Allow Myself to Introduce...Myself: The Awkwardness of Intros

I hate introducing myself.

This might be the revelation of a horribly insecure person (and undoubtedly is the revelation of a highly sensitive person) but I don’t care.

I rebel against the whole notion, against the whole process, this mandatory distillation of who I am in five seconds or less to a crowd of people who are just secretly wondering why no one brought bagels to the 8am meeting.

No one else seems to mind this song and dance that takes up ten minutes at the start of every group gathering. The people sitting around the room introduce themselves effortlessly like swans.

“Associate Creative Director,” one warbles.

“VP of Sales and Marketing,” another croons.

“Water,” I croak. “I need water.”

At that point, my palms are sweaty, my windpipe has flooded and I find myself, after gulping water, blacking out for a few minutes and coming to a minute later to a sea of astonished or nervous faces, as I wonder what in the world I might have said. In my state of complete and utter anxiety replete with an imagination the size of Texas, I might have agreed that yes, yes, I’m the Manager for the Design team, but also a part-time mortician, a ranch hand or the daughter of a serial killer but don’t worry it doesn’t run in the family. Or maybe I vaulted into the chorus of Eminem’s My Name Is, drawing the introduction out infinitely in song. The point is, I have an out of body experience when I’m introducing myself.

I recently attended a yoga class where we were asked to go around and introduce ourselves. I will either never return, or I’ll join the yogis who had dialed in to the class virtually that day, who managed to avoid having to introduce themselves. “Lucky bastards,” I muttered quite un-zenlike from my mat. Why can’t we all look around and say, “Good you made it, let’s get to it now.” Why must we listen to the names of people we’ll forget by our first downward dog and who we may never see again?

Give me a one on one conversation with a complete stranger and I’ll lead her down the halls of my iniquities and vulnerabilities within five minutes, I’ll introduce her to the deepest pocket of my soul and more. Thrust me in a room of execs with a long IKEA table between us and during introductions, before my turn, I’ll attempt to slowly slide under the table like a cooked noodle, hoping they’ll forget I was ever there. I’ll sigh with relief when I see an admin named Becky move the extra chair off to the side.

I once held the following title: Manager, Administration and Operations, Photography, Marketing and Communications. It seemed like a test from the universe. There are three commas in there! Have you ever had to introduce yourself with a title that had THREE pieces of punctuation in it? You will melt into a puddle of confusion every time, as I surely did.

Perhaps all this is simply a challenge to become someone “who needs no introduction.” Become one of those exalted souls who simply wanders through life already known to those around them, like a Messiah or a Kardashian. Perhaps they were like me, cringing and slipping under the table when it became their turn. Perhaps they took that horror and used it to make something of themselves. Until I reach that point, you can find me on Zoom, blinking, head tilting and frothing at the mouth until you reach my turn whereby you’ll find only an empty chair on screen quietly being slid off to the side by an invisible hand.

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Extra fun and enjoyment:

Creed from The Office nailed it here when he meets the new HR rep Holly Flax

Austin Powers’ brilliantly awkward intro that he commits to anyway

Rolling Stones cryptic wonderful Satanic intro song