If LinkedIn makes you cringe, read this

When we flinch at someone else’s post, it’s usually because they’re breaking an unspoken rule we’ve absorbed about how to show up in the world. So what if cringe isn’t about them - it’s about us?

LinkedIn gets a bad rap for cringe. Oversharing. Humblebrags. Try-hard thought leadership. And, yeah, some of it’s painful.

But “cringe” is complicated. What one person finds embarrassing, another may find bold, refreshing, or even inspiring.

At Medbury, our tagline is zero cringe. That doesn’t mean avoiding strong opinions or personal stories in our content for leaders. But it does mean crafting content that’s self-aware, competent, and aligned with our clients’ voices.

And if something feels like it belongs on The Best of LinkedIn, we’ll strongly advise against it.

But, in working with so many leaders, we’ve noticed something: we do our best work for the folks who aren’t hyper-focused on avoiding cringe.

The most successful clients we work with tend to:

✅ Be open to experimenting.
✅ Trust our expertise, taste and instincts.
✅ See their digital presence as a tool, not a perfect mirror of who they are.
✅ Step back and let us do our thing - which, ironically, ensures the content is never what I’d consider cringe.

On the flip side, the “cringiest” content we see isn’t from people who don’t care - it’s often from people who care too much. When someone is so nervous about getting it just right, that they overthink, over-edit, throw in multiple qualifiers or tangents, or strip a post of the very thing that made it engaging in the first place.

Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately:

Cringe is Judgment, Dressed Up as Taste

So sorry to be the bearer of bad news - but when you find someone else “cringe,” it’s usually not about them.

Cringe feels like a clean reaction:
"Ugh, they’re trying too hard."
"That’s bad writing."
"Lame."

But if you step back and get really honest, I think you might notice something else:

Your response to an innocuous piece of content - one that has zero impact on you - is actually a reaction to watching someone break the unspoken rules you’ve absorbed about how to show up in the world.

Rules like:
➡ Don’t brag.
➡ Don’t try too hard.
➡ Don’t be vulnerable.
➡ Only share what’s perfect.

When someone breaks those rules, you might judge them - not because their post is bad, but because they’re embodying something you’ve rejected in yourself, or are doing something you won’t allow yourself to do.

Which is textbook projection. Your shadow has entered the chat. 🌚

Cringe is (often) Projection

(Do you find that freeing? I find that freeing.)

Here’s how that projection can show up in your reactions to other people’s content:

If you’ve been taught humility is a virtue, watching someone share a win might make you very uncomfortable - not because their post is inappropriate, but because it pokes at the part of you that wants to be seen and celebrated but doesn’t think it’s allowed.

If you’ve been told vulnerability is weakness, someone opening up might feel cringey - not because they’re oversharing (even if they totally are), but because it might highlight how closely you guard your own vulnerabilities, even in private.

But labeling something as cringe lets you avoid that insight and discomfort.

It shifts the focus to them - their awkward post, their failed effort, their lack of taste -giving you permission to move on. Unbothered and invulnerable.

When Cringe Turns Inward

Self-cringe is a different beast. It’s not projection - it’s friction. It’s negative self-talk manifesting as a feeling in your body.

And it’s pretty adjacent to shame and self-loathing on the ‘ol map, I think. You try something new, and it doesn’t come out right… ugh, ugh, UGH. Suddenly, disappearing under the nearest rock for a few decades seems like the only way forward.

It’s uncomfortable because trying in public is uncomfortable.

A lot of us have been taught to make effort look invisible - to only show the perfect, finished version of ourselves. But real effort - the messy, visible kind - reveals exactly where you’re still learning.

And if you grew up in an environment that demanded perfection, being publicly mid at something - even just for a small period of time - is going to feel, well, deeply shitty and shameful.

The Antidote to Cringe is Compassion

Cringe may have a lot of us in a chokehold, but it also has a weakness.

Like most parts of our shadow, it thrives on resistance. And it falls apart in the face of curiosity and acceptance.

When you cringe at someone else, it’s a signal to pause and ask: What is this really about in ME?

Their awkward writing, failed effort, or intense vulnerability probably isn’t the real problem. But it might be shining a light on a part of you that still believes you have to be perfect to be loved.

And when you cringe at yourself, it’s a reminder to soften - to practice self-compassion. To let go of perfectionism and see the bigger picture: growth, good taste, progress and imperfection can all live side by side.

And hey - give those folks on LinkedIn a break. They’re really trying.

PS. If you're a marketer looking for support with your exec team’s content or a leader who wants a strong digital presence without second-guessing every post, let’s talk. Book time here.

PPS. Here are two great This Jungian Life episodes on The Shadow and Projection, if you’re interested to dig in more on those concepts.

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This newsletter is produced by Medbury. We’re an agency focused on LinkedIn strategy and content for leadership teams and brands. Check out our site, follow us on LinkedIn or Instagram, or book 15 minutes to learn about our work.