Stigma

As in:

It was one thing to try to bear the ridicule that came his way, in college, after his back foot struck a hurdle and he plunged headfirst into a steeplechase water hazard. But now, in his early forties, it was the stigma of his half-drunken decision, in the Bonzai Benny Karaoke Bar, to try “My Sharona”–and commit to the decision, long after it had gone awry–that escorted him everywhere. Everybody in the company had either seen the video or heard about it. Sometimes in a crowded elevator he would hear someone mouthing the “do-do-do, do-do, do-do” opening of the tune and then the sound of others, suppressing laughter. Even in a city as large as Charlotte, there seemed to be no place to hide.