Sometimes, with a warm mug of chocolate milk in hand, I sit in my favourite chair and hit play on whatever series I’ve been binging—Assassination Classroom, Mob Psycho 100, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the way it makes me feel: comfort, pain, joy. Other times, I grab my Switch for a round of Cuphead or Mario Kart. The things I enjoy make me who I am. 

As I sip the drink slowly, I see someone, or rather, something, slinking towards me out of the corner of my eye. I whip my head around, quickly, to catch the perpetrator in the act. I raise my eyebrow at the figure that was watching me. He  was something that looked human – but wasn’t quite there yet, with jarringly pink clothing, stickers plastered all over his face, and the overenthusiasm of someone who tried too hard to tiptoe in clown shoes. No longer human, one could say. He  didn’t seem fazed by this in the slightest, however. On the contrary, he seemed to celebrate his own arrival with sparklers and music that peaked in 2003 on the world’s tiniest speaker. I instinctively opened my mouth to speak those words that I’d heard almost everyone utter at least once. “That’s kind of cr-” before I could finish, my TV turned off with terrible glitchy static. 

There was a soft pop where Pink, as I’ll call him, stood. I watched with my own eyes, as he exploded into glitter-confetti, and it was all instantly replaced by someone wearing the trendiest outfit of 2025 and sunglasses, sipping a drink coolly. “Ah!” exclaimed the new figure. “You’ve freed yourself of the gremlin. Welcome to the cool side!” He did finger guns at me, which could’ve been seen as endearing but it felt clinical and detached, as if it was only for show. I frowned. As Pink disappeared, so had my happiness. I slowly reach for the remote, hoping I could go back to relaxing, but I felt The Cool Guy^TM glaring daggers into my back as I turned it back on – my interests weren’t welcome here. 

I turn around to look at him with an equally harsh stare. “You’re not welcome here, if all you’re going to do is make a fuss. At least Pink made me feel comfortable.” 

The Cool Guy^TM lowered his sunglasses to look at me, and huffed. “Pink? That’s literally Cringe. Have fun with your kiddy games.” He stormily walked off. 

As Pink – no, Cringe – reappeared and fist-bumped my wrist, I realised something: he wasn’t a villain at all. The real villain was the way we’d been taught to fear him. Then, it’s no surprise the way all these ‘fads’ and ‘trends’ on TikTok and Instagram are upsetting to me: things about following the crowd, things about erasing who you are, things about having feelings and opinions being ‘cringe’. 

Ah, cringe. The killer of the modern mind. Everywhere you go, if you don’t conform to the norm, you’re going to be called out for being ‘cringe’. That’s all anyone is at this point… But why not welcome it with open arms? In all of its mismatched socks, dyed hair, oversized hoodie glory?  

If living is us trying to follow whoever’s popular, then is that truly a life worth living? No shame on those who relax with trends: but to those who hide their heart under designer water bottles and demon-like plushies, don’t we outnumber the followers? Show the true beauty of decorating our bags with an array of pins, our wrists with bracelets and our books with stickers. If in the end, we’re all going to be nothing but dust, if we’re all not special, then maybe that means what matters is what’s in our heart. 

Getting swept up in the backdraft of internet trends can be excruciating, especially to one’s mental health – everything becomes about following the queen bee, and time dulls for you in a way that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a thick jelly. 

Cringe isn’t real. It’s just the sound people make when they see you loving something louder than they dare to. Cringe is their chains rattling, their mirrors cracking. 

Wear Ouji fashion. Blast your playlist. Cheer for your favourite train model like it’s a celebrity. Decorate your life until it looks like you – on the inside with the real feels. 

Because the truth is simple: the only thing more cringe than being cringe… is wasting your life trying not to be. .