The teens I work with are scared to seem too excited about anything. They call it being cringe. I think it comes from social anxiety and this pressure to be perfect all the time. What helps is when I share my own awkward stories. It usually breaks the tension and they finally relax enough to have a real conversation.
I have experienced this phenomenon firsthand. The online environment has created a situation where people avoid showing passion or vulnerability because they fear becoming the subject of viral content. People hide their true selves because they fear becoming "cringe" which leads them to display fake coolness instead of their authentic joy. The authentic expression of art and leadership and beauty exists in the vulnerable area where people show their true emotions. Greta's popularity emerged from her authentic emotional state. She presented herself as an unpolished young person who expressed her emotions directly to the world. Her authentic nature created distress for numerous observers. The way she made people feel uncomfortable holds a strong appeal to me. Society requires more individuals who will openly express their concern for others.
I've spent three decades working with people in mental health crisis, homelessness, and recovery--populations society often dismisses as "too much" or uncomfortable to witness. What strikes me is that vulnerability has always made people uncomfortable, but now there's a new layer: performing detachment has become a social currency. In 2020, when we maintained a 98.3% housing retention rate with formerly homeless residents, it wasn't because people acted cool about their second chance. It was because they let themselves be desperately, openly grateful--crying at key handovers, calling us at midnight when they were scared of relapsing. That raw emotion is what kept them housed. The few who performed like everything was fine? Those were our at-risk cases. I chair the American Association of Service Coordinators, and we're seeing a troubling pattern with younger case managers. They document everything clinically but resist the messy, passionate advocacy work--calling a landlord five times, showing up unannounced when someone's in crisis. They treat emotional investment like it's unprofessional. But the 100,000+ residents we serve across California don't need polished neutrality. They need someone who gives enough of a damn to be "cringe" about fighting for them. The seniors aging in place in our properties? They dance in our community rooms, cry about their grandkids, get furiously passionate about bingo night rules. They're our most stable population. Connection requires the willingness to look foolish, and we've somehow convinced ourselves that's weakness instead of strength.
Hi there, I'm Lachlan Brown, a mindfulness-focused psychologist and co-founder of The Considered Man (a platform on men's mental resilience and mindful living). I often write about how online dynamics reshape emotion and behavior in the real world. You can find my bio on these links: https://hackspirit.com/about https://theconsideredman.org/about I'd like to contirbute to your piece since I find the topic of "cringe" very interssting these days. What you're seeing isn't isolated. Since 2020, I've noticed a sharp rise in defensive detachment, specifically people perform "I don't care" as armor. Based on my research, rhree forces drive it: 1. Platforms reward high-arousal reactions. As a reuslt, arnestness becomes a liability because it's easily clipped, memed, and mocked at scale. 2. After years of collective stress (pandemic, politics), many default to cool distance to avoid more disappointment or ridicule. 3. Social life now happens under imagined surveillance (e.g., we wonder "What will this look like online?"), so we choose safe irony over visible passion. I believe that Greta's backlash fits the pattern: memeification converts passion into a punchline, teaching bystanders that earnest stakes are socially risky. The club example is similar - people are dancing less because being seen feeling now carries a reputational cost. In my work, small enclaves of psychological safety rapidly reverse the effect. It could be something like phone-free rooms, invitation-only dance nights, communities with explicit "no-mocking" norms. When the perceived audience shrinks, passion returns. Thanks for this query and hope you find my insights useful! Let me know if you need more insights. Cheers, Lachlan Brown Mindfulness Expert | Co-founder, The Considered Man https://theconsideredman.org/
I'm Calin Oancea, 17 years old and the founder of Oancea Media, and I have over five years of experience with this trend because I experienced it myself as an insider in class. From what I have seen, this nonchalance trend totally dims the genuine expression of many people, even activism, that is triggered by meme-driven insult. The best way forward is embracing authenticity strategically, turning vulnerability into an asset for a stronger digital presence. It's like we hide our excitement just to fit in and not be the next viral joke. But when someone is real and honest, even if it's "cringe," there can be cases when it actually stands out and inspires others to do the same. - Calin Oancea, CEO, oanceamedia.com If you find this helpful, I would be more than happy to provide more detailed information or answer any of your questions. Thanks for your consideration.
Lots of the teens I work with are terrified of being called 'cringe.' It's a defense mechanism, really. They hide their interests to avoid judgment, but that just leaves them feeling isolated. So I ask about what they actually love, the stuff they might be scared to share. I tell them to ignore that voice in their head saying it's stupid and just do what they enjoy.
Looking at user journals in our Lumira app, I see people holding back. They worry that sharing what they really think will make them seem too emotional or eager. I think it's because online, you get rewarded for being ironic or cool, not passionate. Writing things down for yourself is a good first step. It's a way to figure out what you actually like without the pressure of an audience.