Recently I watched “Inventing Anna” a fictionalized episodic Netflix drama about Anna Sorokin, the so-called wannabe socialite who apparently manipulated friends and financial institutions out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. I have long been fascinated by Abnormal Psychology and Criminology since studying both in college. I am particularly fascinated with narcissism, given that it is highly likely that my mother had some degree of that, and being my first model as my mother, I am ever on the look-out for any narcissistic fleas tucked deep into my navel like lint. There were many moments in which the show was sympathetic to Anna, though it seemed very clear to me that she might be narcissistic. I concluded that she was quite astute - her own lack of realness allowed her to see through other’s facades and manipulate them to her own ends. She often used other’s vanity - other’s desire for authenticity - against them.
There’s something that narcissists show us that I think we miss: our own illusions about authenticity. How real are we, really? How are we, just like Anna, using projections and flattery to manipulate others into perceiving us in a certain way to achieve a feeling of safety, love, or success?
I’ve been wanting to write again for some time, often composing whole pieces in my head while attempting to get back to sleep in the middle of the night, or while I’m out walking on my morning walk. What has been stopping me has been the question of authenticity. Being authentic. Such the buzzword, it’s been trending for a long while now.
There was a point in time when I strove for authenticity. But I’ve since discovered this paradox: the more one strives for authenticity, the more one makes that one’s goal, one’s intention, the more inauthentic one will be. I strove for this authenticity through the usage of vulnerability - another trending buzzword these days.
So I’ve come to distrust anyone’s usage of the word as any indication of actual authenticity or vulnerability. I don’t trust anything on social media to be authentic or truly vulnerable, but I don’t think I’m saying anything new there - I don’t think I’m particularly unique in this. However, I even consider that these words that I’m writing are most likely several degrees away from both, even if you don’t consider this platform “social media.”
I’m not entirely sure it’s possible to be truly authentic. To be truly authentic would require lacking self-consciousness, and while generally we perceive self-consciousness to be a negative - a sign of low self-esteem - it reflects a level of self-awareness (which on the other hand of the spectrum denotes something positive). Either way, it’s six of one, half dozen of the other, as my parents would often say. Since we cannot escape either our self-consciousness or self-awareness, we can only fail at being authentic.
On the other hand, I have often pondered that when someone says they were “faking” it, putting on a smile, or in some way acting (in other words, being inauthentic), that even in their (or my) so-called inauthenticity, there is still authenticity, because what they are still doing - smiling even though they feel otherwise, “faking to make it” or acting - it still comes from a very real desire to not be bothered, to feel safe, or to be accepted.
This is the conundrum I have been turning over in my mind for weeks like a zen koan. If I write here for others to read, how can I write from authenticity? It doesn’t seem possible. The very idea of writing my thoughts, expressing my feelings, sharing my opinions, requires a certain self-consciousness or self-awareness…and such self-consciousness or self-awareness relies on a separation of self from other, and from this separation, an automatic mask. Words are particularly manipulating, in general. Consider that we use the same word for casting magic and for how to write a word: spell. I’m sure many will object to this; the word “manipulation” has a particularly bad connotation, despite the fact that it’s neutral and we do it all the time when we talk.
I feel as though there is no authenticity unless we are alone. No, perhaps not even then, as we can often put on masks for ourselves through self-denial or self-deceit. So, is such a thing even possible?
I arrived at this critical juncture when thinking about different things to share. Thinking about who my audience is…remembering lessons from writing in which we were instructed to consider who we are talking to. If we are truly authentic, it doesn’t matter who we are talking to, our expression would remain the same. We would not alter what or how or why we express ourselves depending on who we are with. Would we even use words?
Enter the vulnerability fetish. As far as a kink goes, this one made fashionable by social science researcher Brene Brown, it’s not a bad one. Admittedly, it was one of mine for quite some time, being a Brene Brown groupie for a minute or two. She simply normalized what I already knew and used to my advantage.
I was in an Enneagram workshop in which there was a panel of about a dozen Type Eights. I was supposedly an Eight (perhaps I’ll write more about that another time), and the topic of vulnerability came up. They mentioned that this was a very difficult thing for Eights to do, because they didn’t like to allow themselves to feel powerless. I didn’t entirely agree with this and joined the conversation sharing that I found that one could use vulnerability as a way to maintain and even wield more power. I found that I could easily disarm people by being “vulnerable” or sharing what many would consider shameful things about myself - because it would communicate that there was very little they could dig up on me or find that would actually harm me. In my mind, having secrets makes you truly vulnerable.
And thanks to Brene Brown, I became even more adept at this; because now in the zeitgeist was a whole new language that I could use. And here I am in this moment, though not intentional, seeing that I could even use this sharing of this particularly sociopathic strategy with you to maintain my power. (I generally don’t use this strategy anymore because I don’t need to; I’ve found ways to my own power that make it unnecessary).
Now, it’s everywhere, people sharing “their truth” as authenticity on raging or on facebook and twitter, crying on instagram (and probably tiktok, I’m only guessing) in the name of vulnerability and quite frankly, having played that game myself, I can see it for what it is, a game. Narcissus, of the greek legend from which the psychpathology is named, lost himself in his image in water, eventually becoming the flower of the same name. I wonder how many are losing themselves to their own image on the screen. I know I had for a while. I can’t even be certain I’m still not, even though I have for the most part given up instagram selfies, and a personalized facebook profile.
True authenticity doesn’t announce itself. It can’t; it ceases to be authentic. True vulnerability is terrifying - anyone who’s come close to sudden death can tell you that. No one is thinking about hitting the record button when they are in a truly vulnerable moment. If they are, I question their definition of vulnerable and equally applaud their manipulation of the current trends for attention.
So where does that leave me and writing? Why write? What is the purpose of sharing something of myself with others, since it will be filtered through a screen of manipulation, words carefully chosen for effect, to project and create projection of an image. An image of what exactly? Why must I have people see me a certain way? What if I allowed them to project onto me whatever they wanted to, knowing that it actually doesn’t mean anything about who I am, authentically, at my core? What if I let go of attempting to influence and recognized that even if I did nothing, it would be impossible for me not to have some sort of impact on my surroundings?
Or, what if, I decided to have some fun and play the game? Knowing that everything I manipulate and project also doesn’t mean anything about who I am, authentically, at my core? It’s a fun idea…
Perhaps the only authentic thing here, is choice. Of attitude. I haven’t arrived at a conclusion yet, wrapped up in a tidy bow…I don’t think I’m done chewing on this bone yet. I may never be.