So Fake

Recently, Phoenix*, a middle school student I’ve worked with for three years, said, “Miss, I hate when people are fake.”

I asked Phoenix to define what they meant by this, and they said, “You know, when they act one way when they’re with one group of people and another way when it’s just you and them.”

Phoenix was referring to a longtime friend. They described the ways in which the friend acted at the afterschool program where I work, compared to how this friend acted when they were hanging out in the neighborhood, just the two of them.

“Do you act the same way in class as you do in our program?” I asked.

Phoenix shook their head.

I asked why that was, and Phoenix said there were different expectations in class, compared to in the afterschool program. At the program—a drop-in center—youth have a fair amount of freedom to make choices about what they want to do. In class, Phoenix articulated, they were expected to learn specific things so they could pass the end-of-year tests.

I nodded. “Do you act the same around all your groups of friends?”

Phoenix shook their head again.

The complicated thing about growing up, I said to Phoenix, is that people try on different personalities. They try and figure out who they are—separate from their families, separate perhaps from friends they’ve had forever and maybe even separate from the place they grow up. Usually, I said, it’s not even that people aren’t being true to themselves—it’s that they’re trying to figure out which parts of themselves fit best.

Since being authentic with the youth I work with is so critical to building trust with them, I spoke about my own experience. I talked about how, when I was in high school, most of my school friends listened to rap, and so did I. And most of my non-school friends listened to late ’90s alt-rock, and so did I. This was the influence of two different groups, and I enjoyed both types of music (and others). Neither situation was me “posing” or being fake. It was just different aspects of me.

I pointed out to Phoenix how different aspects of me are noticeable when I facilitate a permaculture activity—the activity, in fact, we were engaged in while having this conversation—compared to when I facilitate a game for the kindergarteners and first-graders. In permaculture, the side of me that is incredibly interested in science and the environment comes out. When I facilitate games with the younger children, the side of me that’s goofier and will collapse to the floor to act like a dead worm or a frog or a duck comes out.

“Do you think either of those is me being fake?” I asked.

Phoenix shook their head. “I guess sometimes it’s just hard to tell when I can trust someone if they act one way when we’re alone and another way when we’re with the group,” they said.

I affirmed this strongly and reminded Phoenix of something we’d covered in an empowerment class two years earlier: If someone makes you feel bad about yourself or demeans you, they’re doing it to build themselves up and it’s not something you have to—or should—tolerate.

“And sometimes,” I said, “friends grow apart. That hurts a lot. And sometimes it’s forever and sometimes it’s not, and it’s nearly impossible to tell at the time which way things will eventually turn out. But if you choose to let a friendship go, it’s also important to remember that person is still human—still has faults, still has positive qualities. When we forget people’s humanity, that’s when we become our worst selves.”

*Student’s name has been changed. This student’s preferred pronoun is their/they.

Clift provides informal education to youth in Denver, Colorado, and volunteers with several organizations that work on food justice issues.