In a recent interview, actor Austin Butler discussed overcoming embarrassment and embracing authenticity. In an unlikely place — while dancing at a party — Butler received advice that has stuck with him throughout his public-facing career.
“They said ‘embarrassment is an under-explored emotion, go out there and make a fool of yourself,’” Butler said. “Just go for it. Feel that feeling — that feeling of cringe — and go out there and do it. Everything you want is on the other side of that.”
At first, I thought the idea seemed counterintuitive, if not absurd. Many of us — myself included — spend a lifetime trying to avoid embarrassment. I knowingly curate the version of myself that others experience, especially in moments that feel vulnerable or uncertain — defaulting to a version of myself that feels easier to like. But what if embarrassment is a necessary condition for growth?
I ask this question as someone who is easily embarrassed. From spilling a salad onto a new outfit to stumbling over my words in class, I have a mental highlight reel of moments that I would prefer to forget. In reality, these moments are small and fleeting, but in the moment, they carry an oversized weight. These were times I found myself wishing for a Harry Potter-style invisibility cloak.
Butler speaks of a different kind of embarrassment, though. He’s referring to moments where we hold back — creating more palatable, yet duller versions of ourselves.
Butler’s comments made me think about how we protect ourselves from embarrassment. I realized that embarrassment is actually vulnerability in disguise — it doesn’t feel noble or poetic in the moment. To be embarrassed is to be seen fully, imperfectly and without control. And yet, the discomfort that accompanies embarrassment often signals that something important is at stake, whether it be our image, our relationships or some personal risk.
For college students, especially those of us at a small liberal arts college, dating can be where feelings of embarrassment are most paralyzing. When connecting with someone new, there’s no script to follow. We can’t control how they feel about us — but we certainly try to control how they perceive us.
In a way, encouraging people to go out and embarrass themselves is at odds with the nonchalance epidemic that dominates today’s romantic culture. We’re told to play it cool or hide our feelings until they can be revealed perfectly. But that “cool” exterior often comes from the fear of looking foolish — or more accurately, a desire to protect our pride.
Dating, or asking someone out, inherently risks embarrassment. It’s having the courage to show someone you like them before knowing if they’ll ever like you back. And down the line, it’s allowing someone to see “foolish” sides of you. It’s an admirable yet scary risk to seek an intimate connection.
I was once standing at baggage claim next to someone I had noticed on my flight back home from studying abroad. We spent all day ending up in the same places without ever acknowledging it, and it started to feel too coincidental not to say something. After staring at our suitcases, I mentioned how easily we’d spot our bags — both orange. At one point, we somehow ended up debating our favorite Christmas movies. He was easy to talk to in a way that felt rare.
When my suitcase finally came around, I stubbornly insisted I could grab it myself. As I reached for it, I could feel him watching, and I suddenly became hyper-aware of myself. I began to panic: the bag was heavier than expected, and I was struggling to keep up with the moving conveyor belt. I should have just let him help me. Instead, once I finally got it down, I laughed it off and admitted, “that was embarrassing.”
As we started walking out, I thought about asking for his number — he lived near me, it seemed too coincidental. There was a moment where it would have made sense, but I held back. I didn’t want to taint the memory in my head by risking awkwardness. It felt safe to leave it easy as it was.
When we exited baggage claim together, our parents appeared almost simultaneously — running to pull us into hugs. We made eye contact in a brief moment of mutual realization. And then it was over.
This is where Butler’s advice becomes less absurd and more practical. When he prompts his audience to “make a fool of yourself,” he isn’t encouraging recklessness or humiliation for its own sake. Instead, Butler emphasized that embracing embarrassment will allow us to put ourselves out there confidently and authentically. Ultimately, it’s about developing a tolerance for discomfort and recognizing that embarrassment can be a sign of growth.
At its core, embarrassment is about letting go of control. It happens in the moment where you can’t manage how you’re seen; it’s where the carefully constructed version of yourself slips. But, letting the veil fall and relinquishing our grasp on tailored impressions is exactly what Butler is suggesting.
Then, embarrassment doesn’t become something to avoid. Instead, it signals that we’re abandoning curated versions of ourselves — even if it’s just for a moment — and stepping into something more honest. In a society that associates perfection with connection, we often forget that it’s actually the imperfect and unscripted moments that bring us closer together.
Maybe the real risk isn’t making a fool of ourselves, but never being truly seen at all.
