Melissa Dahl - Cringeworthy: Why Some People Are Comfortable In Any Situation – And Some Never Are

Have you ever said goodbye to someone only to discover that youre both walking in the same direction? Or had your next thought fly out of your head in the middle of a conversation? Or accidentally liked an old photo on someones social media feed, revealing yourself to be a bit of a stalker?

Melissa Dahl has experienced all of these awkward situations, and many more. Now she invites you to follow her into lifes most mortifying moments, drawing on personal experience and in-depth psychological research to offer a thoughtful, original take on what it really means to feel awkward. Along the way she answers the questions that confound us all, including:

• Why are situations without clear rules likely to turn awkward?
• Are people really judging us as harshly as we think they are?
• Does anyone ever truly outgrow their awkwardness?

If you can learn to tolerate the most awkward situations networking, difficult conversations, hearing the sound of your own voice your awkwardness can be a secret weapon to making better, more memorable impressions. When everyone else is pretending to have it under control, you can be a little braver and grow a little bigger.

Melissa Dahl is a senior editor for New Yorks The Cut, where she covers health and psychology. In 2014, she co-founded NYMag.coms popular social-science site Science of Us. Her work has appeared in Elle, Parents and TODAY.com. Cringeworthy is her first book.

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First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bantam Press

an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright Melissa Dahl 2018
Cover design by Beci Kelly/TW
Facepalm icon by Edward Boatman, from the Noun Project

Melissa Dahl has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473541603

ISBN 9780593077467

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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For Dodie Potthoff

How embarrassing to be human.

Kurt Vonnegut, Hocus Pocus

HOW COME NO one here likes Hanson?!! I exclaim weakly. Im reading aloud from a small spiral-bound notebookdark neon purple with multicolored swirls and starspurchased for $6.99 at a Claires in 1997. It is my seventh-grade journal, and Im reading it now, twenty years later, to three people I only met this morning. Ive been getting pictures of them off the Internet almost all day today and theyre so cute! How could anyone not like them?

I stop and look up from the journal. I feel like I should note that every time I write to, its the number and not the word, I say to my audience. All four of us are seated in armchairs near the bar at Littlefield, a performance venue in Brooklyn. Before today, Ive only been here at night, and its a little disorienting to see it in the muted light of a sunny January afternoon, though this is by far the least surreal aspect of whats happening right now.

The three strangers listening to me read are Stephen Chupaska, a bespectacled man with floppy brown hair and a skinny scarf, both of which he has a habit of tossing back with a flourish; Christina Galante, a woman with a wry smile and animated eyes who is taking notes on a laptop as I speak; and John Dorcic, an affable, extroverted guy with a neatly groomed goatee. They are producers for the New York City branch of Mortified, a live show in which performers read from their teenage diaries. Onstage. In front of hundreds of people. I think Ive had a version of that nightmare before, but in it I was only physically naked, not emotionally so.

This is my audition for a spot in the show later this year, and I feel like Im maybe blowing it. The word audition is in quotes because Ive been instructed by Dave Nadelberg, the creator of Mortified, not to call it that. It isnt one, not really, because anyone brave enough to volunteer to be in this show is welcome to participate, provided they have enough material they created during their teenage years for a ten-minute piece. But Im skeptical about my chances. Ive spent the last two hours sitting in on a curating session, to use Nadelbergs preferred term, and Im in awe of the people Ive seen already today. True, a lot of its been silly. One guy ended every journal entry with a detailed description of everything he wore and everything he ate that day, plus a signature daily sign-off: PEACE, one love. But most of what Ive heard today has suggested the beginnings of some real artistic talent. Earlier this morning, a woman read poetry she wrote in high school, which Galante, the shows lead producer, rejected because it was too good. I do not expect to encounter that problem.

At my 2, not to explanation, the three producers nod politely, then indicate that I should keep going. I take a shaky breath and continue reading the March 7, 1998, entry, cringing harder with every word. What am I gonna do? I have to call long distance if I want to talk about Hanson!