The Shame Industrial Complex is a thriving business
When I was nine years old, I had one of my first experiences with shame at a wedding. I sat at a table with my parents and a group of elderly relatives, shy and uneasy, while other kids plotted soft crimes and sipped from abandoned champagne glasses. I don't recall what song was playing when my mother reached for my pastel-colored purse and hurled it onto the dance floor with abandon, but I do recall taking up the mug of Irish coffee next to her and tipping it over her lap. We rushed out of the reception, my mother in her damaged gown and me with her handprint on my face. As we approached the exit, we were halted by an elderly gentleman. "Wow, "That was a nasty thing you just did," he admitted, "but I still think you're a wonderful girl." I wanted the earth would split open and engulf us both.
What O'Neil deftly depicts is that shame is frequently a lonely sensation, which may explain why it's so simple to benefit from it. The weight reduction and wellness industries are prime examples of this commercialization. Companies that promise to shrink our bodies or re-elasticize our saggy faces have seen exponential growth in the last decade, thanks to social media influencers and celebrity endorsements. "The Shame Machine" suggests that there is a lot of money to be made off of our poor self-esteem, mostly since there is no diet that can repair it. Corporations and societal infrastructures assert that we have the authority to shape our own lives, which O'Neil refers to as "the shame industrial complex."and then point the finger to us when their tools fail.. I'm thinking of Linda Evangelista, the supermodel who recently launched a lawsuit over a cosmetic treatment she alleges left her permanently deformed. Evangelista's situation is doubly unfortunate: she first aged, and then she was discovered trying to hide it from the rest of us.
O'Neil's description of these forums as "networked" accurately describes the internet's conveyor belt-like rapidity with which it targets and punishes America's self-replenishing army of "Kens" and "Karens."
The explanation of what O'Neil refers to as "healthy shaming" — let's call it a lateral punch — is where "The Shame Machine" appears to go off the rails. The lateral punch is the blow we deliver to people who don't share our social value systems; it's the feeling of self-righteous bravado we get when we tell an internet stranger to put his mask on after the fact; it's the thrill of watching someone be reprimanded when they go against our understanding of how things should be. Though O'Neil describes how the lateral punch frequently has a positive impact on behaviors that benefit the group as a whole (she provides Covid-19 vaccinations as an example),She fails to properly explore the role of mere pleasure in our want to shame in instances where there is no evident victim or victimizer. Ignoring what is silently at play in even the "healthiest" of shaming: a plea for obedience based on the threat of ostracization, seems disingenuous. The hierarchical tower always casts a shadow over the basic "us" versus "you" duality that underpins even the most benign of shaming. It's a lonely world out there. We should all admit that it feels fantastic to disappear amid a horde of hecklers on occasion.
After leaving my aunt's wedding, I remember skulking toward the car with my mother, the mark on my face evidence of my violation. I remember the old man who tried to throw me a lifeline but only succeeded in underlining the fact that we are constantly being judged. Is shame a useful tool for self-correction? Perhaps, but we should use caution when using it. Dignity is easily lost and difficult to reclaim.