I’ve always hesitated to describe something or someone as “cringe.” To me, it feels like a vague, catch-all term people use when something makes them uncomfortable. I don’t often experience that discomfort myself—or at least, I think I don’t. During my teenage years, I noticed the word being tossed around frequently, which only reinforced my belief that its meaning was deteriorating. This, in turn, made me want to distance myself from it even more. Since I participated in hobbies often labeled as “cringe” (like enjoying anime), I never really bought into the whole “cringe culture” and continued to enjoy what I liked.
I often thought of many people and things as “weird,” but I never reached a point where I’d label them as “cringe” or feel so uncomfortable that I couldn’t communicate my feelings to the person involved. Sometimes, with certain coworkers, I felt irritated or annoyed, but I rarely felt “cringe” regarding the actions or behavior of others.
Fast forward a few years to about two years ago, when I was nearing the end of my college journey. One evening, feeling a bit lonely, I decided to reach out to some old friends. I had a wonderful classmate from college (let’s call her Alice) with whom I enjoyed talking, joking, and occasionally tutoring in various subjects. After switching colleges, we lost touch for about four years. Mustering up some courage, I called her, and to my surprise and relief, she was thrilled to hear from me. We talked for hours about our past years of study, future prospects, mutual friends, our interests, and even some aimless philosophical banter. I was glad and hoped we could continue this engaging conversation in the future.
As the night grew late, we ended the call on a positive note. I shared my contact information, and she reached out later. I suggested we meet for a walk and talk, but she politely declined, explaining that she was in a relationship. I assured her that I was only interested in a platonic connection and understood her desire to keep some distance from people of the opposite gender to prioritize her significant other. We seemed to part on good terms.
A few weeks later, I decided to call her again to share some news. Maybe it was a bit inappropriate to call someone who recently indicated they were in a relationship, but I didn’t feel she had given me any signals that I couldn’t reach out. This time, however, I was met with bad luck. When Alice picked up, she greeted me with a grumpy, “What do you want?” in the most irritated tone I had heard from her in a while. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I tried to tell her about my day, and she seemed completely uninterested. It felt like she had just woken up or was dealing with something personal, and my sudden intrusion didn’t sit well with her. I apologized for the unexpected call, and we left it at that.
I don’t remember if we communicated again after that. If we did, it might have been a brief mention of switching my messaging app, which would make me even harder to reach. I still haven’t fully transitioned away from Signal, though.
A few months later, I met up with a close friend (let’s call him Bob), who had also been in college with Alice. I was happy to hear that he had seen her recently and wanted to reminisce about the good times we had together. However, Bob then shared something I probably shouldn’t have heard: “Don’t take it personally, but Alice thinks you’re kinda cringe.”