Susan JessicaEver look at someone’s life and think, Yeah, I could do that. Maybe even better? That’s how I felt about Nicole, the golden girl from the Class of 09. She was everything I wasn’t: effortlessly cool, ridiculously popular, and always, always in control. At the time, I had this brilliant idea—if I just became more like her, my high school experience would turn into some flawless teen rom-com. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. And oh boy, did I fail spectacularly.
Who Was Nicole Class Of 09?
Nicole Class Of 09 was a force of nature. You know the type: the one who walks into the room and—boom—everyone notices. It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous (although, yeah, she was). It was the way she carried herself. Conversations? She owned them. School projects? She knocked them out like she was born with a 4.0 GPA in hand. Even the teachers adored her. She could probably have given a TED talk on how to make high school look effortless.
Nicole Class Of 09 had this magic aura around her—sort of like how Beyoncé can walk into a room and bam, everything’s better. Nicole was the same way. People gravitated toward her without even trying. Her charm? I couldn’t even begin to understand it. But damn, I wanted it.
I was a quiet freshman back then, hiding in the back of classrooms, hoping no one would notice me. And then there was Nicole, ruling the halls like she owned them. I was convinced that if I could just be her, I could unlock this whole new life—one where I wasn’t awkward and overlooked.
The Attempt: Becoming Nicole Class Of 09
So, there I was, on a mission. My plan? Simple: I would become Nicole Class Of 09. Or at least, I would pretend to be Nicole Class Of 09.
Step one: her wardrobe. Nicole Class Of 09 had this effortless way of dressing that looked casual but cool—like she just rolled out of bed and was ready to take on the world. Me? I thought that if I bought similar clothes—flannels, oversized sweaters, skinny jeans—it’d do the trick.
Uh, nope. Fast-forward to me wearing an oversized sweater that looked like I was drowning in fabric. The only thing effortless about my outfit was how easily it could ruin my self-esteem. If I didn’t look awkward in that outfit, I at least felt like it. I wasn’t Nicole. I was a girl trying too hard.
Step two: the mannerisms. Nicole Class Of 09’s confidence was like an untapped well of magic. Everyone around her ate it up. So, naturally, I tried to replicate it. I copied the way she talked, the way she walked, even how she laughed. (Yes, I started mimicking her laugh. A thing I will never live down.)
Fast forward past three failed attempts at cracking jokes in the cafeteria, and you’ll find me in the bathroom, pretending to text, trying to ignore how weird I felt.
The Realization: I Wasn’t Nicole Class Of 09
After a few months of living this half-life where I tried to pretend to be someone I wasn’t, something clicked. Actually, it was more like a slap in the face from reality. One afternoon, I was standing in the hallway, fully attempting to strike a “Nicole pose” (I kid you not, I was posing), when I saw her in the distance—laughing with her friends, looking completely, effortlessly at ease. And suddenly, it hit me. I wasn’t Nicole Class Of 09. I never could be.
Nicole Class Of 09 was amazing, yes. But that magic I saw in her? It was hers, and it had nothing to do with how she dressed or how she talked. It was just her. And no amount of pretending could change that.
The Wake-Up Call
So, there I was, standing in the hallway, on the brink of a very awkward realization. I wasn’t Nicole Class Of 09, and trying to be her wasn’t going to make my life any better. It was like trying to squeeze myself into a pair of pants that were a size too small—not cute, not comfortable, and definitely not me.
In that moment, I had a choice: Keep pretending and feel like a weirdo forever, or embrace who I actually was. Spoiler: I chose the second one. Slowly, I started letting go of the illusion of being someone else.
Lessons Learned From My Epic Failure
Anyway, here’s the kicker. I learned a lot more from failing to be Nicole Class Of 09 than I ever would have by trying to be her.
You Can’t Fake Confidence
Nicole Class Of 09 wasn’t just confident—she was comfortable in her skin. That wasn’t something you could fake. Confidence isn’t about how loudly you speak or how many friends you have. It’s about being at ease with who you are. I learned the hard way that you can’t force confidence. You have to build it up from within.
Fast-forward a year. I stopped caring about mimicking Nicole Class Of 09. I focused on becoming the best version of me, awkward quirks and all. And guess what? I became a lot more confident when I stopped pretending.
Being Yourself is Actually Pretty Cool
Nicole Class Of 09 wasn’t trying to be anyone else, and that’s why everyone loved her. I had been so caught up in trying to copy her, I forgot that the thing that made her shine was the fact that she was unapologetically herself. The moment I stopped trying to be her and just embraced my own weirdness? That’s when people started noticing me, too. And honestly, that felt way better than any fake persona I could’ve put on.
Fun fact: Did you know that Victorians used to think talking to plants kept you sane? I talk to my potted fern, Fernie, just in case. It’s my form of self-care.
Nicole Class Of 09 Changed Me—But Not in the Way I Expected
The truth is, trying to be Nicole Class Of 09 taught me that the real goal wasn’t to be someone else. It was to be okay with who I was. Nicole didn’t change my life by being Nicole. She changed my life by showing me the power of authenticity.
And now, when I see people like Nicole Class Of 09—who are just so unapologetically themselves—I don’t want to be them anymore. I just want to be me. That’s enough.
The Final Laugh
Looking back, I still think Nicole Class Of 09 was the coolest person ever. But, here’s the twist: I’m cooler now because I stopped trying to be her. Who knew?
Oh, and side note: that herb garden I started in 2020? It died faster than my sourdough starter, Gary. RIP, Gary. Gardening is not my strong suit, y’all.
Richard Joseph
