If you’ve been here for a while, you know that I’m a pretty anxious person. I’m picky about how I choose to present myself, and constantly worried about the way other people see me. I’ve always known the internet is forever, but it feels like every year that passes, I always find myself looking back on the previous year’s digital footprint and feeling an overwhelming sense of ewwugh. (That is me trying to translate a disgusted noise into text.)
At twenty-three, I feel like I have a pretty solid “aesthetic” at this point (I hate using that word now because it makes me feel like I’m a thirteen-year-old typing it into the Tumblr search bar alongside specific keywords, on the hunt for images to use in my next fandom moodboard). I know it’s always subject to change and inevitably will (and that next year I’ll read this and probably scoff because I’m right)—but I still experience the push-and-pull of wanting to be perceived as an artsy intellectual or give into my nature and be unapologetically annoying and colorful despite my wardrobe consisting of mostly black clothes (sometimes brown, dark green, and navy). I’ve gone through more phases and hair colors than I can count on one hand, and even to this day I struggle with the way I present myself on a purely aesthetic level (there’s that word again!).
The biggest reason I’m so concerned with the way I come across has to be the major imposter syndrome I experience when it comes to academic achievements and my intelligence as a whole. I’m terrified of not being perceived as smart, which is probably also my fatal flaw (alongside seeing the good in people to the extent where I ignore or bypass any warning signs that could have helped me avoid any pain altogether). I think it’s less of a matter of being perceived as stupid and one more of being perceived as average—which is a whole other thing, but it’s true: I have a raging individuality complex.
NARRATOR VOICE: She says, as if it weren’t already obvious.
As much of an influence music has had on my life, academia has always been right up there beside it in terms of things that were deemed important and worth pursuing. My natural personality is more optimistic, bubbly, creative-leaning, and energetic, especially when things I am particularly interested in or passionate about are involved. Sometimes, these traits make others automatically assume they correlate with other negative traits, like being ditzy, shallow, or maybe even stupid. It’s not something people have to say out loud for me to know (although some actually have), but there is a churning feeling in my gut that lets me know when someone might assume or think that about me. I can feel it in the tone of their voice, or just how they treat me—like a child, or a bull in a china shop. I’ve just always felt as though my playful personality and ability to be unserious has always clashed with being seen as smart or mature. This whole personal phenomenon is something that has weighted—and continues to weigh—heavy on my shoulders, from a very early age.
The other night I was trying to pinpoint exactly when I started being concerned about this, but the timeline kept getting pushed further and further back every time I thought I’d found it. I can recall being told repeatedly as a young child that I was a “smart girl”; being able to “read” by the time I was two (and by “reading”, I mean hearing my parents read my books out loud to me so often that I memorized the way the words sounded and the pictures on the page that accompanied it, and would start to read along out loud and made my parents think I was actually, truly reading), and doing workbooks throughout summer breaks that were at least two grades above my level.
My mom has also said that my kindergarten teacher told her I was more than smart enough to skip a grade or two, but that socially, I was just right for my age, so it might be a good idea to keep me where I was, so as to not mess with any developmental factors. My mom, a human development major, agreed. (Also, side note: she thinks it’s funny every time I mention her in an essay, but what can I say—the woman gives me good material. Anyway, hi Mom, if you’re reading this.)
I think the earliest memory I have of being defensive over being smart is from way back in elementary school—I remember always making my intelligence my entire personality. I related to all the token genius characters on every sitcom, I made sure people knew I considered reading chapter books a genuinely fun activity, that I aced every test I was given, that I was a part of the honor roll every semester, and that I was also in the G.A.T.E. (Gifted And Talented Education) program.
Fast forward to high school, when I constantly made it a point of conversation that I was, not only a singer-songwriter and musician, but also simultaneously taking a full load of college classes in addition my normal workload as a high school student, because I was overcompensating for my naïveté and lack of experience when it came to the real world of teenagers. I was pretty modest in high school—I didn’t do parties, I didn’t date, I didn’t drink or smoke. I didn’t do a lot of things that “normal” high schoolers did, all of my own volition…and that of my parents. My preference just coincidentally lined up with theirs, but mainly because I was afraid. At the same time, the fact that I missed out on a lot of things sometimes made me feel socially inept and incompetent; like I wasn’t being a real teenager. I would make myself feel better by thinking, Well, at least I’m a good student. At least I’m getting a head start on my college career and my future. Think Amy and Molly from Booksmart (2019). That was pretty much my mindset.
Except I didn’t attend any crazy parties on my last night of senior year (sadly). I did, however, make some stupid decisions that year, in an attempt to make up for all the times I didn’t throughout high school, but my rebellion wasn’t the kind that was worth making a movie about. It was just disappointing and anticlimactic.
Then, during undergrad, I was two years ahead of my peers, double majoring in psychology and English, and on top of that, I was pre-law (add that to the list of Faith Lore for those who didn’t know). I ended up not pursuing law postgrad, but I did graduate early, and I made sure everyone knew it. Now, I’m one of the youngest students in a grad program for English and I can almost feel my head growing three sizes bigger when I tell people, especially when I tell them I want to get my PhD after this. Sometimes I can tell I’m about to be annoying and say it, in some sad attempt to self-defend, but I’m already speaking before I can stop myself. But I want people to know that about me.
I want people to think I’m smart, but I often feel like my natural intellect is not enough. For some reason, I think I work so hard toward academic validation and gather up achievements so that I have tangible evidence that I am. But even then, sometimes I wonder if I even deserve all the accolades, and if I just got them by somehow following directions really well. And I do genuinely enjoy school, learning, writing; all of it—I just sometimes wonder if I’m up to par with my classmates, and being the youngest person in the classroom for almost a decade hasn’t helped with that insecurity.
I guess I always thought that the quality of being smart was simply another item on the ever-growing list of things that made me different, and the idea that it was something I might not fully qualify for terrified me. It’s why I make such a big deal about the pieces I write here on Substack, or any symbols or motifs behind my lyrics; why I always emphasize how much I love certain books; why I always feel the need to mention that I started college at fifteen. When my academic accomplishments come up in conversation, it always somehow warrants a surprised look from others, which is less of a compliment than it sounds. To me, at least, it comes across as them being surprised I was even able to do it, or that I don’t initially come off as the kind of person who could. I want people to think I am smart immediately upon meeting me. I want people to look at me and automatically assume I have something intelligent to contribute to the conversation. But we can’t always get what we want. Which obviously sucks. I don’t want to have to first mention these things, and then people think I’m smart, but I feel like if I don’t, they never will. I’m not sure if this stems from insecurity or if it’s just a result of my experience regarding the subject, but it happens either way. It could very well be both.
At the end of the day, I suppose the only voice that has any real entitlement to speak on my character and intellectual ability is my own—not the stuck-up, accusatory, mean-girl voice that constantly masquerades as mine. It’s just hard to listen to anything else when the cruelest voice is the loudest.
Like my mom always says, the proof is in the pudding: I do have intelligent and insightful things to say, because I say them. I am a smart person, because I think like one. I don’t have to be so quick to make sure people know it, because what if they already do? And, at least on paper, I have the degrees and academic merits that would nod in agreement if they could, because I earned them for a reason: I am a smart girl.
I am obsessed with this