The Myth of Authenticity
For a long time, I misunderstood authenticity.
Like many people, I believed that being authentic meant showing up exactly as I was, regardless of the situation. If I preferred casual clothes, I wore casual clothes. If I disliked formalities, I ignored them. If a room expected a certain kind of behavior, that was the room's problem, not mine.
There was something noble in that idea.
There was also something childish.
When I was younger, I worked for a very wealthy person. Looking back, I was far more casual than the environment demanded. I often looked as if I had wandered into the office by accident. I did not particularly care. Part of me saw this as a point of principle.
Surprisingly, it worked.
The family liked me. Some people even found it refreshing.
The management was less enthusiastic.
Fortunately for me, I occupied a peculiar position. I was close enough to the center of things that few people wanted to challenge me directly. Had I occupied a more ordinary role, my experiment in authenticity might have ended much sooner.
At the time, I saw this as a victory.
Today I am less certain.
The older I get, the more I suspect that authenticity has very little to do with refusing to adapt.
A lawyer does not become inauthentic because he wears a suit to court.
A diplomat does not become inauthentic because he chooses his words carefully.
A social worker does not become inauthentic because he speaks differently to a judge than he does to a frightened teenager.
The mistake is to confuse adaptation with deception.
Human beings adapt constantly. We speak differently to our children than to our friends. We behave differently at a funeral than at a birthday party. We use different language in a courtroom than at a kitchen table.
None of this is hypocrisy.
It is simply competence.
The real question is not whether we adapt.
The real question is whether we disappear.
There is a difference between adjusting your speech to the room and becoming whatever the room wants you to be.
One is wisdom.
The other is surrender.
When people talk about authenticity today, they often imagine a person who refuses to change his clothes, his language, or his behavior regardless of context.
I no longer find that impressive.
In many cases, it is simply another form of ego.
The truly authentic person does not need to announce his authenticity. He does not need to prove his independence through deliberate nonconformity. He understands the situation he is in and responds accordingly.
He wears the suit if the situation requires a suit.
He speaks formally when formality serves a purpose.
He follows conventions when conventions are useful.
But underneath these adjustments, something remains unchanged.
His values.
His judgments.
His character.
His centre of gravity.
The younger version of myself thought authenticity meant showing people exactly who I was.
The older version suspects that authenticity means knowing who you are well enough that changing your clothes does not change your identity.
The costume matters less than the person wearing it.