Lessons in judgement

or, trying for all the world to see.

Dear reader,

Every time I write, it feels like I’m escaping an invisible cell. I grab my digging instrument (a decently sized dessert spoon I traded for two packs of cigarettes and a copy of Pride and Prejudice out in the prison yard), peal up the poster hiding a hole in the wall, and continue digging my tunnel to freedom.

I’m locked in cringe jail, and the only way out is through.

Outside, a prison guard patrols. I am also her. She watches, waits, anticipates my next move. “Don’t try it,” she/I say. The other me (the one in the cell if you’re still following) tries her/my best to ignore it, and thinks ‘surely freedom is coming soon…right?’

Well it’s 16 months and 18 newsletters later, and my parole’s been denied. I’ve tried to push past the imposter syndrome, the self doubt and the mortifying realisation that people I know actually read these words, and so can anyone else because currently, over, like, two thousand of you are (thank you so much btw) on a regular-ish basis of whenever I can muster up something worthy of a post.

A cringe diagnosis - of the self and others

At what point do I (and by extension you and we) become okay with all of that? When is it acceptable to call yourself a writer or a content creator or an artist or an athlete, and feel okay to admit that you’re putting yourself out there in pursuit of something? Do we get out of cringe jail by means of self-reliance and sheer determination to free ourselves from the shackles of self-doubt? Or is it the onlookers, the parole board, the friends/family/parasocial acquaintances who deem us worthy of our release by validating our success?

We judge ourselves, or we judge others, or we feel like others are judging us. The holy cringity. Amen.

It feels like it’s cringe to try. Or, at least, it’s cringe, until you’re doing well - then it’s called success.

It’s cringe to have hobbies that you’re passionate about, until you can monetise them or pursue them with effortless excellence - you’d best just hope you’re not seen trying along the way.

Just to be clear, I actually don’t judge myself for writing. As I said, this is my tunnel to freedom (or maybe it’s my spoon to freedom that’s digging the tunnel? I don’t know, the metaphor’s been going on a few paragraphs now). But I do judge myself for looking like an amateur or like I’ve not made it yet, and I often think about people seeing this and judging me for it, and then I judge myself all over again.

And I hate to admit it and I hate that I do it, but I catch myself judging other people too, for better or worse. ‘Who looks like they’re trying too hard?’ I ask myself, a rich question coming from me. I don’t mean to be mean, it’s just an innate inescapable reaction that I’ll hold my hands up but blame society for, obviously.

Cringestagram

Interestingly, my judgement seems solely reserved for people online, as do so many of the ‘cringe’ reactions and compilations on YouTube and just the general vibe of the internet. It’s a window into people’s lives, or at least the lives they’re putting out there, so there’s so much on display to look at, to think about, and to consider cringe.

The digital world is made to feel like art of the lowest form. If someone told you to get a ‘real job’, you’d probably think of doctor, lawyer or something else your parents would be proud of. It’s strange to think that now, with it being easier than ever to ‘put yourself out there’, you can create a living out of creating content magicked out of thin air (and a phone and a bit of editing). If you’re talented and/or lucky, you can turn a hobby into a job and become self-employed or at least start a side hustle. And if you’re lucky and maybe a little less talented (obviously subjective), you can still eat chicken, become a cuck, sell you’re own crypto currency and make some money on your way. Hey if it works, it works - who am I to judge…

Whatever you do, you’re still at the mercy of the world. You’ve got to have rhino-thick skin not to care when anyone can comment anything they like and shatter your dreams in seconds. You’re trying - and maybe even failing - in front of anyone who wants to see, and even those who don’t.

That’s what putting yourself out there means now. It’s not just about revealing a little bit about yourself to someone else anymore. It’s revealing a little bit about yourself to millions and hoping they approve.

Cringe is dead. (Long live the cringe!)

Of course, not everyone fits this mould. Some lucky few are free from the constraints of cringe and just genuinely don’t care what other people think, one of whom told me “cringe is dead” when I described this piece to her.

It’s an interesting idea, and maybe she’s right. It’s 2025. Though we have and haven’t come so far, surely we’re better than this. I’m better than this. Maybe the time for cringe really has passed. Maybe it’s a relic that should be laid to rest like #justgirlythings and moustaches everywhere. Maybe the mark of true success is letting go of judgement in all its forms and just living, peacefully.

After all, I don’t want to be sat here watching, waiting, hoping for the day that cringe becomes cool. Silly becomes success. Passion becomes profession and then the pursuit was all worth it. I want to be okay now, and not wince when someone brings up my ‘blog’ and I regret ever starting this silly Substack and calling it a silly name and making it a silly logo. Trying isn’t silly. It’s better than never going for it and judging all the same. Anyone can sit back and do that - it’s too easy. So kudos to the ones who have the courage of their convictions that you should just go for it, whatever it is, try and fail and try again and not really give much of a shit.

Grab that spoon and tunnel away,

~ Cesca