How hard can simply “being ourselves” really be? Plenty hard, as it turns out. That’s part of why it took me three years to research and write a book on the topic—even when I limited the subject matter to women.
For starters, we have to do some hard work to discover who our “self” even is. We have to develop the ability to look at ourselves honestly, and become self-aware enough to hear the sound of our authentic inner voice, and distinguish that from all the other voices in our heads—including the ones we get from cultural, societal, and media pressures of who we’re supposed to be. We also need to do a lot of exploring to discover what in the outside world resonates with that voice, and then figure out how to put all that together into some kind of cohesive but flexible vision of who that means we are.
But then the real complex stuff begins. If we all lived alone on isolated islands, being “ourselves” or being “authentic” would be fairly straightforward, because there would be no expectations or pressures for us to be anything other that what evolved naturally—even if our solitary, island opportunities and experiences limited what that “self” could consist of or become. But we don’t live on isolated islands. And that means we are constantly influenced—for better and for worse—by other people and pressures as we try to make our way in the world.
On the one hand, that means we have many more opportunities to develop and expand who we are. We encounter mentors, and work to effect change with other kindred spirits; we become parents and friends, and dive into personal and professional challenges and experiences—all of which expand both our world and our view of ourselves. On the other hand, interacting with the world means we often have to balance what might be the most “authentic” behavior for us, versus what we need to do in order to fit in, succeed, or be effective in a world where our view is not the only one, and how we act or dress can significantly influence how effective or successful we can be.
The challenge, then, becomes figuring out how to remain essentially “ourselves,” so we don’t get lost in pretenses, artifice, or other people’s visions of us, while not becoming so rigid that we limit either our ability to function effectively in the world around us, or limit what new aspects of “ourselves” we might otherwise discover.
Consider, for example, two discussions of that dilemma, which I came across this past week. The first is an essay I read in The New York Times by a writer named Mary Mann, complaining about lipstick. Left to her own devices, she explained, she wouldn’t wear it. But she’d come to realize that if she wanted higher-paying jobs and promotions, she needed to pay more attention to her appearance. “If you look at photos of successful women—whether chief executives, actresses, or politicians—they’re all wearing lipstick,” Mann wrote. Part of their power, she argued, came from owning their identities as women—and, she maintained, that means embracing a certain kind of attractive femininity. Including lipstick. Power lipstick. Which, apparently, can cost almost $20 a stick.
I actually don’t agree with her about the femininity part—unless we’re just talking about actresses. That’s a particularly appearance-focused industry, with all kinds of societal expectation/fantasy fulfillment layered into it. When it comes to women in power positions, however: CEOs, politicians, university deans and presidents, or other leadership roles—yes, they probably all wear some kind of lipstick, or at least minimal make-up, when they’re in their professional roles. They also tend to have their hair combed, and wear outfits that don’t look as if they come from Goodwill. Aside from that, their styles vary widely. But the common thread in their appearance isn’t fashion conformity or feminine sex-appeal. It’s a confident, put-together and professional look.
What defines “professional” varies from industry to industry, of course. A creative director from an ad agency in SoHo is going to dress differently than a investment banker from mid-town. A start-up CEO from Silicon Valley is, on most days, dressing for a different environment than a U.S. Senator. Unless, of course, that CEO is testifying in front of a U.S. Senate committee. In which case, it behooves her to dress in a manner appropriate to that setting, and in a way likely to have the greatest advantageous impact on that audience.
But is dressing for success—especially if you throw lipstick into the bargain— “inauthentic”? It depends upon how you define “authentic,” as well as how rigid or limited your vision of that personal authenticity is. Authentic, it should be noted, is not the same as “unvarnished, untouched, and just as nature made us.” It’s also not just about our private, vacation-mode, in-our-back-garden selves. If that’s all we ever were, or all we were capable of being, we’d be pretty limited creatures.
Fortunately, for the sake of a more interesting world, every person is a multi-faceted and complex being. As I noted in my recently-finished book about women’s authentic voice:
Our concept of “self” needs to be complex and flexible enough to encompass all the many individual threads, textures, colors, and patterns that make up the rich tapestry of our authentic core and voice, and allow for an expanding view of who we still can become. But there should also be a recognizable thread of consistency in all of that expression, just as a diamond with 58 facets may reflect light in many ways and colors, but is still a connected whole with basic underlying properties present in all its facets.
We aren’t just one thing, and we don’t just have one side of us, or one aspect of ourselves to express. So being “authentic” is about finding a way of being in the world that feels aligned with the part of ourselves we’re trying to express at that moment.
Most of us, for example, have a playful date side, a let-down-our-hair weekend side, a kick-ass professional expert side, a compassionate friend side, and a disciplinarian parent side—just to name a few. And as we’re expressing those different aspects of our selves, our behavior and dress is likely to differ, as well. When I’m in my own yard and garden, my preferred clothing is a comfy sundress and bare feet. But when I’m making a corporate presentation, I wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing that outfit—because I’m not being that aspect of myself when I’m giving a talk. I’m being my kick-ass professional self. And to reflect that, I want an outfit and look that’s reasonably polished and put together—while still allowing me feel as if it “fits” who I am, so I’m comfortable with myself. Fortunately, there are a multitude of styles that fit the “appropriate” label, these days, and still allow a woman room to tailor them to fit her “authentic” self.
A woman could still decide that lipstick was simply, categorically, out of her “authentic” zone, for any aspect of herself. Fair enough. But before getting too righteous in our certainty about what elements lie outside of our authentic zone, it’s worth considering the second item I came across, this week: a TEDX talk by Herminia Ibarra, a professor at the London School of Economics, entitled “The Authenticity Paradox.”
In her talk, Professor Ibarra tells the story of a female colleague who rose up through the engineering ranks to became the CEO of a company, but then found herself clashing with the chairman of its board of directors. The chairman wanted her to be more charismatic in her presentations to the board and company—telling personal or human stories, and aiming to inspire as well as to inform. The CEO bristled at that, because, as she explained to Ibarra, she found touchy-feely salesmanship manipulative and inauthentic. To her, the numbers were what was real, and she was a numbers person. To be anything else felt inauthentic.
So … is storytelling, for a numbers person, inauthentic?
Ibarra took gentle exception to that stance, and not just because the CEO was potentially limiting her effectiveness by not being willing to bend or compromise. Ibarra argued that just because we’ve always been a certain way, doesn’t mean that’s all we’re capable of being. Anything new is bound to feel uncomfortable. But if we persist through that discomfort, we might grow to embrace those new abilities and that expanded sense of ourselves. Conversely, if we get too righteous or rigid about where the limits of our “authentic” selves lie, we close ourselves to growth and the possibility of discovering surprising new aspects of ourselves. And yes, we also run the risk of limiting our influence or effectiveness in the world.
Like I said, being “ourselves,” and successfully navigating a line between authenticity and rigidity, is far more complicated than it might initially appear. I tend to side with Professor Ibarra—at least to a point. One of the reasons I stress the importance of exploration so heavily in my writing is that we don’t know who we still might become unless we keep trying new things. I didn’t view myself as athletic until my 30s, when—more in an effort to have a social life than to do the activities involved—I started participating in more sports, from skiing and kayaking to playing tennis, only to discover that I was better at those activities than I thought I’d be. I also discovered that I really loved how that kind of movement made me feel.
All of which is to say, if we don’t want to limit who we are, we need to keep exploring and experimenting, and persist long enough with new things to give them a chance to become less odd or uncomfortable-feeling. Which brings us back to lipstick. To Dr. Ibarra’s point, there’s always the possibility that a woman who doesn’t think lipstick is “her thing” might try playing with some new “looks”—some of which might include lipstick—and discover she actually likes a little more playful or polished presentation.
If she doesn’t, well, at least she’s explored some new terrain, which is a victory in and of itself. And heck. She can then save herself the $20 next time … or spend it exploring some other potential new piece of herself that she just might come to love.
