Abstract
Some studies have revealed evidence for proximity seeking following interpersonal rejection, whereas other studies have found evidence of relational distancing (Williams, 2007). This study examined whether both processes could occur simultaneously within face-to-face interactions. Participants were accepted or rejected by one person and then interacted with a new partner for the purposes of an impression-formation task. Conversations were recorded and transcribed. Dyads containing a previously rejected compared to accepted participant exhibited higher levels of linguistic style matching and reciprocated conversational content, suggestive of proximity seeking. However, rejected targets also rated their new partners as less kind and reported lower levels of rapport/liking for their partners, consistent with relational distancing. Partner evaluations were statistically mediated by targets’ expectations of rejection. We suggest that automatic proximity seeking and the appraisal-mediated devaluation of new partners reflect efforts to minimize the potential for and pain of future rejection. Recommendations for future research are discussed.
Few would disagree that rejection hurts. In fact, the affective and somatosensory representations of social rejection overlap with those of physical pain (Eisenberger, Lieberman, & Williams, 2003; Kross, Berman, Mischel, Smith, & Wager, 2011), suggesting that physical pain and social pain share a common set of neural substrates (MacDonald & Leary, 2005). Similar to the way that physical pain motivates people to reduce the probability of painful future events, social pain should lead people to take preventative measures within their social contexts. Despite burgeoning work on this topic (Smart Richman & Leary, 2009; Williams, 2007), however, few studies have investigated directly the strategies that rejected individuals employ to reduce their vulnerability to future rejection and its coincident emotions.
Responses to Social Rejection
Several studies suggest that individuals seek proximity to others following social rejection. For example, rejected individuals are more likely than others to attend to smiling faces (Dewall, Maner, & Rouby, 2009), perceive friendliness in the face of others (Maner, DeWall, Baumeister, & Schaller, 2007), remember social events embedded in others’ diaries (Gardner, Pickett, & Brewer, 2000), bolster the value of the groups to which they belong (Knowles & Gardner, 2008), and report a stronger interest in meeting new people (Maner et al., 2007). Rejection also increases implicit behavioral mimicry (Lakin, Chartrand, & Arkin, 2008) and conformity (Williams, Cheung, & Choi, 2000), both of which have their evolutionary roots in self-protection and have been linked to threatened sense of security (Griskevicius, Goldstein, Mortensen, Cialdini, & Kenrick, 2006).
Other research has found evidence for relational distancing and psychological “numbness” in response to rejection. For example, rejection decreases empathy and pain sensitivity (Dewall & Baumeister, 2006) and increases aggression (Twenge, Baumeister, Tice, & Stucke, 2001). Both analgesia and aggression responses to rejection mimic defensive, adaptive responses to physical pain (MacDonald & Leary, 2005) and have been linked empirically (Bernstein & Claypool, 2012; Twenge et al., 2007) and theoretically (Molden & Maner, 2013; Smart Richman & Leary, 2009) to negative appraisals of others’ regard.
The evidence is thus mixed as to whether rejection motivates affiliative, avoidant, or aggressive behavior within subsequent interactions. This issue is further complicated by the fact that most studies examining interpersonal responses to rejection have used hypothetical targets or pseudo-partners with whom rejected individuals have no direct contact. Real-life instances of rejection occur within dynamic social situations in which immediate escape from others is not possible or even desired. Avoidant or aggressive behaviors may be less likely to occur when the prospect for further rejection is both immediate and salient.
The Present Investigation
We propose that rejected individuals will seek to minimize both the pain and probability of future rejection within new social interactions. We envisioned two means by which this could occur. The first involves drawing closer to partners and emphasizing commonalities, which would decrease the probability of additional rejection. The second involves avoiding closeness with partners and accentuating perceived differences, which would minimize the pain of possible rejection. The possibility that both affiliative and avoidant responses could occur simultaneously has received almost no attention to date (for an exception, see Hess & Pickett, 2010). We further reasoned that these motivations could manifest along a continuum of automatic to controlled processes. For example, efforts to minimize one’s prospects of rejection could take the form of implicit proximity seeking or overt ingratiation strategies. Efforts to minimize the pain of rejection could take the form of implicit distancing or overt derogation of the partner.
One promising method for assessing the implicit affiliation/distancing behaviors within conversations is through the analysis of spontaneous word choices (Gonzales, Hancock, & Pennebaker, 2010; Pennebaker, Francis, & Booth, 2001). Research suggests that a person’s linguistic style (LS; Pennebaker & King, 1999) and the extent to which it matches that of a conversation partner (linguistic style matching [LSM]) is reflective of the ongoing nature of an interaction (Gonzales et al., 2010). LSM in particular is presumed to reflect affiliation goals and, like nonverbal behavioral mimicry, occurs outside of conscious awareness (Niederhoffer & Pennebaker, 2002). Relative differences in LSM could thus reveal whether rejected (compared to accepted) individuals behave in a manner that facilitates or subtly undermines an interaction.
Participants were rejected or accepted by one partner following a brief interaction. They were then introduced to another partner for the purposes of an impression-formation task. Prior to meeting their new partners, targets reported their expectations of, and concerns about, the upcoming interaction. Targets and their partners also evaluated each other along a series of traits following the interaction.
Interactions were recorded, transcribed, and subjected to linguistic analyses. This allowed us to assess targets’ spontaneous expressive behavior during the interaction. Whereas linguistic behaviors and LSM were assumed to result from relatively automatic processes (Ireland & Pennebaker, 2010; Niederhoffer & Pennebaker, 2002; Pennebaker & King, 1999), self-report measures were assumed to reflect more controlled processes (Hadjistavropoulos & Craig, 2002). Both types of data were explored for evidence of proximity seeking and social distancing.
Method
Participants and Procedure
Participants were 182 undergraduates (121 females) enrolled in introductory psychology courses at a university in the Pacific Northwest. Four participants were scheduled for each session. Participants were paired off and escorted to separate rooms. One dyad was chosen randomly to receive the experimental manipulation, while the other provided the interaction partners with whom accepted and rejected participants would later interact. Members of both dyads were informed they would meet with a different individual later for a 5-min impression formation task. First, however, they would complete a “practice” or warm-up session, where they could talk about whatever they wanted for 3 min.
The dyad chosen randomly to receive the manipulation then privately evaluated their partner on 4 items including “How much did you like the other participant?” and “Do you feel you could be friends with this person in the future?” Responses were recorded on 7-point scales (1 = not at all, 7 = very much). The experimenter mentioned casually that, “participants are typically curious to know if they formed similar impressions of one another,” and thus they were permitted to see each other’s ratings. One member was randomly chosen to receive acceptance feedback while the other received rejection feedback. The manipulation was administered by replacing participants’ actual ratings with previously prepared forms reflecting either acceptance (ratings of 6 or 7) or mild rejection (ratings of 3 or 4). The experimenter placed the rating forms face up on the desk where the participant was seated as the experimenter administered the next set of questionnaires (described subsequently). This procedure was skipped for the second pair of participants.
The two dyads then switched partners such that each new pairing contained a person who was just accepted or rejected (“target”) and a person who received no manipulation (“partner”). Targets and their partners were seated in swivel chairs, roughly 5 feet apart, and provided with a list of moderately intimate questions (e.g., “What would be the perfect lifestyle for you?”) from the Relationship Closeness Induction Task (Sedikides, Campbell, Reeder, & Elliot, 1999). The experimenter emphasized that the questions were intended to facilitate conversation and that participants should feel free to deviate from the list. These 5-min interactions were videotaped. Upon completion, participants were separated and asked to report their impressions of one another as well as the interaction. Participants were debriefed.
Dependent Measures
Reactions to the manipulation
Immediately following the manipulation, targets completed 4 items tapping their expectations for the upcoming 5-min interaction (e.g., “How much are you looking forward to the interaction?” Do you think this person will like you?”) and 2 items assessing how concerned they were about the interaction (e.g., “How important is it to you that this person likes you?”). Items were collapsed to provide an overall measure of social expectancies (α = .88) and interpersonal concern (α = .79). A subset of 68 participants also completed measures of positive affect (α = .79) and negative affect (α = .78; Watson, Clark, & Tellegen, 1988).
Trait ratings
Following the second interaction, targets and their partners were asked to rate the extent to which their partner displayed each of 15 positive and 15 negative traits. These ratings were collapsed and subjected to Principal Components Analyses (PCA). Items whose component loadings failed to differ by at least .30 within the initial and secondary PCAs were discarded. The final solution (accounting for 66% of the variance) yielded four components that we labeled: kind (kind, open, patient, understanding, modest, responsive to others’ needs, and tolerant), moody (moody, thoughtless, irrational, complaining, and childish), self-assured (self-assured, sociable, and witty), and critical (critical, arrogant, and fake).
Postinteraction assessment
Participants completed a Deindividuation scale (Rogers & Prentice-Dunn, 1981) and four newly created items tapping the extent to which participants were consciously involved and engaged in the interaction. A PCA yielded four components that we labeled: rapport/liking (6 items, e.g., “Time seemed to pass quickly”; “I liked my partner”), self-consciousness (4 items, e.g., “I was concerned with what my partner was thinking about me”), personal responsibility (2 items, e.g., “I was primarily responsible for what transpired during the conversation”), and focus/concentration (2 items, e.g., “My thoughts seemed concentrated and focused on the moment”).
Verbal behaviors
Conversations were transcribed and analyzed with the Linguistic Inquiry Word Count (LIWC; Pennebaker, Francis, & Booth, 2001). Two sets of linguistic dimensions were identified for analyses. The first set tapped interpersonal and emotional processes associated with rejection and acceptance. Positive and negative emotion words provided linguistic markers of emotional tone (Pennebaker & King, 1999). Laugh symbols were added to our LIWC dictionary as an additional, indirect behavioral marker of emotion. Previous research (Owen et al., 2006) has found that self-report and linguistic markers of affect are generally uncorrelated, suggesting that linguistic emotional content does not reflect the conscious experience of mood. Number of questions asked reflected the amount of attention directed toward the partner.
The second set of dimensions assessed LSM, or coordination in the structure or style of speech, as well as convergence in the topics (“personal concerns”) discussed during the conversation. All major categories of linguistic dimensions reflected in the 2001 dictionary were analyzed, with two exceptions. In lieu of analyzing each of the 19 psychological processes (and to reduce the Type I error rate), we employed an exhaustive set of factor-analytically derived composite variables identified in prior work (Cohn, Mehl, & Pennebaker, 2004; Pennebaker & King, 1999). Psychological immediacy (the inverse of “psychological distancing,” Cohn et al., 2004) reflects the use of a more personal, experiential tone rather than an impersonal, rational-speaking tone. Making distinctions refers the use of more qualifiers and negations (“but,” “maybe,” and “never”) while speaking. Social past reflects a higher number of past-tense references to relationships (friends, coworkers) or social events (talking). Rationalization refers to causation and insight words (“because” and “consider”), and less frequent use of negative emotion words. Emotional positivity refers to the simple difference between the use of positive and negative emotion words. Further, we omitted two personal concerns (metaphysical issues and physical states) due to their very low frequency (i.e., less than 1% of all utterances) within participants’ interactions. Ireland and Pennebaker (2010) provided evidence that LSM and conversational content matching cannot be intentionally bolstered. This increased our confidence that the linguistic patterns under investigation were not subject to conscious awareness or control.
Results
Immediate reactions to the manipulation
As shown in Table 1, rejected targets reported more negative social expectancies and lower concern for the quality of the upcoming interaction. Positive and negative affect scores were strongly inversely correlated (−.50) so the latter was subtracted from the former to provide an overall index of affective responses to the manipulation. Rejected and accepted targets differed significantly in an overall self-reported affect.
Reactions to the Manipulation.
Note. SD = standard deviation. a df = 1, 66. Higher means reflect higher positive/lower negative affect.
*p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01.
Postinteractional assessment
As revealed in Table 2, rejected targets evaluated their new partners as less kind and reported lower levels of rapport and focus/concentration during the interaction than did accepted targets. One might expect these negative self-reports to have reflected negative conversational behavior that their partners would observe and react to, but this did not happen. Although partners interacting with rejected targets reported feeling more self-conscious than those interacting with accepted targets, partners rated rejected targets as being less critical than accepted targets. Apparently the rejected targets were exhibiting interpersonal behavior that was more positive than their self-reports alone would have suggested.
Postinteraction Assessment.
Note. aAnalyses controlled for sex of rater and sex of target. b df = 1,74.
*p < .05. **p < .01. ***p < .001.
Interpersonal and emotional processes
As shown in Table 3, rejected targets used more anger and anxiety words, evinced fewer laugh symbols, and asked more questions of their partners than did accepted targets.
LIWC Analysis: Target Differences in Language Use.
Note. LIWC = Linguistic inquiry word count.
*p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01.
LSM and content matching
Table 4 revealed higher levels of matching among rejected compared to accepted dyads on 18 of the 22 linguistic dimensions examined. Because some degree of convergence was found for both accepted and rejected dyads, only two of these comparisons in correlations (for words greater than six letters and psychological immediacy) reached significance. However, a within-study meta-analysis for nonindependent effects (Hayes, 1998) revealed that the combined effect size associated with the difference between rejected and accepted dyads was large and significant (Z′ = 3.50, p < .001).
Language Style Matching (LSM) and Convergence in Conversational Topics.
*p < .05. **p < .01. ***p < .001.
Mediational analyses
Additional analyses were conducted to determine whether immediate responses to the manipulation (expectancies, concern or affect) mediated the effects of experimental condition on the outcomes reported in Tables 2 and 3. Mediation was tested only when immediate reactions bore significant relationships to both the manipulation and the outcome variable. Table 5 provides the correlations between all possible mediators and outcome variables. Immediate responses were tested as parallel mediators of target outcomes using bootstrapping procedures based on 1,000 samples and a 95% bias-corrected confidence interval (Preacher & Hayes, 2008). Indirect effects (IEs) were considered significant if the confidence interval did not include zero. As revealed in Table 6, social expectancies and interpersonal concern mediated the effects of rejection on targets’ ratings of kindness, and expectancies uniquely mediated the effects of rejection on rapport/liking. No other effects were significant.
Correlations Among Immediate Reactions and Outcomes of the Manipulation.
*p ≤ .05. **p ≤ .01.
Results of Bootstrapping Analyses.
Note. CI = confidential interval.
Discussion
We began this investigation with the assumption that the pain of rejection would motivate individuals to avoid additional injury to the self. Our findings pointed to a complex pattern of responses that, collectively, appeared to serve the goals of thwarting both the pain of and potential for additional rejection. Evidence for the former was found in targets’ negative ratings of their partners and their interactions. Rejected (compared to accepted) individuals evaluated their new partners as less kind and reported lower levels of rapport with them. We saw no evidence that partners randomly paired with rejected targets actually behaved in ways that were less warm or friendly than partners paired with accepted targets. Rather, targets of a previous rejection appeared to be motivated to evaluate their partners and interactions more negatively, presumably in efforts to weaken the blow of possible criticism by that partner. This interpretation is supported by the fact that targets’ expectations of future rejection (and to a lesser extent their reduced concerns about the upcoming interaction) mediated their subsequent negative evaluations of their partners.
Despite these apparent, preemptive efforts to thwart the pain of rejection, rejected individuals actually behaved in ways that maintained or increased closeness with their partners. Evidence for proximity seeking was found in targets’ linguistic behaviors. Specifically, rejected targets were more likely to match the conversational content of their new partners and to mimic their partners’ LSs. This type of coordination and mimicry is considered to be a defining attribute of rapport and connectedness within social interactions (Bernieri & Rosenthal, 1991; Gonzales et al., 2010; Lakin & Chartrand, 2005).
Two categories of LSM deviated significantly from this pattern. First, word counts among rejected individuals and their partners remained unrelated, whereas word counts among accepted targets and their partners were significantly inversely related. This finding indicates that accepted pairs tended to have a speaker who dominated the conversation while the other listened. Research suggests that complementarity in dominance behaviors is more characteristic of interactions within nonclose relationships than close relationships (Moskowitz, Ho, & Turcotte-Tremblay, 2007).
Second, high levels of linguistic matching were observed within accepted but not rejected dyads on the category of first person pronouns. This category differs from other categories in that matching reflects a tendency to reciprocate a conversation partner’s self-references with references to oneself (e.g., responding to “I” with “I” and “we” with “we”). The lower level of LSM among rejected dyads is reminiscent of prior work showing that rejected individuals tend to avoid self-focus (Twenge, Cantonese, & Baumeister, 2003). It is also consistent with the tendency for rejected targets in the present study to ask more questions of their partners. Collectively, these findings suggest that (1) rejection increases implicit proximity seeking via LSM and reciprocated conversational content and (2) LSM is unlikely to occur when it thwarts rather than strengthens connections with others or refocuses attention on the self.
Note that LSM did not result in higher ratings of interaction quality; rejected individuals reported lower levels of rapport/liking than did accepted individuals, and their partners’ ratings did not differ. Tickle-Degnen and Rosenthal (1987) have argued that self-reports of positivity (e.g., liking) are one of the three independent components of true rapport, which also includes behavioral coordination and mutual attention. Although moderately correlated, these three attributes are driven by independent processes and thus can diverge. Applied to the present study, rejected participants may have been more implicitly engaged in their interactions but defensively motivated to deny that their partners were likeable. Moreover, targets may have exhibited other behaviors—including those that led their partners to feel more self-conscious—that suppressed any partner-reported increases in rapport that would normally come with higher levels of coordination and attention.
Temporal Differences in Attachment Regulation
We entered this investigation unsure of whether our findings would reveal evidence of affiliative or avoidant/aggressive behaviors following rejection and the domains in which these behaviors might occur. Ultimately, most of the evidence for affiliative responses was revealed in spontaneous linguistic behaviors, whereas most of the evidence for distancing appeared in postinteraction self-reports. These findings provide good corroborating support for proximity seeking as a relatively implicit process that occurs quickly and without conscious awareness (Lakin et al., 2008), and relational distancing as a relatively deliberate or higher order mental process that is mediated by conscious appraisals of others’ regard (Bernstein & Claypool, 2012; Twenge et al., 2007).
Not all our data were perfectly consistent with this proposed dichotomy, however. For example, rejected participants used a higher proportion of anger and anxiety words, and evinced fewer laugh syllables, while speaking. These findings may have reflected the immediate or reflexive pain of rejection (Williams, 2009), without having any direct bearing on the extent to which targets and their partners were linguistically synchronized. Another source of ambiguity involves the verbal and/or nonverbal behaviors that served as the basis for partners’ ratings. Partners rated rejected compared to accepted targets as less arrogant and critical. The fact that partner impressions were uncorrelated with targets’ expectations of rejection suggests that rejected individuals’ suppression of critical behaviors was a relatively automatic response to the previous rejection rather than a controlled response to the expectation of future rejection. Unfortunately, however, our coding procedures did not allow us to assess every relevant behavior that may have been responsible for partners' impressions or to determine the extent to which they may have resulted from strategic self-presentation goals or relatively automatic connection goals.
These limitations notwithstanding, we note strong parallels between our findings and regulatory responses to threatened security in close relationships. For example, the model of attachment regulation proposed by Mikulincer and Shaver (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2003; Shaver & Mikulincer, 2002) places responses to rejection along a continuum of automatic to controlled processes. Automatic thoughts and behaviors aim to reduce physical or psychological distance from attachment figures and represent unconscious efforts to minimize distress. Controlled thoughts and behaviors result from conscious appraisals of whether others will be responsive to one’s needs. Attachment figures who are perceived as available sources of support are approached as trusted sources of renewed attachment, whereas attachment figures who are perceived as unavailable compound feelings of threat, resulting in “hyperactivation” or “deactivation” of the attachment system (Cassidy & Kobak, 1988; Main, 1990). Both manifestations of attachment insecurity are associated with higher levels of hostility and aggression (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2011; Péloquin, Lafontaine, & Brassard, 2011).
A similar set of processes appears in the risk regulation framework proposed by Murray and colleagues (Murray, Derrick, Leder, & Holmes, 2008). According to this model, threats to felt security automatically activate connectedness goals unless the threat is salient and internal to the relationship (in which case self-protection may be prioritized). The conflict between connection and protection goals is then resolved by an executive (control) system wherein individuals assess the likelihood that partners will be responsive to their needs. Individuals risk greater vulnerability and dependence on partners to the extent that they feel they can trust the partner. Situational or dispositional cues that undermine trust in the partner, by comparison, lead to avoidance processes that manifest in the devaluation of the partner and the relationship.
Thus, one promising set of frameworks for future work that allows for the simultaneous execution of affiliative and avoidant/aggressive responses to rejection is that grounded in attachment theory and risk regulation. Both models place proximity seeking early in the sequence of temporal responses to rejection and highlight the critical role of expectancies in determining controlled responses to rejection. Both would also predict that individuals will seek to derogate and downplay the importance of relationships with those (like strangers) who are viewed as nonviable sources of connection. Though created primarily to account for threats to security within close relationships, these attachment regulation models may be adapted to explain interpersonal responses to rejection within nonclose relationships as well (see also Maxwell, Spielmann, Joel, & MacDonald, 2013; Sommer & Benkendorf, 2009).
Future Directions
Our findings were both consistent and inconsistent with previous work linking rejection to increases in aggression toward novel others (Twenge et al., 2001). Rejected individuals in the present study rated their partners as less kind than did accepted individuals. Simultaneously, partners rated rejected individuals as less critical and arrogant than accepted individuals. These findings call for a more nuanced understanding of aggression—one that gives greater attention to the moderating role of proximity to targets of aggression. Unlike in previous research, accepted and rejected targets interacted face to face with new partners, and the only evidence of “aggression” came in the form of private derogation and relational distancing. This suggests that the rejected can suppress overt displays of aggression when the situation requires that they do so in order to avoid additional rejection.
Furthermore, in line with previous work documenting early stage proximity seeking in response to rejection (Dewall et al., 2009; Gardner et al., 2000; Lakin et al., 2008), our findings revealed evidence of higher LSM and conversational content matching among our rejected compared to accepted participants. However, as Murray, Derrick, Leder, and Holmes (2008) have observed, automatically activated connection goals may occasionally give way to automatic distancing goals in relationships characterized by intense or repeated threat. Specifically, avoidance behaviors stemming from a history of perceived rejection may eventually become automated and hence show stronger activation than connection goals following reminders of threat. By extension, we suspect that the LSM behaviors observed in the present study may be restricted to relationships in which ongoing concerns about rejection are not operating.
Finally, our findings should be interpreted within the context of the rejection manipulation that was employed. Molden, Lucas, Gardner, Dean, and Knowles (2009) showed that “active exclusion” or clear devaluation by others activates a prevention focus, characterized by higher anxiety, regrets over actions taken, and withdrawal from social contact. In contrast, “passive exclusion” or feeling ignored by others activates a promotion focus characterized by increases in sadness and regrets over actions not taken and efforts to increase social contact. Although subtle, our manipulation took the form of active exclusion. A passive exclusion manipulation that merely denied opportunities for connection might have resulted in more proactive social behaviors, including efforts to garner positive impressions (rather than avoid negative impressions) by others. Whereas both active and passive exclusion might be expected to increase automatic (unregulated) proximity seeking, only those who are actively rejected may view novel interaction partners as nonviable sources of reconnection and defensively reduce closeness with them. We view this as a critical area for future research.
Conclusions
Social rejection represents an immediate and painful threat to the belongingness for which humans ordinarily strive (Baumeister & Leary, 1995). Our findings suggest that rejected people exhibit a complex mix of affiliative and distancing behaviors that vary in the extent to which regulatory control is involved. We argue that a fuller understanding of rejection’s outcomes can be achieved by appreciating the multiple means by which people minimize the pain and probability of future rejection.
Footnotes
Acknowledgment
The authors thank Alissa Czajka, Nicholas Reyna, Ben Barkowski, Alyssa Raymond, and Jennifer Ochoa-Evers for their assistance with data collection and coding.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by a National Institute of Mental Health grant (#MH066828-01) awarded to the first author.
