The Life of a Showgirl is Exhausting
Maybe we should give performative males a little more credit?
I’ve always enjoyed performing. Some of my earliest memories involve a stage. I started ballet at age three and for the next fifteen years I made my way through Nutcracker roles, Tchaikovsky scoring the holiday season. A ledge on my grandmother’s living room became a makeshift stage and I embodied Abbie Lee Miller as I directed my younger cousin on a variety of shows my family was forced to watch. I loved the costumes, the makeup, the bright lights, and how it would all come off at the end of the night. I have long left my stage days behind, but the telltale signs remain; the musical theatre showtunes in my running playlists, the complex relationship with food that comes along with spending several hours a day in a leotard and the penchant for crushing on gay guys for the majority of my formative years (the options were limited in dance and theatre, and I have a notoriously terrible gaydar). With Taylor Swift’s new album coming out this week, I was drawn to reflect on my own Life of a Showgirl and attempted to pin down why I’m perpetually exhausted (spoiler alert: it’s all an act).
Ditching the Costumes but Wearing Different Hats
Before getting dressed in the morning, I always double-check the weather app, and in the same way that I avoid suede when it’s raining, whenever I’m in a social situation, I’ll adjust my personality accordingly. With professors at university, I’d dial down the sarcasm and inappropriate jokes and lean into obscure literary references. When meeting my friends’ parents for the first time, I’d be my most sensible self. I can talk about trash reality TV and gush over romcoms and geek out over Lord of the Rings, depending on who’s curled up next to me on the couch. I’ll say yes to going to the bar and the club and on a morning 10K (usually within the same weekend). I don’t consider myself to be a people pleaser, but I’ll tease out different parts of myself depending on who I’m with, and I’d argue most people are guilty of this. You play a different version of yourself with your childhood friends, parents or colleagues, and all of those versions (or maybe most of those versions) are variations of you, not a different person altogether, just a different facet. I’ve always considered myself a pretty outgoing person. Growing up, the most consistent feedback I got from teachers was to chat a little less. I love meeting new people and being surrounded by friends, but as I started dissociating in social settings at an alarming frequency, I started to reconsider.
Questioning Everything: Am I Actually an Extrovert?
Whilst I think it’s pretty normal to adapt your personality depending on where you are or who you’re with, I once told a friend that in most social settings, I felt like I was performing. Instead of a nod in agreement (because what do you mean, most people aren’t putting on a perfectly crafted one-woman show when meeting someone new?) I was met with confusion. But you’re such an extrovert, what do you mean you find it exhausting? Luckily, I had let the comment slip with one of my closest friends, one of the few people who doesn’t get a front row seat to my show but instead, premium access to the chaotic behind the scenes. Had I just outed myself as a secret introvert? It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy socialising, I’ve always felt invigorated after meeting new people. At a particularly low point this summer, I realised something was wrong once I became antisocial and avoidant. This need to perform came from a place of wanting to make sure everyone around me felt seen and was having a good time. I’ve never been great at multitasking, so I end up with tunnel vision, laser-focused on whoever is in front of me, constantly assessing the conversation and adjusting myself accordingly.
Nobody Wants Your Full Authentic Self — Take Your Hummus and Go
Or nearly nobody anyway. When a casual acquaintance asks How are you? You should never, ever, tell them anything other than I’m good, you? You should only be a hot mess with a select group of people who have gone through extensive vetting. Over a big catch-up brunch this past weekend, one of my friends, Iris*, told the table she was having a hard time lately. We hadn’t seen her in a while, and last time we’d spoken, she had been frustrated at work, but none of us knew how bad it was until her crying was comically interrupted by the waiter clearing our table at the most inopportune time. As our glasses were refilled and I rushed to mop up the last bits of hummus with my strategically saved pita bread, whilst trying to signal to the waiter to come back later, my friend told us how this summer had been awful, and she didn’t want to burden us with her issues. Iris, this is what friends are for! I tried to reassure her, I’m struggling, but I’m making it everybody’s problem, you’re getting whole newsletters about my mental state and not knowing what to do with my life! (exhibits A, B and C) Whilst I would love nothing more than having all my friends feeling completely fulfilled in every area of their lives, I was reassured by knowing that all of us were feeling a little lost (misery loves company?).
The Curtains Come Down — The Show Must Go On
After a four-hour meal where we covered breakups, quarter-life crises, promotions, new additions to our closets, sound baths and decided to look for a feng shui master in London that offers group discounts (recommendations welcome!), we gathered our things and bundled up before going our separate ways. Almost on cue, we all started Ugh, I needed this, I missed you, I feel so much lighter! As I walked away, I reminded myself how lucky I am to have those girls, to have the space where I don’t have to perform, to be on, to make an effort to be entertaining or charming or smart, I can just be. Of course, I’ll keep on performing (last week I had an hour long commute from a day rave to a birthday dinner, and when I pulled out my kindle before heading out, I was heckled with performative male calls by my friends and one random guy waiting for the bus), not everyone wants or should get access to every facet of your personality, but it’s always good to know you have a place to rest, people with whom you can dim the lights, ditch the costumes and catch your breath.
*Name has been changed