Authenticity R Us

[osprey_archer]

Because recently there's been an internet kerfuffle (because the internet seems, recently, to have done nothing but kerfuffle) about Real Writers:

I am not a Real Writer. Nor am I a real writer. I am a fake writer, fake like a brass ring with a layer of gilding so thin that you can scrape it off with your fingernails. And then, once you've scraped the gilding off, you crumble it between your thumb and forefinger and realize that it isn't even gilding, it's spray paint.

I am not even - like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's - a real phony. I'm a fake phony. Strip off the veneer, and there's only more veneer underneath. I'm like an antique chair that's been repaired so many times that there doesn't appear to be any of the original chair left - although you can't be sure; appearances can be deceiving. It's all turtles all the way down, kids!

Or, alternatively: external authenticity is overrated. The only believable authenticity is the authenticity of people who never worry that other people might think they're authentic; people who set authenticity up as their idol end up floating within themselves and judging all their actions by an impossible standard (because if it ever becomes possibly, they'll raise the bar); and even if they are lucky enough not to seem like poseurs, they will be tortured by their inadequate authenticity until they give up.

(And do I worry about my authenticity? Sure. But I also worry about my GPA, my acne, and how many times a week I can go to Starbucks for hot chocolate before it becomes an unhealthy psychological crutch, so I am demonstrably a failure at worrying about anything worth worrying about.)

Internal authenticity is overrated also, but that's a topic for another day.

***

(For the record: I'm pretty sure that when Josh Olson talks about real writers, he's using "real" as a synonym for "publishable." This is perhaps an infelicitous substitution.)

Comments

[exuberantself.livejournal.com]

I was working up a legitimate comment in my head, but got distracted (read: hot and bothered) by your of the word infelicitous.

[osprey-archer.livejournal.com]

Who doesn't get hot and bothered by the use of the word infelicitous? I used to use it in pick-up lines, but gave it up when everyone in a ten foot radius including the fish in the aquarium suddenly wanted a piece of me. :)

Legitimate comments are also accepted, of course.