Owning My Cringe – Why Vulnerability Is My Rebellion Against Cultural Hegemony

I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, yet for some, this openness is labeled "cringe." It’s funny, isn’t it? The way vulnerability, once a symbol of strength, can now be twisted into something shameful. Our society loves to mock those who openly feel, while paradoxically demanding authenticity. But is cringe really about being "too much"? Or is it simply a consequence of rejecting the comfort of apathy in favor of deep, unfiltered emotion?

I’ve come to believe it’s the latter. The word "cringe" is, in many ways, a tool of cultural hegemony—a term used to police the boundaries of what’s acceptable within the dominant culture. It’s a gatekeeper that ensures we stay within the confines of what feels safe, what’s familiar, and what won’t challenge the status quo.

Cringe: The Price of Feeling in a World Addicted to Irony

When did caring become cringeworthy? In a world where sarcasm reigns supreme and irony is the default emotional setting, people like me—those who feel deeply—are labeled as "too much." But what does it say about our society when sincerity is seen as something to mock? Take a look at Instagram—where meme accounts, often anonymous, churn out posts mocking everything from emotional vulnerability to the rise of meme stocks. It’s as if the online realm, which many assume represents the real world in its own form, has become one giant Instagram meme—funny, sarcastic, but hollow. For some, this is reality. For others, it’s a distortion of human connection.

Accounts that focus on meme stocks, like @wallstreetbets, or those that mock everyday emotional experiences, thrive on their ability to turn even the most serious topics into jokes. Humor, yes, but also a way to shield ourselves from ever feeling too deeply. For a long time, I numbed myself just to fit in. I went along with the irony, the detachment, and I denied who I really was—someone who feels deeply, someone who cares too much. And for what? To blend in? To not be called cringe? It wasn’t worth the emotional toll it took. Cringe is often nothing more than a reaction to discomfort—when our vulnerability highlights the emotional numbness others cling to for safety. And for that, I embrace the cringe.

Policing Emotion: How Cultural Hegemony Makes Us Afraid to Be Real

The term "cringe" does more than just insult—it keeps us in check. It’s a way to ensure that we don’t stray too far from the invisible norms dictated by cultural hegemony. When we step outside those lines—whether by feeling too much, caring too openly, or expressing ideas that challenge dominant ideologies—we’re labeled and shamed into submission.

I remember my university professor once called me "eclectic." At the time, I wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Was it a compliment? A polite way to say I didn’t fit into any one category? But now I see it as one of the best things anyone could say about me. To be eclectic is to pull from different spheres, to refuse being boxed in by the status quo. I later channeled that eclecticism into my first streetwear brand, Eclective, during university. It was a reflection of all the things I loved: blending cultural references, challenging norms, creating something new out of the old. It felt authentic, but the pressures of conformity and life led me to discontinue it.

Funny enough, those same ideas have resurfaced in Captured Zeitgeist. For a while, I toyed with calling this account Eclectic Sphere or Eclective again—because that’s how I see the world: a complex, interwoven set of influences, ideas, and emotions. But naming it Captured Zeitgeist felt right—it’s a reflection of my journey to capture the spirit of the times, both personally and in society, with all its messiness and contradictions. I’ve realized that being eclectic—whether in fashion, thought, or life—isn’t something to suppress; it’s something to celebrate.

Cancel Culture and the Battle for Ideological Survival

Cancel culture operates in a similar space, masquerading as accountability while often becoming a weapon of control. At its best, it seeks justice and accountability for harm caused. At its worst, it creates a climate of fear where one misstep can lead to public erasure. What happens when every action is scrutinized through the lens of cultural hegemony, where deviation from accepted narratives leads to your "cancellation"?

We saw this starkly during COVID-19. Doctors, teachers, and even ordinary people lost their jobs and livelihoods because they dared to express a different view or were caught on the "wrong side" of an evolving public debate. Expertise, once considered solid ground, was no longer enough. Suddenly, your social standing, credibility, and even your career were at risk, not because of what you did, but because of what you said—or didn’t say. COVID laid bare how fragile our positions in society really are. You can be canceled not just socially, but economically. You can lose your credibility overnight for not aligning with the mainstream narrative. It’s a form of survival—an attempt to fit in by any means necessary. I used to fear that I might say the wrong thing and find myself at odds with the social expectations around me. But numbing myself to fit in came at the expense of my own integrity. I lost touch with my values, my voice, and my truth.

Where Can We Belong? The Struggle of Subcultures in a Hypercritical World

Subcultures once thrived as safe havens for the misfits, the rebels, the ones who refused to conform. Punk, goth, hip-hop—these were spaces for expression without judgment. But even these pockets of resistance are no longer immune to the all-seeing gaze of the internet. What used to be sacred spaces are now commodified and dissected. I once tried to fit into certain subcultures, hoping they’d be a refuge for me. But even there, the pressure to conform was suffocating.

Memes about subcultures—be it fashion, stocks, or underground music scenes—now become viral, flattened into a format meant to make us laugh but also alienate those who don’t "get it." Can true belonging still exist in a hyperconnected, hypercritical world, where every subculture is either absorbed by the mainstream or torn apart for not being inclusive enough?

Choosing Vulnerability: Why I Refuse to Numb Myself for Acceptance

I’ve made the conscious decision to keep my heart open, even when it’s labeled cringe. Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s a radical act of defiance in a world that celebrates emotional detachment. To feel deeply is to live fully, and in the face of cultural pressures to blend in, I choose to stand out. Yes, it opens me up to judgment, but it also opens me up to real connection—and isn’t that the point of being human? I spent too much time numbing myself, trying to be smaller, trying to be less. Now, I’m reclaiming my space and my right to feel.

Cringe as Rebellion: Feeling Deeply Is My Act of Resistance

In many ways, being called cringe is the highest compliment. It means I’m doing something right—I’m breaking through the layers of social conditioning that tell me to keep it cool, stay detached, never care too much. I’ve come to see my vulnerability as an act of rebellion, a middle finger to the cultural hegemony that thrives on keeping us small, scared, and silent. If caring makes me cringe, then so be it—I’ll wear it proudly. After years of numbing myself to fit in, I’m finally feeling alive again. Maybe it’s time to revive Eclective too—this time as a brand that’s unapologetically me, no longer worrying about whether it fits in or not.

Redefining Cool: How I Made Peace with Being 'Too Much'

The real power lies in reclaiming what it means to be cool. For too long, cool has been synonymous with aloofness, a kind of emotional distance that keeps us all at arm’s length. But what if we flipped that narrative? What if cool was about feeling everything, embracing it all, and not caring whether it makes people uncomfortable? That’s the kind of cool I’m after—the kind that refuses to apologize for being passionate, vulnerable, and, yes, maybe a little cringe. I used to mute myself for fear of being "too much." Now, I know that being "too much" is exactly what I need to be.

Love and Light,

T