Normalize Making A Fool Out of Yourself: Embarrassing Moments as Points of Connection
The heart dropping into your stomach. The swaying feeling; being suddenly unsteady on your feet. The quick rising heat to your face. You’ve just mispronounced a word, or accidentally flashed people you know; you’ve slipped in the dorm laundry room, or locked eyes with your Tinder-match-gone-wrong. We’ve all been there; we all know the feeling of shame in embarrassing moments.
On a typical Saturday night host shift, my best friend and I were approached by a man who gestured for a menu, miming the action of flipping through pages. We immediately jumped up and started looking around, a little frantic.
“Oh, god, I don’t know if we have any braille menus that aren’t a million years old,” I said to my friend, who nodded her head and said she didn't think so either.
We flailed around for a little longer, pulling out a very old braille menu from a bottom shelf, until the man gestured again to get our attention and pointed to the menus behind us. He was deaf — not blind. We handed him a regular menu, smiling and awkwardly laughing, but as soon as he was gone, my friend and I turned to each other and slumped on the floor in complete and utter embarrassment.
We both admitted that we recognized that he was deaf, but somewhere, somehow, something in both of our brains misfired and equated deafness with braille menus. It was the lowest moment of our lives. We agreed right there and then to tell absolutely no one — not even my best friend’s boyfriend; not even my dad. And now I’m telling you, because I think it’s time to normalize making a complete fool out of yourself.
Virtually everything has potential to be embarrassing if we’re being honest. Watching your favorite show is embarrassing. Taking off your jacket in public is embarrassing. Being 20 when someone else is 21 is embarrassing. Writing this essay is embarrassing. What isn’t embarrassing — especially in the era with an expectation of sharing anything and everything with the world?
When I asked for stories of my friends, family, and peers’ most embarrassing moments, I was met with a few different reactions: my dad couldn’t think of anything, claiming he didn't dwell on those experiences; some of my peers expressed that their most embarrassing moments were pretty traumatizing (most of them were young children when it happened); others (those who told me that they were older when they experienced their shameful moment) seemed to take some pride in their story, writing humorously and with lots of description.
The former is how I felt for years; the latter, how I feel now. Because isn’t there a charm to being socially awkward; to making yourself vulnerable in front of others? When I think of the embarrassing things that have happened to my friends, coworkers, family, and even strangers, I smile — they carry a kind of affection in the way that someone shared their vulnerability with me.
When I was a kid, I certainly didn’t feel this way — as I hung my head and blushed whenever someone brought up something embarrassing I had done — but somewhere between early teen hood and the beginning of my twenties I realized that, without shame, I could take these experiences at face value. They’re moments that may teach you not to tug on your jacket zipper when it's stuck, or get drunk before a flight, but they also are a testament to the fact that you are just as human as everyone else. Now when I make a fool out of myself in front of someone, I let the shame pass right through me, and I have an immediate funny story to share.
But even the stories from those who felt the most negatively impacted by their experiences carry a kind of charm. One shared that when they cried to their mom about Harry Potter when they were 11, she told their brothers, resulting in a discomfort in sharing their interests today. Another shared that they were yelled at in front of a large group at camp for taking off their shoes when they were supposed to keep them on.
“Even though it seems like such a small moment, I remember feeling so much shame,” they wrote. “I think growing up in a Catholic school environment made me very sensitive to breaking the rules, because I was conditioned to feel so much guilt and shame for simply existing. To this day I'm still learning how to break the rules without feeling like something bad will happen.”
When I read these responses, I initially felt bad for believing that any embarrassing moment could be laughed at or brushed off. But then I thought, Why should they stay shameful? It’s charming to care about a fictional story so much that you share your vulnerability over it to someone you love; I continue to sob my eyes out and share it, even with those who are judgemental, anytime I see a reference to characters who have died in my favorite series. And it’s not your fault that you were conditioned to feel shame over breaking a rule; every time I catch myself feeling embarrassed over not following directions or making a mistake, I remind myself that this is something that I can unlearn.
And let's be honest: embarrassing moments make the best stories. Trying to think of something to say to your socially awkward coworker as a socially awkward person yourself? Recount the last time you had a coughing fit into the phone at an impatient customer! Don't know what to say on that jittery first date? Tell them how you flashed everyone at airport security while drunk!
These moments are gold mines of our greatest personality traits. If you disconnect yourself from the shame you feel at the time, you’re just another person in a society of momentary-idiots who constantly make public mistakes.
As someone anonymously shared with me when I asked for embarrassing stories, there is a Chinese saying explaining that “‘if you leave the awkward part for others, you're not the one embarrassed.’”
While this may be difficult at first to implement in the moment, let's go ahead and agree to do so now as a group: tell your stories and make yourself look like an idiot; laugh and cry and share it away, and leave the shame for someone else.