So Brunch Babe: “The Myth of Authenticity”

I have spent an embarrassing amount of my life trying to figure out which version of me is the real one.

There’s me at work, as a parent, a writer, a social media public figure, a friend, and so on. There’s the version who can work a room and the version who would rather stand near the food and wait for someone else to initiate conversation.

I know how to code switch. Most of us do. Version 2.1 for work. Version 3.6 for weddings. The quieter version around certain family members. We call these different versions “hats,” which makes it sound like underneath all of them there is one perfectly formed person waiting to be discovered.

I’m starting to wonder if that person exists. Maybe that’s the myth of authenticity.

We talk about authenticity like it’s a destination.

Find yourself. Know yourself. Then be yourself.

Three instructions that assume there is a finished “self” somewhere inside of us and our job is simply to uncover it. Peel away enough layers, survive enough life, go to enough therapy and eventually you’ll arrive at the final draft.

But what happens when that person changes again?

I’ve worked in hospitality and social media for years, two industries where reading a room can become a survival skill. Somewhere along the way, I became good at being the designated atmosphere. I can make conversation. I can tell a story with an unnecessary amount of detail. I will commit to a bit long after it deserves my commitment.

But that version of me wasn’t entirely organic at first. Some of it came from anxiety. Some from jobs where being personable paid the bills. Some from realizing humor could make uncomfortable situations easier. Some probably came from being raised by emotionally unavailable Leo women.

 If I code switch enough, how do I find myself back to my original setting?

Hard knocks have a funny way of becoming personality traits. So, was I born this way? Was I shaped by lived experience? Or was my authenticity forged somewhere in between?

That’s where I get stuck. At what point does something we learned to survive become something that is authentically ours? If I learned to read a room because I was anxious, but now genuinely enjoy making people comfortable, is that behavior fake or authentic? If an insecure person practices confidence long enough that they eventually become confident, when exactly did they stop pretending?

Maybe they never were. Maybe practice was the point. 

We seem obsessed with sorting ourselves into absolutes. I am an introvert. I am an extrovert. I am confident. I am anxious. I am too much on purpose to distract from my messy growth.

We collect personality traits like evidence and use them to explain ourselves back to ourselves and everyone around us. There’s comfort in knowing who you are. But there’s danger in turning that knowledge into a contract. Is not knowing who we are discomfort?

“This is just who I am” can quietly become “this is who I have to remain.”

That might be the real problem with the myth of authenticity. If being authentic means remaining consistent with the person we’ve decided we are, growth starts looking suspiciously like betrayal.

Maybe authenticity isn’t a noun at all; it’s a verb.

Something we practice, test, and adjust as life gives us new information. We try on hats. Some look ridiculous. Some fit for a season. Some become so comfortable we forget we ever had to practice wearing them. That doesn’t make those versions of us dishonest.

There are certainly performances. We know when we’re pretending for approval, shrinking ourselves for acceptance or manufacturing a personality because we think it will make someone stay. But discernment isn’t dishonesty. Neither is evolution.

I can be quieter in one room and louder in another without either version being fake. I can realize something I believed five years ago no longer fits without invalidating the person who once believed it.

I think that’s where I’ve personally misunderstood authenticity.

I thought the goal was eventually becoming certain about who I am. Now I think the goal might be becoming comfortable enough with myself to remain curious about who I’m becoming.

The more I buy into that, the kinder my eyes become when I look backward.

Because if every hard lesson has to solidify into a permanent trait, eventually we stop learning. We become so committed to being “authentic” that we surrender our right to change. I don’t want an authenticity that requires that of me. I want one that leaves room for revisions, productive self-critique, and the possibility that tomorrow I might know something I don’t know today.

Maybe the myth of authenticity is that somewhere underneath all those hats is the real you, waiting patiently to be found… I don’t think there is.

I think there’s the person wearing the hat today, understanding a little more about why they put it on and deciding whether it still fits tomorrow. And by tomorrow, if you choose a different one, it doesn’t mean today’s version was fake. It means you’re still becoming.

Authenticity was never supposed to mean finished.

---

The commentary provided in this post reflects the author’s personal perspectives and not those of Input Fort Wayne or its parent company, Issue Media Group.