Welcome to Summer Cooldown, our weeklong tribute to everything cool in popular culture. Through our good examples of chill and our confused endeavors to copy them, to the DGAF legends so disobediently uncool they’re super cold, we’ll endeavor to characterize the undefinable and praise the characters and questions that molded us.
At the point when The O.C. debuted in 2003, Ben McKenzie’s Ryan Atwood was the very picture of great cool. An agonizing terrible kid with an endearing personality, he had the cowhide coat, the tight white tank top, and the mean right snare. Folks hesitantly appreciated him, young ladies straightforwardly swooned after him, and everything seemed well and good in the commonplace rationale of adolescent shows.
Be that as it may, it wasn’t some time before Ryan ended up upstaged by a totally new brand of cool, as his closest companion and embraced sibling Seth Cohen.
Seth fit the model of the geeky sidekick perfectly. He was socially clumsy and explicitly unpracticed, and inclined to meandering about comic books or computer games or Star Wars. He was an untouchable at school, which made him an obvious objective for menaces like Luke. Dissimilar to the geeks we’d seen onscreen previously, however, Seth wasn’t simply affable, yet out and out optimistic.
That is not an imperfection of The O.C.’s, however additional proof of its impact.
To a limited extent, this was gratitude to Adam Brody’s great looks and appeal; just on TV would someone be able to so expectedly engaging be given a role as a maverick. Also, it was thanks too to an essayists’ room — driven by showrunner Josh Schwartz, himself a self-portrayed Seth Cohen type — that provided him with all the wittiest counters and the most noteworthy scenes. (Who among us isn’t in any case swooning over that Spider-Man kiss?)
The other thing Seth had going for him, however, was timing. The character burst onto the scene at the exact minute that supposed “quirky” interests went from specialty to standard — after the blockbuster accomplishments of X-Men and Spider-Man and two of the Star Wars prequels, yet before the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Game of Thrones turned out to be popular culture’s most overwhelming powers.
At the time, Seth felt like approval for the nerds of the world. It wasn’t that he was the principal popular culture legend to be into these things, or even to make them look fun. The folks of Mallrats and High Fidelity are fundamentally grown-up Seths; the more youthful Freaks and Geeks characters could be ’80s renditions of him. However, he was the uncommon one to do as such inside the limits of an adolescent cleanser, a classification worked around incomprehensibly lovely youngsters tangled in powerfully emotional situations.
Seth was situated as one of those alluring leads, with the hot storylines to match, and his geekiness as basic to his intrigue. His enthusiasm for superheroes and Star Wars, his brisk, on edge vitality, his popular culture references, his particular shirts — these made him hang out in an ocean of sun-kissed water-polo players and Juicy Couture-clad rich young ladies, as something all the more intriguing and one of a kind and relatable.