I got my first tattoo when I was 18. It was a pretty huge sparrow, with a rising sun and some punk stars, taking up most of my forearm. At the time, I thought I was the epitome of cool.
As I kept getting too many tattoos at too young an age, I stumbled—or, I guess... shit-talked my way into one of the most important lessons I’ve ever received.
I grew up in Langley, British Columbia, and was getting tattooed at Lady Luck Tattoo. It was the best shop in town back then, and even though I don’t know much about Langley anymore, I’d guess it probably still is.
Lady Luck Tattoo, just how it looked when I was a kid. They relocated in 2022.
One day, I was at the shop, either about to get a tattoo or booking one. I was 18 or 19 at the time. While I was standing in the lobby, one of the artists, Mike, was getting a drawing ready for a client. If I remember right, he was preparing a stencil. It was some kind of tribal tattoo. Whatever it was, I instantly thought: That’s not a cool tattoo.
In a moment of pure, overconfident 19-year-old ignorance, I said something to Mike like, “Oh, that’s gonna be a classic cool-guy Langley tattoo, hey?”
Now, you might be thinking: What did he even mean by that? Why say anything at all?
And honestly? I don’t know.
Mike just looked at me, directly in the eyes, and said:
“What do you know about what’s cool?”
I was taken aback. I thought maybe he was joking, so I awkwardly doubled down:
“Well, it’s just... it’s, uh... it’s tribal.”
He didn’t flinch. Still making direct eye contact:
“You’re not an authority on what’s cool. What this guy wants tattooed, that’s what’s cool to him. What makes you think your tattoo ideas are better than his? They aren’t.”
It was a relatively short interaction, and I can guarantee you it wasn’t a significant moment for Mike in any way. But for me, it hit like a ton of bricks.
He was, of course, 100% right.
17 or 18 here, thinking I had it all figured out. Not long before I said something incredibly dumb at Lady Luck Tattoo.
He did me a huge favour in that moment. He shut me down when I needed to be shut down. I didn’t know anything about what was cool. And it was decidedly uncool of me to assume that I did.
As I got older, I found other people, and other moments, that helped reinforce and expand on that lesson.
When I worked on Granville Street at The Factory, I bartended alongside a guy named Josh. He taught me a lot, but the most important lesson had nothing to do with pouring drinks.
For Josh, it was non-negotiable that we treat every person with the same level of respect. It didn’t matter what they looked like, how they dressed, or how they carried themselves, they were all getting treated the same.
Josh and me behind the bar at The Factory, July 2012. Theme nights were a thing back then. This one was Casino Night.
Granville Street in downtown Vancouver, especially at that time, was a melting pot of characters. We had people from all walks of life coming into our bar, and I watched Josh treat every single one of them the same—like gold.
He’d introduce himself, ask their name, how they were doing, and what they’d like to drink. He’d chat with them like they were the most interesting person in the world.
There were times when Josh got burned. He’d give a sketchy guy a chance and they’d run off on their bill. Or he’d think someone was kind like him, and they’d turn out to be a prick. But none of that ever deterred him from treating everyone like a VIP.
Josh’s approach is something I’ve carried with me throughout my serving and bartending career, and in my life in general. When you make the people around you feel special, good things tend to happen.
That principle applies everywhere: at work, social settings, family events, friendships, and romantic relationships.
I think about my dearly departed friend Bill. He very unironically loved Nickelback, pop-country (think Florida Georgia Line), Star Wars, the Office (TV Series), and Pokémon. He didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. He leaned all the way into the things that entertained him, and people couldn’t get enough of it.
Bill’s love for The Office ran deep. He made a solo trip to DunderCon in New Jersey in 2022.
There’s never been anyone in my life more universally celebrated than Bill. There were plenty of reasons for that—his sense of humour, his devotion to his friends—but without a doubt, a huge part of his popularity came from the simple fact that he made people feel safe to be themselves.
They saw a guy who owned his interests without worrying for even a second about whether he looked cool.
I recently heard someone talking about a graduation event they attended, where all the kids were hanging out in their respective cliques. What stood out was how much fun the “alternative,” “out-there,” and “nerdier” kids were having. They were laughing, dancing, taking goofy photos, smiling, being properly silly.
Meanwhile, the very obvious “cool kids” were extremely serious. Focused on taking perfect photos, trying to look just right, fidgeting with makeup and outfits, completely afraid to be seen actually enjoying themselves.
The big takeaway?
Being one of the “cool kids” looked like a lot of effort.
Being one of the “nerdier” or “alternative” kids looked like way more fun.
I can tell you with certainty, as a full-time server and bartender, the so-called “cool” people who come into my restaurant are not having nearly as much fun as the people who don’t give a shit about what others think.
The other night, a super serious group came in. The girls were hot, the guys were rich. Lots of wealth was being flashed at the table. It’s a classic Vancouver thing: expensive city, lots of money, lots of ways to earn it.
But my main takeaway from this group of eight was how little fun they seemed to be having. They were all bottled up, afraid to laugh or even really smile. It was bizarre. It was joyless. They had no banter. Serving them was a chore.
On the flip side, the majority of people I serve are a blast. They’re laughing, joking with me, poking fun at each other. It’s such a pleasure to be around people who aren’t afraid to have fun and be themselves.
The lesson I learned from Mike at Lady Luck that day, roughly 20 years ago, was incredibly valuable, because it opened me up to properly receive all the other lessons that followed about what’s really “cool.”
From Mike, I learned:
No one is the authority on what’s cool.
Cool is completely subjective.
From Josh at The Factory, I learned:
Treat everyone with respect. Don’t judge people by their appearance.
That mindset has helped me immensely, both in my restaurant career and in life.
Kindness is cool.
From Bill, I learned:
Lean into what you love. Broadcast it without reservation.
Make others feel safe being themselves around you.
Authenticity is cool.
Inclusion is cool.
From simple observation, I’ve learned:
Trying to be “cool” is stressful and stifling.
Freedom comes from being comfortable in your own skin, and being unapologetically you.
You are cool just the way you are.
As I get older, I find myself more and more drawn to people who are kind, considerate, warm, positive, and easy to be around. To me, that’s cool.
If I have an interaction with someone who makes me feel welcomed and at ease, I’ll always leave saying, “That person was cool.”
I think that in order to live Large and Well, we need to be mindful of how we make others feel. We need to avoid judgment, and remember that we don’t know nearly as much as we think we do.
I might be covered in tattoos, but I certainly don’t pretend to be an authority on them.
I don’t know what’s cool.
If you like it enough to get it tattooed, then it must be cool.
Mike taught me that, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
See you next week,
Kai
Your “Gimme The Loot” tattoo is the coolest tattoo you have. 😁
Mike is a Langley legend. I had similar interactions with him. He was unabashedly honest that’s for sure.