We’re Clapping for the Wrong People
When everyone’s performing, who’s left to be real?
I’ve never had Imposter Syndrome. Not once.
I’ve had other things—exhaustion, disappointment, barriers stacked like bricks in front of doors that should’ve opened—but I’ve never believed I didn’t belong at the table. If I wasn’t invited, I rolled up anyway. Not out of ego, but out of clarity. I know who I am.
Maybe that’s why I spot the real imposters so easily.
Not the ones doubting themselves. Not the people shrinking in the face of opportunity because they’re not sure they’re ready. I’m talking about the ones who know exactly what they’re doing.
The ones performing confidence instead of building it.
The ones layering someone else’s words on top of borrowed aesthetics and calling it authenticity.
The ones who’ve forgotten what their own voice sounds like because the algorithm rewards the echo.
And here’s what I can’t ignore anymore: we’re applauding them for it.
The Performance Pays
I scroll, and it’s all there—again and again.
Captions that stretch the truth just enough to seem deep. Carefully worded anecdotes that feel emotionally vague but narratively clean. Success stories that skip the parts that actually matter.
And still, the flame emojis roll in.
The applause. The “yass queen”s. The celebratory reposts.
Meanwhile, the people who are being honest?
They pause.
They shrink.
They leave.
Because in this strange, glittering digital economy, honesty doesn’t always pay—and pretending often does.
It’s Not Just Influencers
Let’s not reduce this to content creators or people with ring lights. This distortion is everywhere.
I’ve seen it in professional spaces.
In advocacy spaces.
And yes—even in the disabled community.
People shaping their stories to fit what the world finds palatable. Polishing their pain into motivational soundbites. Turning trauma into content because that’s what gets rewarded.
I’ve watched people I care about—people who are resilient in ways that can’t be photographed—start to question whether they’re “inspiring” enough.
And I hate that.
Because the truth is: when performance becomes the price of being seen, we lose something irreplaceable.
We lose the truth.
We lose trust.
And worst of all, we lose the people who were brave enough to show up as they are—before we taught them that wasn’t enough.
I Don’t Want a Filtered Life
I don’t post what I haven’t lived.
I don’t offer advice unless I’ve applied it.
I don’t say yes when I mean no.
And when I see someone faking it, it doesn’t just annoy me—it makes me feel something deep and unsettled. Because I know what that lie costs the rest of us.
It’s not just a fake moment.
It’s a chain reaction.
One person lies.
Someone sees it and feels behind.
They lie too.
Someone else believes that.
And suddenly, we’re all performing for people who are performing for us.
Nobody’s grounded.
Everybody’s exhausted.
And the most painful part?
No one even knows who started the whole thing.
So Who’s Left to Be Real?
I’m tired of pretending that this is fine.
And if I’m honest—really honest—I’ve done my share of pretending too.
Not with filters. Not with fiction. But with silence.
With that small pause before saying something that might make someone uncomfortable.
With that scroll past a half-truth I recognized but didn’t name.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I didn’t want to deal with the discomfort.
But now the discomfort is everywhere.
And maybe that’s the thing that’s been bothering me most. Not just what I’ve seen—but what I’ve let pass.
Because I’m watching smart, thoughtful, creative people question whether they should even show up. People second-guessing their truth because it doesn’t look “polished” enough. Because they can’t compete with carefully packaged vulnerability or designer pain.
And that’s not just unfortunate—it’s dangerous.
I’m Not Above This
This isn’t me writing from a pedestal.
This is me sitting with the ache of it all.
Trying to figure out how we ended up here—and wondering what it would take to pull us back.
Not to some imagined version of purity.
But to reality.
To truth that’s messy and unstyled and worth something.
Because I don’t want connection that’s earned by performance.
I want conversations that aren’t rehearsed.
I want honesty that doesn’t need a hook or a filter to matter.
Maybe We Need to Start Asking
What if we asked more questions—real ones?
What if, instead of liking the post, we reached out and said:
“How did it actually feel to get that news?”
“Was that moment as smooth as it looked?”
“What’s the part you didn’t post?”
Not to call people out.
But to call them back in.
Back to themselves.
Back to us.
Because truth doesn’t demand perfection—it asks for presence. And I think most of us are starving for it.
Let’s Talk
What have you noticed?
Where have you stayed quiet?
What truth have you swallowed because you weren’t sure it would land well?
This isn’t a performance.
This isn’t a motivational post.
This is me, thinking aloud. Venting. Wondering if anyone else is just a little too tired of pretending not to notice what we all know is happening.
I’m not asking for applause.
I’m asking for conversation.
Because I still believe that when we start telling the truth again, something shifts.
And I’m ready for that.
If this hit a nerve or helped you name something you’ve been carrying, feel free to share it. Not for clout—just for clarity. Just so someone else doesn’t feel alone.
If you’d like to buy me a coffee, here’s the link. https://buymeacoffee.com/nathashaalvarez