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Humiliation

Humiliation is shame inflicted by another. The verdict travels in from outside and lands on the self — the agency runs in the wrong direction. The body recognizes the difference: where shame lowers the head, humiliation often raises it first, in the half-second before the lowering, because the self is still trying to refuse the witness.

Working definition · A crushing sense of lowered status or forced visibility in front of others.

753 passages · in 1 cluster

Vela’s read on this emotion

Humiliation has a relational shape that shame on its own does not. The exposure has a face, or a crowd, or an institution behind it — and the inflicting witness keeps acting on the self long after the moment ends.

The reading runs through several literatures. Ta-Nehisi Coates, in *Between the World and Me*, writes humiliation as the inheritance of a body marked for surveillance — the daily, civic shape of it, not the spectacular kind. Trevor Noah's *Born a Crime* names humiliation routed through racial law: the child whose existence was illegal, the mother who refused the verdict the state was trying to install. Roxane Gay's *Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body* tracks humiliation across the years a survivor's body is read by strangers who do not know what the body has held. The testimony from the AIDS years — including the personal essays and oral histories that came out of ACT UP, the activist coalition that confronted the early epidemic — preserves humiliation as a public condition of dying in a society refusing to look.

Humiliation also runs through the literature of cults and total institutions. Carolyn Jessop's *Escape*, Donna M. Johnson's *Holy Ghost Girl*, and Patricia Walsh Chadwick's *Little Sister* each preserve the texture of being made small inside a community that has named smallness as virtue.

Humiliation is not the same as shame, guilt, or embarrassment. Shame is the self's own verdict on the self; humiliation is another's verdict imposed. Guilt is about an act; humiliation is about a witnessing. Embarrassment is the brief, social register of having been seen out of order; humiliation cuts deeper and stays longer because the witness is still there.

Study and magazine

Long-form guide in the magazine

An essay on how this word lives in language, in the tagged corpus, and in figurative art when curators pair passage with image — not a list of stages, not permission to feel.

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Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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753 tagged passages

  • From Working Girl: On Selling Art and Selling Sex (2023)

    In 2017, a Canadian man, on his way to visit his boyfriend in the United States, was stopped by US Customs and Border Patrol at the Vancouver Airport and interrogated. Selected for a secondary inspection while going through preclearance, he gave up his phone password and his computer to the questioning officer. The officer questioned him about an email address attached to a Craigslist account that communicated about sex ads, and then read his Scruff messages, finding one in which the man said he was “looking for loads.” Though this is a well-known colloquialism for ejaculation, the officer used the message as evidence the man was soliciting sex for money—i.e., for “loads of money.” The man was not allowed through the border and, on his next attempt to enter the United States, was again flagged and stopped, his phone and computer searched using the passwords customs already had saved from their previous seizure. Again, the customs officer would not let him through: “I had nude photos of myself on my phone, and they were questioning who this person was. It was really humiliating and embarrassing … He said I’m a suspected escort. You can’t really argue with them because you’re trapped.” Commenting on the case, Jon Davidson, legal director of Lambda Legal, complained: “Their agents need cultural awareness training to not misunderstand that people who simply are leading a normal sex life are not prostitutes.” (Never mind people who are both leading a normal sex life and are prostitutes.) The stakes of context here are dire; a nude photo in a gallery is art, but in the wrong hands and on the wrong app is evidence of prostitution. To distinguish art work from pornography, reviewers often insist on commenting on the disposition of the subject. Of Merritt’s photo that transfixed him, on Page 66, David Bowman elaborated: “But it is the girl’s expression that is a complete mystery. She’s not posing as faked-up porno. She does not appear to be enjoying the particular penis she is sucking—not that she finds it distasteful.” Art in America described Sepuya’s Darkroom Mirror (_2060403) thus: “Sepuya photographs himself giving a joyless blowjob while a second dick waits in the wings.” One does not appear to be enjoying; the other is joyless. There is an insistence against reading pleasure into what either artist is doing. Neither looks joyful, to my eye, but I wouldn’t presume to know what their joy looks like. With a dick in one’s mouth, how many legible expressions can one even make?

  • From Hot Daddies: Gay Erotic Fiction (2011)

    Through the kitchen window, Damian watched his boss, Stan, begin the job interview with the day’s target. Damian had to lube up his ass in preparation for his cue. He usually felt nervous and aroused at this stage, but today there was also exhaustion. He’d been fucked constantly. Would there never be a break? The target was as always, an older man, at least fifty, bearded. Damian loved being fucked and dominated by men more than twice his age, which made him perfect for Stan’s project. This man looked attractive if overweight. He appeared a bit surprised to see Stan wearing a bathrobe for a job interview, but this was Hollywood, where business was often conducted poolside while sipping rum punches. “Raymond, is it? Great to meet you,” Stan said, shaking Raymond’s hand without getting up or removing his sunglasses. “First, I need to let you know we tend to tape our interviews for our records, so please sign this release.” Raymond stroked his short beard and shrugged before signing. Damian knew the ad for the job was listed in the adult section, but it seemed that most men forgot that as they dressed up for the interview and brought résumés. Damian felt when the ad read, International corporation seeks handsome, mature gay male, they should know something related to sex was involved, but so many times the expressions of surprise were priceless. “You’ll oversee shipping of our products and monitor website traffic, among other duties,” said Stan, gesturing from his lounge chair with one hand while holding a drink in the other. “First, I should confess that the pay is a bit lower than at other companies, but we do provide one perk to make up for it. Are you thirsty?” Stan hit the intercom button built into his lounger. “Damian, come here now,” he ordered. Nude, Damian opened the sliding glass door and headed straight for Raymond, drink in hand. “Sweet mother of god.” Raymond dropped the folder containing his resume and stared in wide-eyed amazement. “I apologize—I’m sure you didn’t know I was here. I—” “Not at all, Raymond,” Stan said. “Damian is the perk I mentioned. I know it’s not much, but we have to make do.” Raymond couldn’t take his eyes off Damian. “He’s gorgeous. He’s an absolute Adonis.” Damian smiled but looked demurely away at Stan, focusing on the curls of white beard and salt-and-pepper hair. Stan had instructed Damian not to look at the target, so as to allow him to feast his eyes on Damian’s body without temerity while Stan communicated Damian’s willingness to fulfill a master’s every need. “Yes, yes, Damian’s not bad to look at, but I’m afraid he’s dumb as a post.” Damian’s dick stiffened. He didn’t want to enjoy the part where Stan informed the target that he was just a stupid piece of ass, but he always did. He reminded himself that his English teacher back in Tennessee had told him he was bright enough for college.

  • From Looking for Alaska (2005)

    And I listened in class, too, but on that Wednesday morning, when Dr. Hyde started talking about how Buddhists believe that all things are interconnected, I found myself staring out the window. I was looking at the wooded, slow-sloping hill beyond the lake. And from Hyde’s classroom, things did seem connected: The trees seemed to clothe the hill, and just as I would never think to notice a particular cotton thread in the magnificently tight orange tank top Alaska wore that day, I couldn’t see the trees for the forest—everything so intricately woven together that it made no sense to think of one tree as independent from that hill. And then I heard my name, and I knew I was in trouble. “Mr. Halter,” the Old Man said. “Here I am, straining my lungs for your edification. And yet something out there seems to have caught your fancy in a way that I’ve been unable to do. Pray tell: What have you discovered out there?” Now I felt my own breath shorten, the whole class watching me, thanking God they weren’t me. Dr. Hyde had already done this three times, kicking kids out of class for not paying attention or writing notes to one another. “Um, I was just looking outside at the, uh, at the hill and thinking about, um, the trees and the forest, like you were saying earlier, about the way—” The Old Man, who obviously did not tolerate vocalized rambling, cut me off. “I’m going to ask you to leave class, Mr. Halter, so that you can go out there and discover the relationship between the um-trees and the uh-forest. And tomorrow, when you’re ready to take this class seriously, I will welcome you back.” I sat still, my pen resting in my hand, my notebook open, my face flushed and my jaw jutting out into an underbite, an old trick I had to keep from looking sad or scared. Two rows behind me, I heard a chair move and turned around to see Alaska standing up, slinging her backpack over one arm. “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. You can’t just throw him out of class. You drone on and on for an hour every day, and we’re not allowed to glance out the window? ” The Old Man stared back at Alaska like a bull at a matador, then raised a hand to his sagging face and slowly rubbed the white stubble on his cheek. “For fifty minutes a day, five days a week, you abide by my rules. Or you fail. The choice is yours. Both of you leave.” I stuffed my notebook into my backpack and walked out, humiliated. As the door shut behind me, I felt a tap on my left shoulder. I turned, but there was no one there. Then I turned the other way, and Alaska was smiling at me, the skin between her eyes and temple crinkled into a starburst.

  • From When Breath Becomes Air (2016)

    In physical therapy, I was not even lifting weights yet, just lifting my legs. This was exhausting and humiliating. My brain was fine, but I did not feel like myself. My body was frail and weak—the person who could run half marathons was a distant memory—and that, too, shapes your identity. Racking back pain can mold an identity; fatigue and nausea can, as well. Karen, my PT, asked me what my goals were. I picked two: riding my bike and going for a run.

  • From Summer Sisters (1998)

    He’s not sure about working at his father’s firm. Since his father divorced the Babe he’s been having some kind of personal crisis. Gets depressed. Doctor had him on Prozac for a while. Maybe it’s time for him to move on, relocate even. Miami’s hot, in more ways than one. [image file=Image00006.jpg] AFTER A MINUTE Vix slides down in the sand, resting her head against the log. Her eyes close. She floats in and out as Gus and Daniel reminisce, their voices coming from far away, though she can feel their bodies right next to her. “She never could resist those island guys,” Gus says. He’s got it wrong , she thinks. It was only Bru she couldn’t resist . “There we were, horny as hell,” he continues, “and she goes and boffs the one with the ponytail.” Oh, Caitlin … he’s talking about Caitlin . “She’s still gorgeous,” Daniel says. “But jaded now,” Gus tells him. “You think?” Daniel asks. “You can see it in her eyes.” They’re talking right through her, as if she’s not there, as if she’s invisible. Maybe she’s dead and just doesn’t know it. “So this one time,” Gus is saying, “I’m walking by her room and she pulls me in and shuts the door. ‘Gus … would you do my back?’ she says, and she hands me a bottle of suntan lotion. She’s wearing that yellow suit—remember that yellow suit?—and she pulls down the straps … hell, she pulls the whole suit down to her waist. I’m nineteen or something … a kid with hormones.” Vix isn’t sure if she’s going to throw up or not. She tries opening her eyes but that makes everything spin so she quickly shuts them. The Chicago Boys must remember her then because she can feel them looking down at her, making sure it’s safe to continue. Gus says, “The Cough Drop is totally out of it.” Daniel says, “If you tell me you made it with Caitlin and kept it to yourself all these years …” “Not even close,” Gus says. “I got to cup those perfect little tits in my hands for about two seconds, then she says, ‘I want you to use it while I watch.’ ‘Use what?’ I ask her. She says, ‘The whole package …’ ” “The package?” Daniel asks. “The package,” Gus tells him. Vix imagines him jiggling his balls to show Daniel what he means, because the two of them began to laugh. Vix wants to laugh, too. Wants to laugh about how Cassandra counted Vixen’s pubic hairs. Sixteen. You’re so lucky! But she feels herself on the verge of tears instead. “I always thought she’d make something of her life,” Daniel says. “Something important.” A bell clangs announcing dinner, and Gus shakes Vix. “Okay, Cough Drop … time to get up.” He helps her to her feet. “How’re you feeling?

  • From Hot Daddies: Gay Erotic Fiction (2011)

    “So it’s a good thing you get to fuck his ass as part of the job,” Stan continued. “Otherwise he’d be no use as an assistant.” Raymond nearly choked on his drink. “I beg your pardon?” Stan shrugged apologetically. “I know this job can be a bit boring, and I’m afraid there are going to be times when you’ll have nothing to do, so you’ll be able to spend the whole day in Damian’s ass if you wish. Why don’t you try him out now to see if this is the right kind of workplace for you? Here, boy, get on all fours and offer yourself,” Stan ordered, snapping his fingers. A warm wave of humiliation washed over Damian, and now his weariness was eclipsed by the arousal he felt in his throat, his gut and his stiff dick. Why was he always so horny for debasement? He got into position to allow himself to be fucked doggie-style. “Holy cow, that ass is amazing,” Raymond murmured. “I can’t believe—this has got to be some kind of joke you’re playing on me.” Stan got up from his lounger, shaking his head. “Not a joke at all. Here, to prove it, I’ll start fucking that hole first.” Stan pulled out condoms from the pocket of his bathrobe and then slipped the bathrobe off. Stan was tall, perhaps six-three, and hairy. He’d tanned nude for years, and now his body had a leathery quality to it. Damian thought that Stan was too proud of his muscular physique, but Stan’s extreme confidence and huge erection kept Damian in the mood to be submissive. “This can’t be happening,” Raymond said as Stan sank his dick into Damian. Even though Damian got fucked by Stan every day, there was always novelty when a new person watched them. The humiliation felt so good he was nearly delirious, but why couldn’t his asshole ever be given a day off? He used to get them, but he hadn’t had his ass to himself in more than a month. As Damian began to grunt and moan, he wondered if Raymond was a “wise target.” So many men had seen Stan’s website that a number of the interviewees knew they were there to be videotaped fucking Damian. “Take his mouth, Raymond,” Stan said, his hands on his hips as he thrust in and out slowly. Damian could hear hurried unzipping and stripping. It wasn’t another thirty seconds before Raymond pushed his cock between Damian’s lips. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and the movement of his tongue over Raymond’s cock, all the while keeping his ass arched to best accept his master’s dick. He felt the tight pull of pleasure in his gut, but at the same time he thought to himself, Damian, you have to stop this life sooner or later.

  • From The Girls (2016)

    “Baby,” she said, gesturing me closer. She squinted. “Part your bangs from the left. More flattering.” I’d parted my hair that way to cover the pimple, gone scabby from picking. I’d coated it with vitamin E oil but couldn’t stop myself from messing with it, flaking on toilet paper to soak up the blood. Sal agreed. “Round face shape,” she said with authority. “Bangs might not be a good idea at all, for her.” I imagined how it would feel to topple Sal over in her chair, how her bulk would bring her down fast. The bark tea spilling on the linoleum. They quickly lost interest in me.

  • From Cultish (2021)

    “Once, Applewhite mocked the morning huskiness in Frank’s voice (he’d just woken up) with such humiliating scorn that over time, he developed what he calls a ‘severe inability to speak.’”

  • From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

    The school, in the mountains of Colorado, was highly recommended by the counselor they’d consulted. It was supposed to do wonders for children like Eliza, bright but unmotivated, who would rather shovel manure than read. “You’re calling to check up on me?” “No, I just wanted to tell you I’m at the hotel. In Elizabeth.” “I can’t believe you actually went.” “Well, I did.” “It just seems really stupid to me. It’s not like it’s your high school reunion or anything.” “No.” Miri resists a laugh. To Eliza a high school reunion must seem like one of life’s major events. “Well, it’s your dime and your time. Just don’t expect me to tell you to enjoy yourself.” “No, of course not.” Miri no longer expects anything from her daughter, except to be challenged, berated and humiliated. “So I’ll see you when I see you,” Eliza says. A statement, not a question. “President’s Weekend,” Miri reminds her. “Tahoe.” “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Eliza yawns loudly. “Will everyone be there?” “I hope so.” Miri doesn’t ask who Eliza means by everyone. Maybe the boys and their friends. Silence. “Eliza…are you still there?” “Where else would I be?” “Okay, then,” Miri says, trying her best to keep it upbeat, positive. “Take care and I’ll see you soon. Bye, honey.” Eliza shouts, “You know I don’t like goodbyes!” She slams down the receiver. How is it that Miri, who longed for a daughter after two sons, has wound up with an angry, sullen child like Eliza? She’s still trying to figure out where it went wrong but can’t put her finger on it. She unpacks, hanging up her suit for tomorrow, and sets her toiletries on the little shelf above the bathroom sink. She studies herself in the mirror. It’s unsettling how different she looks away from home, away from the familiar reflection in her bathroom mirror. Last time she looked at herself in a mirror in Elizabeth she was fifteen and growing out her Elizabeth Taylor haircut. Now she’s fifty. Jesus, fifty! And her hair is long, lightly permed, with golden highlights. An improvement, she thinks. She’s in good shape, runs five miles a day, but instead of running from someone—Rusty, Mason, Natalie—the way she did that year, she runs to clear her head, to give herself a burst of energy that carries her through the day. Christina has been trying to prepare her for seeing Mason tomorrow by dishing out small bits of information—his wife, Rebecca, will be visiting her ailing parents in Sarasota, his daughter and twin sons are all at college—but Miri hasn’t been willing to talk about it. “Please…” she said to Christina. “That was so long ago. We were just kids.” She knows Christina doesn’t buy her nonchalance but she lets it go. Miri can’t admit she’s nervous about seeing him. Come on, who wouldn’t be nervous about seeing her first love? Who wouldn’t want her old boyfriend to find her attractive?

  • From Little Birds (1979)

    When he undressed her he had said, “Oh, you have such thick hips. You seemed so slender, I never imagined you could have such thick hips.” She felt humiliated, she felt that she was not desirable. This paralyzed her own confidence, her own outflow of love and desire for him. Partly in a mood of revenge, she began to look at him just as coldly as he had looked at her, and what she saw was a man of forty whose hair was growing thin, who was soon going to be very fat and looked ready to retire into a familiar and stolid life.

  • From Little Birds (1979)

    Then at the moment when he most desired her, his power suddenly failed him. She lay waiting for him, smiling and moist, and his desire wilted. Louis was baffled. He had been in a state of desire for days. He wanted to take this woman and he couldn’t. He was deeply humiliated. Strangely enough, her voice grew tender. “There is plenty of time,” she said. “Don’t move away. It’s lovely.”

  • From The Vagina Monologues (1998)

    Oh, Andy, Andy Leftkov. Right. Andy was very good-looking. He was a catch. That's what we called it in my day. We were in his car, a new white Chevy BelAir. I remember thinking that my legs were too long for the seat. I have long legs. They were bumping up against the dashboard. I was looking at my big kneecaps when he just kissed me in this surprisingly "Take me by control like they do in the movies" kind of way. And I got excited, so excited, and, well, there was a flood down there. I couldn't control it. It was like this force of passion, this river of life just flooded out of me, right through my panties, right onto the car seat of his new white Chevy BelAir. It wasn't pee and it was smelly — well, frankly, I didn't really smell anything at all, but he said, Andy said, that it smelled like sour milk and it was staining his car seat. I was "a stinky weird girl," he said. I wanted to explain that his kiss had caught me off guard, that I wasn't normally like this. I tried to wipe the flood up with my dress. It was a new yellow primrose dress and it looked so ugly with the flood on it. Andy drove me home and he never, never said another word and when I got out and closed his car door, I closed the whole store. Locked it. Never opened for business again.

  • From Going Clear (2013)

    A few days after the musical chairs episode, Miscavige ordered everyone in the Hole to report to Golden Era Productions to stuff CDs into cases. At one point, he began sharply interrogating De Vocht, who was shaken and stuttered in response. According to De Vocht, Miscavige punched him in the face. He felt his head vibrate. He tried to turn away from the next blow, but Miscavige grabbed his neck and shoved him into the floor, pummeling and kicking him.10 De Vocht had served Miscavige for years and had even considered him a friend. He had dedicated his life to Scientology and had been in the Sea Org for nearly thirty years. He recalls thinking, “ Now here I am, being beat up by the top dog in front of my peers.” After the attack, Miscavige continued his speech. De Vocht was so humiliated that he couldn’t bring himself to look at his companions. Finally, he managed a glance at them. Pie faces. Rathbun was there, and at that moment he made a decision. As the other executives were being led back to the Hole, he slipped away and got his motorcycle and hid in the bushes. When a car finally approached, he raced through the open gate into the outside world. 1 The church denies that Cruise was videotaped, or that Miscavige watched such tapes, or used such information to manipulate anyone. Noriyuki Matsumaru, who worked in the RTC with Miscavige, confirms De Vocht’s account. 2 Cruise, through his lawyer, denies this exchange and says he has no political ambition. 3 Spielberg’s publicist says that the director doesn’t recall the conversation. 4 Tom Cruise’s lawyer says that the actor doesn’t remember the incident or his being upset with Haggis. 5 As previously noted, the church denies all allegations of abuse by Miscavige. 9 The church denies that anyone in the Sea Org has ever been pressured to have an abortion. 10 The church denies that Miscavige has ever abused members of the church. 9 [image file=Image00007.jpg] TC and COBG reat fame also imposes a kind of cloister on those who join its ranks. Tom Cruise had been a movie star since he was twenty-one, with two popular movies in the same year, The Outsiders and Risky Business . By age twenty-five, he was the biggest star in Hollywood, on his way to becoming one of the most famous movie legends in history. At the same age, Miscavige had become the de facto leader of Scientology. Each of these men assumed extraordinary responsibilities when their peers were barely beginning their careers. Their youth and position set them apart. So it was natural that two such powerful, isolated men would see themselves mirrored in each other.

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