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Death of Cringe Culture —
What comes to mind when you think of the word cringe?
To me, it’s a kind of weaponized term that’s held me back — as a creative, as a person — and is the reason I’ve shelved many, many projects and ideas. Vancouver’s been my city since I was a kid — I grew up here, where, despite our insanely beautiful surroundings, people are often viewed as stoic and judgemental.
Our fashion bubble, though blessed with a world-renowned shop, can feel quite hostile. The stares and whispers at every event — or even just walking through one of our more culturally-buzzing neighbourhoods — it’s exhausting. My anxiety has only heightened since the pandemic, and I resort to chewing gum to help ease my mind in social settings, or even when I’m running daily errands.
Now, as my interests and wardrobe shifts, my anxiety also shifts, and its only grown since starting this Substack:
“Do people think I’m cringe for what I cover? Am I ridiculed behind closed doors for not being as well-versed compared to other writers?”
These are all thoughts that come to mind whenever visiting a shop, walking through certain neighbourhoods, attending events, etc.
You eventually burn out. It’s not because of how much work you’re putting in, but the incessant overthinking and stress over — what I see now as — the most minuscule of things. Cringe — fuck that, and all connotations behind it. Well, at least when it comes to putting yourself out there to succeed and grow, both personally and creatively.
After writing about fashion for about nine months now, — plus the years of working in this space as a photographer and my original publication (Casa Montego) — I’ve reached a point where I genuinely don’t care. If I want to post stories of my latest article, or curate my Instagram in a way that represents me best, then you best believe I will do that.
I have an objective, and it’s to succeed in the space I’m most interested in. Whether it’s by continuing this newsletter, or finding work at a publication (ideally with good benefits, but I’m flexible). If you see someone promoting their post on X, Y, and Z platform, or stepping out of their comfort zone to finally do something they love — is that considered cringe?
Wouldn’t you do the same damn thing? The number of people I know that choose to move in silence because they feel their friends and following will think they’re cringe for pursuing something they love — it’s tough to see. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like we’re starting to lack empathy toward one another.
In an interview with ABC News Australia, Ocean Vuong shared how “cringe culture” is holding young people back. “This ‘cringe culture’ is ‘I don’t want to be perceived as trying and having an effortful attempt at my dreams,” Vuong shared, touching on his experience as a professor, and seeing how his students feel held back by this culture we’ve allowed to grow, both virtually and publicly. “I think sincerity is something we deeply hunger for, particularly young people, but we are embarrassed when sincerity is in the room.”
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Three months ago you would’ve heard me say, “Well, I’m not really a writer.” Am I only considered cringe until my newsletter takes off, or until it’s acknowledged by a top executive at an out-of-touch publication, or by some notable cool guy in the fashion community?
I’m a Writer, this is what I enjoy doing — even though I’ve been going through creative slumps. Doesn’t matter if these articles get zero engagement or a ton of reception — I know what I am, and I’m going to keep doing what I love doing. If I’m going to be a content-slut and push any new work on my socials, then I’m going to do it, and so should you.
When it comes to looks, I’m not going to sell myself as some saint, and say I’ve always been accepting of everyone’s fits. There have been moments where I’d wonder why someone would wear x piece, when really I should be applauding them for staying true to themselves. We’re so scared of the unknown, and in this case, our fear response is that of cringe — it’s unhealthy, it holds us back.
Suggestion: You don’t like an outfit. Okay, why? What would you change? What’s working and what isn’t? Keep the vision in mind, and find ways to elevate it in a way that stays true to who the person is.
We need more constructive criticism instead of immediate rejection.
One of the many reasons why I love Comme des Garçons, and the labels in the CDG-verse, is community around the label consisting of incredibly well-dressed people like Yến-Nhi, Sean, and Stepanini. Seeing these individuals always leave me wondering how I can elevate my looks — even if I’m just grabbing a coffee down the street. To be transparent, public perception is one of many reasons why I’ve changed stylistically, and it’s a shame. I definitely dress in a way reflects who I am quite well, but I do miss the more experimental looks I’d wear.
A friend of mine returned from France recently, and we discussed the differences between European and North American creatives. We both agreed that people here are too reliant on how they’re perceived, therefore, limiting them to stay in one lane — the one shown on accounts like Uniform Display. People want to feel accepted, and I completely understand that, but it seems to end there.
Compared to Europe — and especially Asia — where people are unapologetically themselves, dressing for themselves, and it’s widely accepted. It’s a level of confidence that we all strive for, yet feels so hard to attain. What’s crazier is how these subcultures, born right outside of our window, are adopted globally. For example, I recently saw Tokyo-Ga by Wim Wenders, and there’s a scene featuring the Tokyo Rockabillies that stuck with me since.
There’s no denying this — I’m more than sure that 99% of the readers here would snicker if they saw someone in a full Rockabilly fit IRL. That’s the problem: we cringe at the sight of someone expressing themselves fully on our way home, but once we reach our destination — we begin our silent battle with ourselves, wishing we were more confident, extroverted, funny, etc.
The number of times I’ve heard someone — including myself — say they need to live elsewhere to feel more accepted, and be who themselves without reservation. We’ll feel like city lacks culture, but rather than help to improve it, we’ll walk away like one of many Love Island contestants after a heated discussion. Rather than shutting down, think about how you can contribute — whether it’s by meeting up with others, starting new projects, supporting likeminded people.
From personal experience, I’ve had people come up to me to say how an outfit of mine, or an article I wrote, helped them step out of their comfort zone. It’s surreal, and I remind myself of this whenever I’ve felt like quitting altogether. You can shape your surroundings through your interests, and by being yourself. That one post you drop — showing a new fit, piece you wrote, photo you took — could start a chain-reaction, inspiring people to take that next step.
Once you get over the idea of appeasing to others, wearing something like a Rockabilly fit — or in my case, one of my many previous Comme fits — feels liberating. Dress for yourself, write for yourself, do what you love to do — eliminate the concern of what others think, and be selfish: focus on yourself.
Those drinking the Haterade, and criticizing every move you make are the same ones wishing it were them building an audience, working with brands, and making additional income by creating fit videos and reviews. Keep pushing yourself forward — that’s all I can say.
Don’t become the angry old man shaking their fist at the sky.
TL;DR:
Who gives a shit what people think. Go do what you love, and don’t look back.
Thanks for reading!
I appreciate your support as I work to grow this newsletter into something bigger — a full publication with interviews, collection coverage, and maybe working with larger publications.
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- Chris
ayo i’m growing my bangs out right now so i can become a rockabilly pass the rogane
Allergic to haterade