"Be yourself" is the worst advice in circulation. It sounds liberating. It flatters the listener. And it dissolves under the slightest pressure.
Which self, exactly? The self that wants to stay in bed until noon? The self that craves approval and will say anything to get it? The self that nurses petty resentments, avoids hard conversations, and reaches for the second drink? We contain multitudes, and many of them are not worth being.
Yet authenticity has become the cardinal virtue of our age. The highest compliment is "genuine." The worst accusation is "fake." We are told to find ourselves, honour our truth, live authentically. The premise beneath all of it is that somewhere inside, buried under social conditioning and accumulated compromise, there exists a real you. Pure, coherent, waiting to be excavated. The task of life is to dig it out and set it free.
This is a seductive story. It is also a trap.
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