Authenticity Is Not an Aesthetic
"We are all prisoners of something." — The Count of Monte Cristo
Somewhere along the way, authenticity became another performance. This is what happened when I stopped trying to earn approval and started paying attention to what actually felt true.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how many of us become prisoners of performance.
Performance online.
Performance at work.
Performance in relationships.
Performance of being “healed.”
Performance of being “authentic.”
Somewhere along the way, authenticity became an aesthetic instead of a lived experience. We’re out here performing like we're trying to win an Oscar. If I wanted to be an actor, I would've gone into that profession. Yet here we are, performing for approval, validation, likes, promotions, and acceptance. No Oscar. Just exhaustion. Maybe that's why so many of us keep finding ourselves in the same cycle of burnout over and over again.
But what does it actually mean to be authentic? I hear people use that word all the time when they describe themselves. Honestly, the more I hear someone announce how authentic they are, the more skeptical I become. If you're living authentically, you don't have to convince anyone. It shows in the way you speak, the choices you make, the boundaries you hold, and the life you build. Authenticity isn't something you declare. It's something people experience when they're around you.
The Unofficial Dress Code of Belonging
Looking back, growing up in Miami was exhausting.
Your hair, makeup, clothes, shoes—everything had to be on point before you left the house. Think The Devil Wears Prada, but with 90% humidity and a girl with naturally curly hair trying to survive it.
Spoiler alert: my hair was never on point. It still isn't. I've affectionately named my hair "Unruly." She does whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and honestly, I respect that. 😂
Most days it looked like a frizzy lioness had stuck her paw in an electrical outlet. Some girls were mean enough to make sure I knew it too. "Chia Pet" was one of the kinder nicknames.
I remember getting ready for work at a friend's house after a fun night out. Because that's what you do in your twenties—you stay out too late, sleep on someone's couch, and somehow still show up to work the next morning.
As I was getting ready, she looked at me and asked,
"You're wearing that to work?"
Umm... yes?
I was wearing khaki slacks and a nice blouse. At least I thought it was a nice blouse. Nothing fancy. Nothing designer. Just comfortable clothes for my receptionist job at an electronics warehouse.
These were the glory days of Forever 21, so I'm sure that's where half my wardrobe came from.
Now, my friend—who we lovingly called "Body Kit" because she'd had a little work done and dressed far more provocatively than the rest of us—had a very different definition of acceptable attire.
But here's the thing.
I could have changed.
I could have gone shopping that afternoon and replaced my entire wardrobe.
I could have spent money trying to become the version of myself that someone else thought I should be.
But I didn't.
Somewhere Along the Way, We Learned to Perform
Years later, when I moved to Arizona, I experienced culture shock all over again.
One day, my mom and I went to a theater performance. We were dressed up because, in my mind, dinner and a show required actual effort.
Meanwhile, people were walking in wearing shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops like they'd just come from the lake.
Nobody looked like they were auditioning for a reality show.
Nobody looked like they were trying to win best-dressed.
People just looked comfortable.
I call it Arizona Casual.
And honestly?
I loved it.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like nobody expected me to perform.
I could just show up as myself.
Looking back, I don't think the problem was Miami.
The problem was believing I had to earn acceptance by performing.
Better hair.
Better clothes.
Better body.
Better image.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that being ourselves wasn't enough.
So we built versions of ourselves that we thought would be easier to love.
And that's where authenticity starts getting replaced by performance.
Authenticity isn't a specific look, lifestyle, or personality type.
Authenticity is:
changing your mind
setting boundaries
evolving
resting
admitting you're tired
not forcing a version of yourself that no longer fits
saying, "This topic doesn't resonate with me anymore"
Trust me, I still get it.
My mom will ask me why I'm not wearing makeup to an event. The truth is, I haven't worn makeup regularly in years. It makes my face itch, and honestly, I want to be comfortable.
I tint my eyebrows and eyelashes, but a full face of makeup? Heck no.
I am absolutely the person who shows up to the grocery store at 6 a.m. in Crocs and a gray romper, fresh out of bed, because we need coffee and there's a household emergency.
But here's the funny part.
I'm also the person who wears shimmer every single day. It's in my lotion, so I'm perpetually sparkly. I love a bright red lip. Give me hot pink, orange, electric blue, or yellow, and I'm happy.
Authenticity doesn't mean becoming bland.
It doesn't mean giving up the things you love.
It means choosing them because you love them, not because you're trying to earn someone else's approval.
I dress for my comfort, not someone else's comfort.
Feeling this?
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A Few Questions Worth Sitting With
What version of yourself are you still performing?
This doesn't have to be fashion, like my story example.
Maybe it's the employee who proudly shows up at 5 a.m. and leaves at 7 p.m. because somewhere along the way they learned their worth is tied to productivity.
Maybe it's the sports parent trying to earn acceptance in the "mom club" by signing their kid up for every camp, buying the newest gear, hiring a personal trainer, and turning youth sports into a full-time job.
I've seen it happen.
And honestly? Can we all just let the kids play the game? 😂
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that performance earns belonging.
But belonging that requires performance is exhausting.
What conversations have you outgrown?
Listen, I'm all about the tea. I love hearing what's going on. But at some point, I want to hear the solution too.
We've all had that friend who has been telling the same story for five years. Same complaint. Same frustration. Same problem.
Different day.
If we're being honest, we've probably been that friend at some point too.
There comes a time when growth requires a different conversation.
Not "Why is this happening to me?"
But "What am I going to do about it?"
Some conversations heal us.
Others keep us stuck.
What are you pretending to still enjoy?
I recently watched the Netflix series The Four Seasons and there was a scene that made me laugh.
A married couple was on vacation with friends. The husband had packed all these beach games, and the wife finally admitted:
"I don't actually like beach games."
She wanted to sit in a chair and read her book.
Meanwhile, the next morning she invited him to a farmer's market and brunch, and he basically said:
"Hard pass."
He wanted to run on the beach and play his games.
And honestly?
I loved that scene.
Not because they suddenly liked all the same things.
But because they stopped pretending they did.
The healthiest relationships don't require two people to become the same person.
My husband and I enjoy plenty of things together, but we're still individual humans.
Authenticity means allowing yourself to enjoy what you enjoy without apologizing for it.
And allowing other people to do the same.
Where are you editing yourself for approval?
Let me be clear: I'm not knocking anyone who loves fashion, makeup, skincare, or any of that.
Shoot, I follow plenty of content creators who are incredibly talented. Some of those women can transform a face with a makeup brush better than I can draw a stick figure. Legit artists.
The difference is that I no longer watch them wishing I could be them.
That's the shift.
That's the difference.
Admiration is healthy.
Comparison is exhausting.
And if I'm being honest, the place I've been editing myself lately had nothing to do with makeup.
It was at work.
The other day, I spoke up about some frustrations my team and I have been experiencing. Not emotionally. Not dramatically. Just facts, observations, and receipts, as some people like to say.
For a long time, I stayed quiet because I didn't want to rock the boat. I didn't want to be labeled difficult. I didn't want to be the person who challenged the status quo.
In other words, I was editing myself for approval.
I was playing a role.
And if you've read this far, you already know how I feel about that. I don't play games.
So I spoke up.
And guess what?
I wasn't fired.
Nobody dragged me into a conference room.
Nobody told me to stay in my lane.
It was actually received well.
Funny how often we convince ourselves that authenticity will cost us everything when sometimes all it costs us is the exhaustion of pretending.
Maybe that's why authenticity feels so freeing.
Not because everyone agrees with you.
But because you're finally giving yourself permission to stop editing who you are.
Maybe the Door Was Never Locked
"We are all prisoners of something."
Maybe the question isn't whether you're trapped.
Maybe the question is whether you've become so comfortable with the performance that you've forgotten the door was never locked.
One Last Thing Before You Go...
→ If you're feeling overwhelmed, disconnected, or ready for a reset: FREE - Boundaries 101
→ If you're ready to go deeper, schedule a FREE 30-Minute Clarity Call: Schedule Here
And if nobody has reminded you lately...
You don't have to perform to be worthy.
You don't have to earn your right to take up space.
And you definitely don't have to make your hair behave.
Just ask Unruly. 😂
📌 Quick Note (Because We Keep It Real Here)
I’m not a therapist, psychologist, or doctor, and I don’t pretend to be. Everything I share is rooted in my lived experience. Please consult a licensed professional for personalized support.
If you're in crisis, call 911 or contact the 988 Lifeline. You're not alone. Real help exists, and you deserve it.
