One of my favorite events every year is the US Open tennis tournament. We usually purchase tickets months in advance, so we have no way of knowing which players we’ll get to see. But there is one thing we do know.
It’s August. In New York City. We expect it to be hot. But on this particular day, it was H-O-T. Like surface of the sun hot. We searched for any scrap of shade, but we were out of luck inside the two large stadiums. I dared to look at the weather app on my phone, which just made it worse: 96 F/ 37 C. I felt myself melting into the plastic seat on the verge of becoming a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West.
It was time for a break. We left the Bryans in their doubles match and headed to the open-air food court with giant awnings for shade. A lot of other people had the same idea. While I stood in line for ice cream absolutely willing to pay the equivalent of the GNP of some nations for two scoops, a conversation started with my neighboring line-mates. We discussed the heat (naturally), the players’ stamina in the heat, and the cashiers’ lack of stamina in the heat.
You never see Serena sweat.
Andy seems to sweat a lot.
The cashiers at the ice cream stand looked like they were having a rough go of it, despite being surrounded by sub-zero freezers. One woman stood with hands on hips and closed eyes for a good minute before I started to wonder if I should call for an ambulance. Okay, if I’m being honest, I wondered if I should nudge her so she could take my order.
The guy in front of me turned with skeptical brow furrowed. “Fake it til you make it, honey,” he stage whispered, clearly loud enough for her to hear.
I’ve heard this adage before, probably even said it myself. But I’ve been wondering if it’s sound advice. Sometimes, I think “fake it til you make it” works. In the case of the cashier, perhaps pretending that she’s temporarily relocated to Siberia would help her get through her shift without dwelling on the heat. When I had a minor cold, forcing myself to shower and take a walk in the park made me feel human again.
Some think that the phrase stems from Aristotle: “Men acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a certain way.” In situations when we feel less confident, maybe “fake it til you make it” avoids a negative self-fulfilling prophecy. When I was learning a tennis serve, continually hitting into the net drained my confidence, but when I started imagining I was Serena Williams, I felt more assured and poised, thereby gaining the confidence to do the very thing I didn’t think I could do.
A couple of weeks ago, some commenters touched on the “impostor syndrome”—when you don’t feel you’re worthy or don’t feel you’re in the same league with your peers. Maybe reaffirming that we are worthy by “faking it” allows us to feel like less of an impostor (ironic twist). And that ultimately helps lead us to our goal. I’m thinking about all of us writers who seem particularly afflicted by this, but it could apply to anyone: tennis champions, real estate agents, basket weavers.
But I don’t know if faking confidence or pretending to feel better is a good idea. If we cover up our true feelings, we’re not really dealing with them. Redirecting doesn’t always work. It’s hard to pretend you’re in Siberia when you’re really sweltering in Queens. And it’s hard to be Serena Williams when on my best day I serve like Tiny Tim. Maybe we’re doing ourselves a disservice and end up draining our confidence, which the opposite intention, because we know we’re masquerading, even if others don’t.
What do you think? Is “fake it til you make it” good advice?
Have a great weekend, everyone!