The art of genuine superficiality was the first skill that Harvard taught me. It happened on a Thursday during pre-orientation, and I was telling a girl I had met a few days ago about our very unpleasant Dorm Crew captain. She was the paragon of a devoted listener — she maintained eye contact, nodded, leaned close, smiled, punctuated my story with appropriately placed “Really?!”s and “OMG!”s — and I ended my story and bade her goodbye feeling like ever the accomplished storyteller. She told me it was “SO nice to meet you!” as her friend approached her and I turned to leave.
“What was she saying?” her friend asked her.
“No clue. Let’s go somewhere else.”
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When executed properly, genuine superficiality is brilliant: you appear warm, interested, and friendly yet do not have to spend the time or energy to fully understand the conversation or to fulfill actual Friend Responsibilities. Your network is expanded as efficiently as the dazzling smile you just gave someone across the room. This is ultimately what makes Harvard so special — the people — and will come in handy when you’re running for Class Marshal and need to personalize your emails and Facebook messages, when you’re recruiting for McKinsey or punching the Spee and every interaction matters, when you walk into a dhall at any time and find friends to sit with.
But are these people your friends, or are they the human manifestations of your social skills — or, if you want to be more dramatic about it, your values? You sit with a group for the sake of being a part of a glamorous whole, not because you actually belong. You greet someone for the sake of acknowledgement, not because you fathom their presence. You ask a question for the sake of asking, not because you care.
When someone asks how you are, there are only three ways this conversation could go:
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I say I’m not well — it’s been a long week — and I ask how you are. You smile, awkwardly, and tell me things will get better. But you’re fine, you’ve been busy, and you have to run now but you’ll catch up with me over a meal sometime soon.
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I say I’m well, and I ask how you are. You proceed to humble-brag about the 1.25 hours of sleep you got last night because you were engrossed in conversation with one of the world’s foremost experts on a species of wild mushroom in Malaysia that you’re writing about in your thesis. Naturally, you also have three psets and a midterm and friend drama that you just can’t deal with and also, you’re on the list for the Lampoon party but you really shouldn’t go. I wish you the best but I have to run now and maybe I’ll catch up with you soon, when you’re less busy?
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I say I’m well, and I ask how you are. You say you’re well too. And we’re fine and we’ve been busy and we have to run now, but we’ll text each other to catch up soon.
The last one is the most lethal, because it demonstrates mastery. You are genuine: you really were glad to run into me, and if the chance arises, we will sit down and catch up — but it stops there. We’re not fine and we won’t text each other and it’s been one of the longest weeks in hell, but we still won’t say these things the next time we happen to bump into each other.
Every so often, this is acknowledged — usually after someone jumps or swallows or there are regrets and hindsight involved. This is not a new story — we know about loneliness and depression, about forcing smiles to hide tears, about isolation and about yearning to belong. We know that these things are real. We know that being real means being exposed, and that being exposed means being vulnerable. We know that we’re supposed to be strong, and it’s difficult to be both strong and real at the same time.
So maybe we should take it slowly — maybe it doesn’t have to be about being soul-bearingly real, maybe it’s about genuine sincerity. It’s about me asking how you are. It’s about your tough week, and me slowing down to actually hear the words that you’re saying and to feel the ones that you’re not. It’s about the warmth of the hug, the concern expressed in follow-up questions and the promises to catch up that are upheld and acted upon.
It’s about bona fide authenticity.