So the point today is to dissect the word "personality" - and I don't mean in the psychological sense, I mean the term so often used in the entertainment world.
Let me explain.
Whether I like it or not, I've come to conclude that I'm one of those people who seeks attention. There may have been some dry periods where you can't put me on a stage or in front of a crowd for any reason, but as a child, I did love the sound of applause. Nowadays, I can delicately be described as "being comfortable in public". The art of presenting myself had become a skill I purposefully keep track of.
Part of tracking that skill is to know the type of figure you are projecting. It's been brought to my attention many, many times, that I come off as a straightforward, dominant, and arrogant person. Words like "bull" or "charge" are often used as helpful descriptors.
A big part of this has to do with the fact that I hate people who talk too much. In my culture, talk is what you do to define yourself - and if you can't talk about it, it doesn't exist. I once shared an elevator with a man who suddenly noticed a stain on his shirt. He made a startled noise, and then looked up at me, trying to catch my sight, clearly expecting an audience. After it became clear that I wasn't going to take my eyes off the floor buttons, he stopped fussing about and stood quietly. Had I looked his way, he would've gone on describing his surprise upon finding the stain (a moment that I fully witnessed and therefore able to recount myself), listed the reasons why he didn't expect the stain ("But I'd just checked the mirror! I've been in my desk all day! I mean sure, I had soup, but it was this morning!"), analyzed the properties of the stain and ways to get rid of it, before briefly reiterating his genuine bafflement. If this goes as planned, he would have spent whole minutes sharing personal feelings to a stranger in the elevator, and we would have both missed our floors, but he would have came out feeling fulfilled.
This is a story that still makes me mad when I think of it, as I am repulsed by those who talk when they clearly aren't looking to start a conversation (i.e. an exchange of remarks). So many define "talk" as delivering a monologue in front of a subservient listener, whose job is to be nothing but an ear. I hate this with so much passion that I have, perfectly comfortably, cut people off mid-sentence. If you have no interest in engaging me in an interaction in which we can both actively contribute, then shut up.
So this becomes my personality. The society that I live in measures significance by number of words uttered, so as the girl who often asks to end conversations so she can go home, I seem to have projected a highly confrontational, if not rude, persona. This works out much more to my amusement than to my chagrin, as watching people's defensive reaction when I ask what is it they really wanted is worth the occasional social punishments. People don't generally enjoy being asked why they say things. They'll say I was dismissive of their feelings, but what actually happened was that I had asked them to explain their reasoning, two very different offense.
I'm being deliberately blind, of course. You can't be self-righteous in your strive for efficiency if your world prioritizes social niceties. It's like complaining about people who insist on cramming "thank you" at the end of their text message, causing all kinds of spelling / grammar compromises. You can, but the general public will not like you very much.
So I've come to the conclusion that my personality is not well accepted by other people. In the past, I took this to mean I should be ashamed of myself (and I was). Then the entertainment industry comes along and decides that a personality, any personality, is an asset. If you have it (and this is that infamous "It" that reality show judges refer to so often) then you will be a huge success. At first the word "success" usually means you are likely to win a skills contest, like, say, a singing or dancing competition, because "It" makes you stand out. Then it was realized that personality doesn't just separate the standout singers to regular singers. It also separates the standout regulars to regular regulars. Personality used to be the icing on the cake that is your skills and talents, but now, suddenly, personality can be sold separately.
What better way to exhibit this than reality shows? We love watching those because, unlike scripted shows, the characters are complex, multifaceted, and have no problems contradicting themselves. They're just like us, and we love watching us. Sure, sometimes they're a bit exaggerated, but you always get to see the parts you recognize. The heart-to-heart. The pain of losing. The disappointments - oh god, the self-disappointments - and the relationships. And who among us, even the most gentile and discreet ones, don't enjoy seeing a part of themselves shine on camera?
Watching reality shows have taught me a lot more lessons than I care to initially admit. These shows celebrate nothing more than us being human - and that's really enough. I often wish that society can be more efficient, straightforward, more like a machine that just does its job with precision. I still think that would make life a lot easier, but the point of being us is not to live an easy, efficient life. Reality, and reality shows, is an evidence that we are inevitably and unapologetically human. We are imperfect, messy, ambiguous, and sometimes up to no good - and we're proud of it.
I think that a personality is a flaw, and I mean that in a good way. Because I imagine the perfect human as a machine, I think of every aspect of personality as a hurdle of getting there. But everyday I'm seeing contrary evidences. People don't want to be perfect, and they certainly don't aspire to be machines. We have a need to tell stories of failures, of sorrow and heartbreaks, and we feel better after sharing our imperfections. I don't share the sentiment, but I admire that some embrace the trait with such unshakable pride.
"It" is not in any way perfect, but it's ours. So own it.
Let me explain.
Whether I like it or not, I've come to conclude that I'm one of those people who seeks attention. There may have been some dry periods where you can't put me on a stage or in front of a crowd for any reason, but as a child, I did love the sound of applause. Nowadays, I can delicately be described as "being comfortable in public". The art of presenting myself had become a skill I purposefully keep track of.
Part of tracking that skill is to know the type of figure you are projecting. It's been brought to my attention many, many times, that I come off as a straightforward, dominant, and arrogant person. Words like "bull" or "charge" are often used as helpful descriptors.
A big part of this has to do with the fact that I hate people who talk too much. In my culture, talk is what you do to define yourself - and if you can't talk about it, it doesn't exist. I once shared an elevator with a man who suddenly noticed a stain on his shirt. He made a startled noise, and then looked up at me, trying to catch my sight, clearly expecting an audience. After it became clear that I wasn't going to take my eyes off the floor buttons, he stopped fussing about and stood quietly. Had I looked his way, he would've gone on describing his surprise upon finding the stain (a moment that I fully witnessed and therefore able to recount myself), listed the reasons why he didn't expect the stain ("But I'd just checked the mirror! I've been in my desk all day! I mean sure, I had soup, but it was this morning!"), analyzed the properties of the stain and ways to get rid of it, before briefly reiterating his genuine bafflement. If this goes as planned, he would have spent whole minutes sharing personal feelings to a stranger in the elevator, and we would have both missed our floors, but he would have came out feeling fulfilled.
This is a story that still makes me mad when I think of it, as I am repulsed by those who talk when they clearly aren't looking to start a conversation (i.e. an exchange of remarks). So many define "talk" as delivering a monologue in front of a subservient listener, whose job is to be nothing but an ear. I hate this with so much passion that I have, perfectly comfortably, cut people off mid-sentence. If you have no interest in engaging me in an interaction in which we can both actively contribute, then shut up.
So this becomes my personality. The society that I live in measures significance by number of words uttered, so as the girl who often asks to end conversations so she can go home, I seem to have projected a highly confrontational, if not rude, persona. This works out much more to my amusement than to my chagrin, as watching people's defensive reaction when I ask what is it they really wanted is worth the occasional social punishments. People don't generally enjoy being asked why they say things. They'll say I was dismissive of their feelings, but what actually happened was that I had asked them to explain their reasoning, two very different offense.
I'm being deliberately blind, of course. You can't be self-righteous in your strive for efficiency if your world prioritizes social niceties. It's like complaining about people who insist on cramming "thank you" at the end of their text message, causing all kinds of spelling / grammar compromises. You can, but the general public will not like you very much.
So I've come to the conclusion that my personality is not well accepted by other people. In the past, I took this to mean I should be ashamed of myself (and I was). Then the entertainment industry comes along and decides that a personality, any personality, is an asset. If you have it (and this is that infamous "It" that reality show judges refer to so often) then you will be a huge success. At first the word "success" usually means you are likely to win a skills contest, like, say, a singing or dancing competition, because "It" makes you stand out. Then it was realized that personality doesn't just separate the standout singers to regular singers. It also separates the standout regulars to regular regulars. Personality used to be the icing on the cake that is your skills and talents, but now, suddenly, personality can be sold separately.
What better way to exhibit this than reality shows? We love watching those because, unlike scripted shows, the characters are complex, multifaceted, and have no problems contradicting themselves. They're just like us, and we love watching us. Sure, sometimes they're a bit exaggerated, but you always get to see the parts you recognize. The heart-to-heart. The pain of losing. The disappointments - oh god, the self-disappointments - and the relationships. And who among us, even the most gentile and discreet ones, don't enjoy seeing a part of themselves shine on camera?
Watching reality shows have taught me a lot more lessons than I care to initially admit. These shows celebrate nothing more than us being human - and that's really enough. I often wish that society can be more efficient, straightforward, more like a machine that just does its job with precision. I still think that would make life a lot easier, but the point of being us is not to live an easy, efficient life. Reality, and reality shows, is an evidence that we are inevitably and unapologetically human. We are imperfect, messy, ambiguous, and sometimes up to no good - and we're proud of it.
I think that a personality is a flaw, and I mean that in a good way. Because I imagine the perfect human as a machine, I think of every aspect of personality as a hurdle of getting there. But everyday I'm seeing contrary evidences. People don't want to be perfect, and they certainly don't aspire to be machines. We have a need to tell stories of failures, of sorrow and heartbreaks, and we feel better after sharing our imperfections. I don't share the sentiment, but I admire that some embrace the trait with such unshakable pride.
"It" is not in any way perfect, but it's ours. So own it.
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