don't have raw social courage, you're not going to get out of your little bubble and do the reporting necessary to understand what's going on in the lives of people unlike yourself — in that vast boiling cauldron that is America. We have lived, for at least the past decade, in a time of immense public controversy. Our interior lives are being battered by the shock waves of public events. There has been a comprehensive loss of faith. I would love to read big novels capturing these psychological and spiritual storms. And yet sometimes when I peek into the literary world, it feels like a subculture off to the side. Literature and drama have a unique ability to communicate what makes other people tick. Even a great TV series doesn't give you access to the interior life of another human being the way literature does. Novels can capture the ineffable but all-powerful zeitgeist of an era with a richness that screens and visual media can't match. It strikes me as highly improbable that after nearly 600 years the power of printed words on a page is going to go away. I would put my money on literature's comeback, and that will be a great blow to the forces of dehumanisation all around us. — The New York Times