How shyness and enthusiasm go hand in hand

enthusiasts 🫱🏻‍🫲🏽 introverts

To celebrate National Introverts’ Week, I wanted to repost this piece from VORACIOUS 2 (which you can buy the last copies of online now - for only £12!).

In it, Esther North, founder of Sylvie Signs, talks about being shy, and wearing that like a badge of honour (literally). She spoke to me and the mag about why shyness is a character trait we should actually cherish and, ultimately, how she’s no longer shying away from it. I wanted to include it here as so many people think enthusiasm has to equal extroversion, and thus introverts can’t be enthusiasts: but this is patently untrue.

I was a shy child. I had a cool and aloof older sister, a gobby little brother and a chatty mum to hide behind, and a gentle, reserved dad who made me feel validated. None of them ever tried to change me, but my shyness did feel shameful. Not necessarily the fact of the shyness, but the way it held me back. I would not volunteer for things, I would not put myself in a situation where I couldn’t predict the interaction or what would be expected of me. In school, through university and beyond, it was the same.

Here’s a little rundown of my all time top worst shy situations:

• Meeting friends’ parents. As I’ve got older, this has been replaced with meeting friends’ teenage children - grannies I’m fine with, young adults are terrifying.

• Business networking - I would love to know more about what you do, but in the moment I am completely without a thought in my head. If you are the kind of person who can wax lyrical about yourself and your business without needing reciprocity, please seek me out. I love people like you.

• Asking for something unusual in a shop/bar/restaurant. My shyness often causes me to mumble and/or mispronounce words, sometimes it even induces mild aphasia. So helpful!

• The school playground - it was hard when I was 5, it’s even harder at 40.

I felt sad and ashamed when I thought of the missed opportunities. Gradually, over time, I put myself in situations where I could mimic confidence: I had jobs where I served pints, I taught, I trained, I even did lots of public speaking, and through it all I performed confidence. In time, I was even able to carry this through to social situations. But in many ways the worst thing a shy person can do is act as though they are not shy, because it is just that: an act. And when the mask starts to slip (it is exhausting, after all) the shyness comes off as boredom, rudeness, dullness. As Baudelaire (by way of the Usual Suspects) said, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was to convince the world he didn’t exist. Ditto shyness, if greatest equals most terrible.

And, in recent years, my shyness has been brought into even sharper focus. Changing careers in my thirties meant a whole new industry to get to know, which means a whole new raft of settings in which to skulk at the back, hating my shyness.

Having children has also given me a whole new insight into shyness, both theirs and mine. My eldest son is very confident in social situations and loves to talk to adults and children alike. To my very great shame, I sometimes cringe when he strikes up a conversation with passersby and, since he’s only 7, I have to join in. His social confidence is an enigma to me but I praise and cherish it. My younger son has the kind of shyness that feels painfully familiar. I know all too well that you cannot cure a child of shyness by forcing them to interact, so my only option seems to be to lead by example, to swallow the shyness and ask for the thing he’s too shy to ask for, explore the path he’s too shy to explore, speak to the people he’s too shy to approach. The cringe is totally worth it though - nothing beats seeing his face all flushed and happy when he’s warmed up enough to join in.

Then came the pandemic and the lockdowns. In many ways, a shy introvert’s absolute dream. And although it set me back - any confident muscles I had begun to flex have well and truly wasted - suddenly we were all in the same boat. I could see it in peoples’ eyes - how do I do this? What do I say? All of a sudden, it didn’t feel so shameful, in fact it felt completely normal and natural.

I realised many years ago that a powerful tool to help with shyness is to admit it. Hello, my name is Esther and I am shy. But I didn’t really embrace it or even understand what it meant until I read

Annie Ridout

’s marvellous book, Shy*. Annie’s book gave me a whole new lens through which to see my shyness. I began to understand the gifts that shyness has given me. I am empathic, I am interested in other people, I laugh very hard at other peoples’ jokes because I am so grateful for and in awe of their bonhomie. I have been told that, far from boring (as I often feared), my quietness is soothing, I am a relaxing person to be around.

When I finished reading Annie’s book, I painted a tiny but quite detailed sign that simply said SHY. I did it in recognition of shyness as something to cherish. Once I had finished it, a big part of me wanted to carry it around with me. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to signal to the people you meet that you might take a little time to relax into a new situation, that you are trying your best but that you need a little patience, a little kindness? And better still, what if that signal was beautiful - more a badge of honour than a mark of shame?

In the past, attempts at reproducing my work as prints or badges haven’t felt quite right, too sterile and a bit lacking, but literally hanging a sign around my neck felt a bit OTT. Then I learnt about the traditional cloisonné method of enamel badge making and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Cloisonné refers to the thin metal strips that form a design and separate areas of colour. Traditionally, the enamel is glass enamel coloured by natural mineral pigments. The enamel is layered up and fired and eventually buffed smooth. Since the colours are determined by the mineral ore they can vary and the production method is lengthy, costly and can result in very slight variations, but the results are extremely high quality and hard wearing. Not many people opt for the traditional cloisonné method these days, as its unpredictability and cost make it less viable than modern poured enamel which can be Pantone-matched and churned out.

But (and please allow me a short digression) this is my jam: a craft that is so labour intensive and skilled that you look at the end product and you can’t understand how it wasn’t made by a machine - it is so precise - but you know, you can FEEL, that it was made by a human hand. It thrums with the energy of an organic process. At first glance it looks absolutely perfect but the tiny idiosyncrasies (no, I will not say imperfections) imbued by the maker give it such character, there is no way a machine or a computer could have produced it.

There are many such crafts, and because they require such skill and labour, most are not commercially viable. I chose signwriting, but in my wildest fantasies I am living in a cottage I thatched myself, wearing clogs I made myself, with a thriving business making glass eyes or orreries. (If you ever find yourself with a yearning for a new and unusual hobby, check out the Heritage Craft Association’s endangered craft list.)

@theenthusiastandcoDid you know this list existed?! 😵

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For this reason, despite all its impracticality, to me the traditional cloisonné method seemed perfect - each badge would be unique, hard wearing and valuable, a perfect tribute to shyness. Even then, I mulled this over in the back of my mind for some time but the cost held me back. I would only be able to afford to do a short run, so I’d be lucky to even cover my costs. It felt too risky.

It wasn’t until I visited my friend Kieran (Third Eye Signs) that I changed my mind. He was talking about the splendid t-shirts he’d had made, and he said that every once in a while he allows himself a little folly and has something made simply because he wants to see it in the world. And I thought, fuck it. I really really want to see these shy badges in the world. I want shy people to wear a tiny bit of art, beautiful and unique, that embraces their shyness. I want less shy people to see it and to ask them about it, and understand that, with a little bit of patience and perseverance, this person has plenty to say and is brave and is confident. There are many different ways to be shy, and it ebbs and flows as life changes. I’m not frightened of it anymore, and I’m not ashamed.

Thank you Sylvie for sharing your shyness! Check out Sylvie’s work on her website, on instagram, and check out this piece in print over on VORACIOUS 2, on the shop.

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