The persistent promise of authenticity

The word authenticity pops up everywhere these days. In conversations about leadership. In personal development programs. In invitations to “show your authentic self.” Each time the word appears, I feel a slight frown forming, not because I’m against honesty, uniqueness, or integrity, but because I’m increasingly aware of how easily the concept is used, and how poorly it often holds up.

 

Because what do we really mean when we ask someone to “be authentic”? Or when we encourage people to discover their “authentic self”? And why does the idea begin to chafe the moment you take seriously the social and linguistic nature of being human? Below, I try to unpack my discomfort a bit further.

 

The myth of a core to be discovered

Many ideas about authenticity assume that each person carries some kind of inner core, an original truth about who you truly are. As if beneath the layers of roles, experiences, contexts, and stories lies a hidden essence waiting to be uncovered.

 

But the more I work from a social constructionist perspective, the less convincing that image becomes. In my work, I meet people again and again in their multiplicity. We are not born with one fixed identity that we somehow lose and later need to recover. We become someone in relationships, in language, in interaction, in the situations that challenge and invite us.

 

If identity is an ongoing conversation, how can authenticity be a fixed and objectively definable outcome?

 

A narrowing instruction

On top of that, the call to “be authentic” often functions as a norm, as if there is a correct way to show yourself, one that is spontaneous, pure, and unfiltered. But that is precisely what makes the word so deceptive. It sounds liberating, while in practice it often tightens and constrains.

 

Because how can you be “real” on command? How do you express what is genuine when that is exactly what becomes strained the moment someone asks for it? In this way, authenticity becomes not an invitation but a benchmark, a measuring stick against which you must hold yourself, only to discover, especially in tense moments, that you fall short.

 

Human beings as multiplicity

What helps me much more is the idea that we do not have a single “self,” but rather a constellation of voices, roles, and possibilities. What we call “I” is not a monolith but a mosaic. Sometimes one tile shows itself, sometimes another, depending on whom we meet, what is at stake, and which stories happen to resonate more strongly in that moment.

 

Within that multiplicity, space opens up. Not the quest for a core hidden somewhere within, but a continuous attunement to yourself and to the environment. A movement, not a destination.

 

From authenticity to attunement

Perhaps this is why the concept of authenticity appeals to me less and less. It suggests that something needs to be found, while my work teaches me that meaning emerges through connection. To borrow the words of Ken Gergen, we are “relational beings.” Our identity is not rooted in an isolated individual but arises from the relationships and interactions we engage in. Everything we consider “self” emerges in a web of relations, through conversations that illuminate what could become possible, through situations in which we invite one another to try out new versions of ourselves.

 

What I am seeking is not an authentic core, but congruence. A sensitivity to what feels right in the moment. An honesty in how you move between expectations, emotions, and intentions. A willingness to become visible in your attempts rather than in your certainties. That, to me, is the real task: a continuous attunement as participants in a relational field that we are always co-creating.

 

The freedom of becoming

Maybe it helps to stop thinking of authenticity as something you must find and instead see it as something you create together. In every conversation. In every situation that invites you to pause and listen to what wants to emerge.

 

Then the question shifts from “Who am I really?” to “What becomes possible here if I allow myself to be moved, touched, surprised?” To me, that is a far kinder question, and at the same time, a far more courageous one.

 

 

Inspiration:

Gergen, K.J. (2009). Relational being: Beyond self and community. Oxford University Press.