Cringe Has Been The Genre From 2020
Once upon a time, “cringe” was something you felt. Now it’s something you seek out, share, and sometimes- if you’re brave, monetize.
CringeTok isn’t just a side effect of social media. It’s a full-blown genre. One that has its own stars, plot arcs (yes, the guy who thinks he’s a wolf did finally get a girlfriend), and dedicated Reddit threads. You’re not just watching someone embarrass themselves anymore. You’re watching a performance. A lifestyle. Sometimes even a business strategy.
And honestly? It works.
Why We Can’t Stop Watching Trainwrecks
Let’s be real. The reason we watch a dude aggressively air-hump to a sped-up Drake song in his kitchen isn’t because we’re impressed. It’s because our brains are wired to rubberneck. It’s the same reason we slow down to stare at a car crash even though we know we shouldn’t.
Secondhand embarrassment is weirdly sticky. Psychologists say it lights up the same areas in your brain as actual social pain. But instead of turning away, we hit replay. Send it to friends. Add it to a “Cringe Hall of Fame” playlist.
There’s a comfort in watching someone else be more awkward than us. A guilty thrill in seeing them commit so hard to something so very wrong. Like a 3-minute spoken word rant about alpha energy delivered in front of a mirror- shirtless.
We know we shouldn’t enjoy it. And yet, here we are.
The Shorter, the Better: Clip Culture Wins
Cringe has always been around. But what made it explode? Simple: short-form video.
TikTok, YouTube Shorts, Instagram Reels—these are the breeding grounds of bite-sized secondhand shame. You don't need context. You don’t even need sound half the time. You just need 7 seconds of pure, unfiltered awkwardness.
Clip culture turned long, slow-developing awkward moments into snackable humiliation. No more scrubbing through a 12-minute apology video. Just cut to the single frame where their tear ducts fail them. Freeze. Zoom. Add a caption like “bro didn’t even blink” and boom—you’ve got a viral moment.
And this is where tools like YouTube cutter or YouTube trimmers sneak into the scene. People aren’t downloading the whole video. They’re slicing out that 10-second bit where the guy says, “As a sigma male…” and uploading it to oblivion.
We’ve all seen it. And yeah, we’ve all laughed.
The Tools Behind the Clip (and Why People Use Them)
Here’s the thing: cringeworthy content isn’t just happening. It’s being curated. Mined. Clipped like digital ore.
There’s a whole micro-industry of people using tools like SliceTube, a YouTube trimmer that lets you clip just the golden (or in this case, cringey) nugget and toss the rest. No need to download a 45-minute live stream. Just extract the five seconds where a self-proclaimed life coach kisses his biceps and shouts, “Success is a mindset!” into the void.
It’s efficient. It’s brutal. And it’s how content spreads.
Reaction TikToks? Reddit threads? Twitter quote chains? Half of them wouldn’t exist without someone doing the dirty work of snipping the awkward. The timeline doesn’t just find this stuff. Someone’s trimming it for us.
When Cringe Pays Off
Let’s not pretend the creators don’t know.
The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re being laughed with or at. Engagement is engagement.
Some lean in hard. There’s the TikToker who records crying videos every time he gets dumped (which is… a lot). The girl who insists her “sexy baby voice” is her natural tone. The failed pranksters. The motivational speakers whose speeches could double as villain monologues.
For every one person posting genuinely awkward content, there are three more doing it on purpose. Clout-hunting with a sprinkle of masochism. And sometimes? It works.
You gain followers. You land a podcast deal. You become “that guy from TikTok” who screamed into a banana. The bar for fame has never been lower. And the payoff? Still real.
Are We the Problem? Probably.
Let’s not get too smug. CringeTok thrives because we feed it.
We don’t just watch. We duet. Stitch. Clip. Roast. Remix. We turn someone's awkward moment into a whole ecosystem of memes. A full commentary cycle. And sure, some of them are in on the joke. But others? They’re just out here vibing, unaware that they're two hours away from becoming a Twitter thread titled “This man needs to be stopped.”
It’s easy to forget there’s a person behind the video when you’re watching on a loop. When you’ve trimmed their moment down to just the eye twitch or the voice crack.
But will that stop us? Let’s not lie to ourselves.
The Cringe Economy
At this point, cringe isn’t just content. It’s currency.
You can trade it for views, likes, even actual cash. Brands may not love being associated with cringe, but they’ll still pay to get in front of eyeballs. Even if those eyeballs are rolling.
And the platforms? They win either way. Whether you’re watching in horror or laughing hysterically, you’re still on the app. Still scrolling. Still trapped in the dopamine loop that started with a lip sync gone terribly wrong.
The result: a content ecosystem where authenticity is less important than audacity. Where the most awkward people often get the most attention. And where the line between ironic and genuine blurs faster than a guy applying beard dye on live.
Send to the Group Chat
The next time you’re watching a video of someone earnestly dancing to 2008-era dubstep in a parking lot, ask yourself: why can’t I look away?
Maybe it’s because it feels safe. Maybe it’s because it reminds us of our own worst moments, but with a layer of digital distance. Or maybe it’s just because watching someone fail that hard makes your own Tuesday morning Zoom blunder seem less catastrophic.
Whatever the reason, one thing’s clear: cringe isn’t going anywhere. It’s just getting better edited.
And if you ever need to slice the perfect 9-second nugget to gift your group chat? You know what to use. SliceTube. Or any good YouTube trimmer that gets you straight to the mess.
No need to sit through the full disaster. Just clip, sip your coffee, and hit play.
You're welcome.
The Rise of ‘CringeTok’ and Why We Can’t Look Away