I recently had a reaction that left me pondering and questioning my affirming values. A 19-year-old family friend who identifies as queer asked me to help him with his resume. Proudly showing the photo, he would like to be on the cover. My instant reaction in my head was “that necklace is too camp”. I bit my tongue and then couldn’t stop thinking about my own internalised response. I tried to convince myself that it was to protect him, but potentially I was colliding with my own cringe culture moment.
Most of us can recall moments from younger years that still make us wince, an awkward fashion phase, a social media post, a hard and fast crush. In recent years, however, “cringe culture” has turned these ordinary experiences into something more public and punishing. To cringe at ourselves or others has become a form of social currency, where vulnerability, enthusiasm and authenticity are often mocked rather than celebrated.
For many rainbow folks, this phenomenon can carry emotional weight.
Growing up queer often (unfortunately) involves becoming familiar with shame. Historically, expressions of gender diversity, same-sex attraction or simply being visibly different have been labelled embarrassing, inappropriate or “too much.” Even as social attitudes have shifted, remnants of these messages can linger. Cringe culture may simply repackage older forms of stigma into modern language.
In my clinic, I hear people describe editing themselves. They hesitate before posting a photo, tone down their clothes, or keep quiet in relationships because they worry they’ll come across as needy, awkward, or just plain cringe. Underneath this fear is often a deeper anxiety: “If people really see me, will they reject me?”
Sometimes what we call cringe is simply seeing somebody being genuine and not knowing what to do with it. Enthusiasm, softness, joy, excitement and experimentation can all become targets. Yet these are also qualities that allow intimacy, creativity and connection to flourish.
Social media amplifies this dynamic. Online spaces reward wit, detachment and quick judgment and perhaps a toned body, perfect pout and a booty that rocks. Being emotionally sincere can feel risky. Within LGBTIQA+ communities themselves, pressure to appear attractive, clever or socially aware may create additional layers of self-consciousness and comparison.
Perhaps feeling embarrassed doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve done something wrong. Sometimes it simply means we’re allowing ourselves to be seen
A few things can help. Ask yourself whether you would judge a close friend as harshly as you judge yourself. Remember that online life is curated and rarely tells the whole story. Notice internalised shame. Sometimes the voice calling us “cringe” is simply an echo of earlier experiences of rejection or ridicule. I suspect that’s what happened for me with the necklace. And remember that genuine passions, emotional expression and even questionable fashion choices are signs of being human, not flaws.
It is often about becoming more willing to tolerate (or better yet, embrace) being imperfect and visible. Maybe I’ll still quietly think that necklace is too camp. But perhaps that’s less about him and more about the old messages I absorbed growing up. Maybe cringe isn’t something we eliminate. Maybe it’s something we notice, smile at, and refuse to let run our show.
Being authentic may occasionally feel embarrassing. But living behind layers of self-protection can be far lonelier than surviving a moment of cringe.
Andrew Macdonald is a Clinical Psychotherapist at www.jeffersonplace.com.au
