"I think no persons are more hypocritical, and have a more affected behaviour to one another, than the young. They deceive themselves and each other with artifices that do not impose upon men of the world; and so we get to understand truth better, and grow simplier, as we grow older." William Thackeray, The History of Henry Esmond.
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It’s amusing to watch teens and younger twenty-somethings "express individuality" -- the same way. After awhile, their pretend uncommonness becomes strangely common. For example, body tattoos fail to attract more than a passing glance. Avant-garde haircuts, spikes and piercings ... so typical. Jack-booted girls ... so predictably anarchic. White ringed, stretched earlobes ... so primitive. It has all been done before. Many times.
We’re all unique, remember? Each and every one of us has their own genetic code. Is also true, however, that deep within, we know our differences pale in comparison to our common traits. Most people are truly different, to the point of being unusual, in only one or two traits or abilities. No more.
As a kid, I felt different, mainly because I couldn't stop reading. I loved reading. I loved ideas. But I also loved being popular. To conceal my nerdiness, I consciously and carefully crafted an image -- I was the surfer chick, sun-browned and athletic, with long, stringy ocean-blonde hair. This image worked. My peers positively responded to my fake individuality. I was one of them.
I remember thinking it was far too easy, that popularity was a such a simple sham and cheap deception. I had learned, at an early age, that part of being accepted, ironically, was pretending to be unique, by adopting the same look as other "individualists." As I grew older, I found it easy to see pretenders, particularly in occupations which require extreme (and false) individuality such as the arts. Though artists may think they're oozing with pathos, their weirdness is nothing more than narcissistic insecurity and copy-cat individuality. It’s uncreative.
But not just pretentious "arteests" conform to unconventionality -- supposed
conformists also conform, at least outwardly. I have a theory that those who
try hard to look unconventional are too typical for their own liking; similarly,
outward conformists are dangerous iconoclasts trying to hide.
I've sometimes wondered what I'd look like if I didn't have to deceive. I think I'd wear long loose skirts, commando and braless, with a tight shirt. My hair would be comfortably caught into in a ponytail. No makeup. Only sandals.
I write this because I caught a glimpse of myself a couple days ago as I walked past a long window. The woman in the window, I didn't recognize. I saw a briskly walking professional woman in a tight navy skirt modestly hidden by a long navy jacket. She looked harried. Her hair was sprayed to perfection. Her eyes were covered with large, Cali glasses, like a movie star, and her little heels made a definitive clicking sound with each determined step.
When I realized the reflection was my own, I looked away. Instinctively. I felt I’d been caught lying.
But life isn’t so black-and-white. White lies, like pretend conformity, are easily justified. Pretend individuality isn’t quite as tolerable, though, after one has passed through those young adult years. Aging hipsters look foolish. Middle-age women wearing teen-age clothes look doubly foolish. As one ages, one’s true oddities become better known. Conformity, then, is a way of hiding individuality, not expressing it.
Strange,
but true.
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