Hearing the phrase “the authentic self” has always led me to cringe—at least, if not raise an eyebrow at it. Who uses it? And why? These questions matter. I cannot think of an instance where this phrase has referred to anything even remotely authentic. Authenticity should go without saying and should not require imposition upon others. Forcing others to play along makes the authenticity questionable, since “playing along” should not be required. It also cannot be purchased as medical treatment and cannot be made possible by cosmetics. It all seems very common sense—but not really, apparently.

There is a “true self,” in the sense of that which is deeper, not superficial, in what psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott calls the development of a “false self.” In a piece, dated 1964, Winnicott writes:

In one way I am simply saying that each person has a polite or socialized self, and also a personal private self that is not available except in intimacy. This is what is commonly found, and we could call it normal. If you look around, you can see that in health this splitting of the self is an achievement of personal growth; in illness the split is a matter of a schism in the mind that can go to any depth; at its deepest it is labelled schizophrenia. (Emphasis in original)

Most human beings, as we know, exhibit differing “sides”—such as for work versus for friends. For our purposes, we must keep in mind the part related to illness. There may be a kind of fractured self, where one feels broken—split, though in a seemingly irreparable way, not just in terms of the public versus the private self. And this seeming inability to make the “sides” meet causes problems. A point which must be made, however, is that the whole must be considered, even if denied in favor of a part.

Fantasy may be a place where one goes, whether for escape or pleasure, among other reasons, but it provides no long-term solution to the problems of reality. Men fantasize of themselves as women, hoping that it will provide some relief to their lives’ frustrations. Or, perhaps, they seek a kind of “escape” into “otherness.” Many also happen to declare themselves “girls”—and likely fantasize about themselves as such. Examples include Julia Serano, Stefonknee Wolscht, and Dylan Mulvaney. There are many others to be noted, and certainly far more behind closed doors, but the point stands that certain men have found it appealing, even arousing, to see themselves as “girls.” Their narcissistic rage leads them to hate what they cannot become, which manifests as extreme misogyny.

A similar dynamic has been true of the women seeking a sense of “self”—like their male counterparts. As with the men, there may even be considerable self-hatred, especially toward the body. Though, differences must be noted between the sexes and their corresponding sexual behavior. Although anorexia nervosa can also occur in males, it seems far more common among young females. The fractured sense of self and corresponding female self-harm had once been part of that condition—prior to being seen as symptoms of “gender dysphoria.” So, the origins of bodily dissociation seem quite different in kind for the sexes. And fewer women seem to declare themselves “boys,” laying claim to “boyhood,” than men do to “girls” and “girlhood.” A couple of examples are Elliot Page and Gabriel Mac. Nevertheless, increasing numbers of younger females, mainly adolescents, declare themselves “gay men,” if not “gay boys” or “twinks.” And, of course, their homophobia is extreme. They exhibit a narcissistic rage comparable to their male counterparts who declare themselves both women and lesbians.

My critique of “the authentic self,” an analysis on which I am doing further work, is that, in a most unsettling way, it has been made to order. One buys what has been sold. Transgenderism is not the only area where this dynamic happens, but it does seem to be competing for number one. Online spaces, with pornography and social media being much of the landscape, cultivate an increasingly heightened sense that one looks into a funhouse mirror. Saying “funhouse mirror” even seems to diminish just how twisted the image can be, but language is lacking here. A better metaphor of it may be comparing it to looking into the abyss to search for a “self”—any “self”—and finding nothingness echoed back as one’s “selfhood.” Yet, even more, one believes one is the image, not merely distorted by the reflection. Then, naturally, the viewer dislikes what she or he sees and wants to be—or become—something different, something “true.” A screen becomes the oracle. The self becomes a commodity.

And what of the others around the consumer, those whose stories become secondary, if not invisible? There is an expectation that we should become mirrors to an idealized self-perception. We both spectate and participate, but we must do so kindly. But, unfortunately, the world does not work this way—not entirely, though compliance, indeed, can be coerced. However, reality cannot be suppressed in totality. I am not the only person to feel as if being forced to participate in somebody else’s “authenticity” indicates the other’s lack of faith in said “authenticity.” One begins to think the entire thing has been a narcissistic game taken far too seriously—with severe consequences. Some children, Winnicott says, refuse to lie and will not “play along,” despite being regarded as impolite—and so, too, with us adults.