The Authenticity Trap

Fear and Loathing in the Virtual World.

Mar 08, 2021

(4 Minute Read)

It took exactly two weeks for me to wonder if this ‘newsletter thing’ was a bad idea. The problem wasn’t a lack of inspiration or that I had already tired of writing. The issue, for me, was admitting that I had enjoyed the small amount of affirmation I had received since this project began.

I can see how the previous sentence would be annoying - ‘Poor Amanda. Someone told her they liked her blog.’

But, it’s not that. I was reminded just how potent the high from digital validation can be. One minute you’re pleased because you carved out time to organize and write down some thoughts and the next you’ve spiraled into refreshing a dashboard to see if more people read what you wrote. Yikes.

Are we so easily converted into approval addicts?

I wanted to uncover why I had been compelled not only to write, but to ‘share’ my writing. For what audience was I performing? Was I showing up ‘authentically’?

Perhaps it was also timely that this week’s read was a book that had been sitting on my shelf for a few months: The Twittering Machine (2019) by Richard Seymour. In it, Seymour examines the human addiction to writing into our devices, the Internet’s (false?) promise of creative autonomy, the potency of ‘connectivity’. Suddenly I felt seen, but not in a good way.

“In a form of mass casualization, writers no longer expect to be paid or given employment contracts. What do the platforms offer us in lieu of wage? What gets us hooked? Approval, attention, retweets, shares, likes.”
The Twittering Machine - Richard Seymour

For as much as I openly criticize social media, I had to confess that at best, I still buy into the possibility that something good can happen ‘here’ and at worst, I’m just as susceptible as anyone when it comes to liking being liked, even in a way that is largely fleeting and meaningless.

Yet, this has become our ‘reality’. Never to this extent have we had to contemplate the disconnect between who we are and who we want to be. We are deep into the era of the hyper-constructed self, deep enough that the days before profiles have grown difficult to recall, enough that there are ‘adults’ (okay, barely… but still) who aren’t old enough to remember life before social networks.

“Just by having an account, one has a public image. Just by posting a status or answering a comment, one has a public relations strategy.”
The Twittering Machine - Richard Seymour

If much of the past decade’s conversation was about brands, branding, branding ourselves (see also: clever ways to make ourselves seem more important or fabulous than we are), we suddenly woke up to the realization that that which looks polished often doesn’t equate to substance through the screen.

And so now we turn our efforts to the relentless pursuit of authenticity.

Much has been said about ‘authenticity’ lately. I’ve noticed this word showing up more and more in daily conversations. Authenticity is to be the antidote to the worst type of influencers. Let us rid ourselves of the ‘fakers’ and adopt new, unfiltered idols who know ‘how to be real’.

The irony, of course, is that the imperfect, off-the-cuff aesthetic can be every bit as calculated as its photoshopped/face-tuned predecessor. Savvy brands have already pivoted to curating less glossy content with the hope that we buy in because of its relatability. At this point, even unflattering, confessional content is often deliberately crafted.

Do we feel so unseen in our daily lives that we’re willing to expose our most vulnerable selves to the entire Internet in exchange for likes, comments, and if we’re lucky - some free stuff? Is this really what we want?

This isn’t so much authenticity as it is a performance of authenticity. And sadly, this performative authenticity isn’t likely to do anything to solve our skyrocketing rates of depression and anxiety or provide meaning where there’s a void.

Rather than put so much work, or any work for that matter, into trying so hard to look authentic, maybe freedom lies in admitting that digital authenticity is highly flawed in that it is impossible; it’s all performance, and that’s okay so long as we know it.

Rather than pivot, as we have, to crafted authenticity, perhaps we should strive, as much as possible, to separate our physical selves from our digital counterparts. It could be that the best (or most interesting) version of the Internet is that which is most detached from our real lives.

“The more compulsively we curate the self, the less we live. We may find it helpful to forget ourselves from time to time.”
The Twittering Machine - Richard Seymour

At its best, I would argue, the Internet allows us to disconnect our ideas from our physical selves; our words can stand on their own and in theory, anyone can experience and interpret what I’ve written here without actually experiencing ‘me’. In this bizarre abyss lies the opportunity to feel freedom from one’s self; a world where it doesn’t so much matter who the people behind the screen are, but what the ideas themselves are.

This isn’t so far off from what the original promise of the Internet was. Before Silicon Valley, in the early eighties, there were French hipsters on the Left Bank, experimenting with online anonymity, dubbed ‘fading’, on a public-sector platform open to all, called Minitel. It wasn’t exactly the Internet, but there were rudimentary forms of online shopping, ticket booking, interactive gaming, and an open exchange of ideas.

What wasn’t commercialized was the infrastructure itself. There was no way to make money from taps and clicks, and therefore no technological incentive to create addictive platforms. Ultimately, of course, Minitel lost out to the Internet, which leaned more heavily on the private sector. Quickly, the potential to capitalize off of users via advertising became too tempting, even if it meant adopting practices that rely on manipulation and surveillance.

And here we are.

It could be that part of our user-error stems from repeatedly referring to what happens in these digital realms as ‘community’ when the virtual world, at best, will always be a cheap substitute for what a real community can provide. This newsletter is much less an attempt at community than it is a message in a bottle — a bottle that could travel anywhere in the world or merely wash right back up where it came from. As corny as the analogy is, I think it’s a helpful one. Once the message is in the bottle, it no longer has much to do with any version of me at all, authentic or otherwise.

-A

THE BOOK

The Twittering Machine by Richard Seymour

Speaking of French Hipsters…

… and masters of ‘fading’: Daft Punk retired. Last week, FT Opinion writer, Janan Ganesh, wrote a brilliant piece about the duo, exploring Daft Punk as a ‘lesson in remoteness’. It’s very much related to everything above. A particularly thought-provoking bit on the relationship between crafted transparency and trust:

“The feeling of your pain, the stakeholder-flattery: ingratiation has been the way of public and private elites during the exact era that trust in them has dropped. With exquisite circularity, the answer to the cynicism is to try all the harder to “connect”. It is a double folly. What they forfeit in grandeur, they do not make up for in affection.”

No Plans to Move:

A return to homes meant to span generations? While the pandemic may have changed the way we interact with our living spaces, the trend toward homes that are more layered, rich with collected items has staying power beyond the days of Covid. Millennials are discovering the appeal of antiques and of using one’s personal space as a vehicle for self-expression. This feature in T Magazine tells the story of a Florentine Villa continuously decorated by one family over 45 years.

Have a great week!