In defense of cringe

And other links for your Sunday

My daughter tells me I am cringe. My clothes. My hair. My music. Especially my dance moves. This doesn’t bother me. Every generation has to push away from the one before. We all begin adulthood defining ourselves against our parents.

Plus, once her friend called me a “baddie” so you can’t tell me shit.

But I know I am cringe. I always have been. I’ve never been good at being cool. I talk too loud. I cry at movies and TV shows. I am really earnest during conversations. I take a lot of things too seriously. I can overthink anything. I’ve always been too much of a believer, with too much conviction. A little too righteous.