Please Like Me (But Keep Away)

by Mindy Kaling

Let’s face it, I was never popular, but I was friendly and chubby (therefore harmless), and that went a long way.

Orange cheese wrapped in cellophane is all-American, proud, and confident. White cheese is cowardly and fraudulent.

titillated

In the end? Nobody cared what color the cheese was except me. Swiss cheese burgers were devoured without comment. Nobody noticed the scantily clad Indian women on our walls, or if they did, they enjoyed them privately.

It was perfectly me: pleasant enough, and then receding from immediate concern.

That party was more than thirty years ago, but my reaction was eerily typical of the kind of social anxiety that I would experience throughout the rest of my life. I sincerely believed that my social life was over forever because my mom put white cheese on the burgers instead of orange cheese. I also genuinely believed that my classmates’ like or dislike of white cheese would determine their overall judgment of my total being. Forever. Part of it is that I am pretty judgmental myself, and always have been.

For a socially anxious person, it is both flattering and disconcerting to be asked into the holy sacrament of best friendship by a total stranger. When I’m approached at an airport by a smiling thirtysomething woman who says she wishes I was her best friend, I hug her, take a selfie, and think to myself, Oh, sweetie, you have no idea. I don’t leave my house.

I once read somewhere that what Chrissy Teigen and John Legend feel the most comfortable doing is “sitting on the sofa and watching Netflix.” I felt seen. It proved to me that you can be funny, glamorous, and smart and still never want to leave your home. But then, a few months later, I saw them on Instagram hosting an elaborate Halloween bash with hundreds of attendees, and I felt so betrayed. “You lied to me!” I seethed. “I’m the only one who really loves to sit on the sofa watching Netflix!”

What about the twenty minutes of nervous pacing before people arrived? What about hanging decorations and then photographing them to make sure they seemed homespun and not too store-bought-looking? What about brainstorming conversation topics tailored to each guest to prevent awkward pauses? Catastrophizing is my general approach to all social events: how, when, and why it will implode are the first things I think about when I’m throwing a party.

she doesn’t fall back on being obsequious, like I do. I’m always complimenting someone’s phone case or something in order to get them to like me. “Wow, that’s such an unusual phone case. I bet it really protects your phone.”

syndicated

I spent hours finding the best outfit for an “art gallery opening” (off-the-shoulder black sweater, dark jeans, leopard flats, obviously).

But after an hour or so, the experience of making small talk with acquaintances and strangers was too painful to bear. It became clear why we hadn’t actually been friends when we had the chance: I had nothing in common with them, except that we attended the same college. And somehow, even though we did nothing but stand around and chitchat, the experience was exhausting.

If you’re ever stuck talking to me at a party, please just do yourself a favor and walk away. I promise we’ll both be happy you did.

The problem was I didn’t want just anyone’s company. I wanted the company of funny, smart, like-minded people. That’s when I realized something about myself: I would rather be lonely than bored.