Performative Sincerity

How sincere™ content killed actual sincerity (or not, dilligaf?)

Compadres, I need to be completely honest with you (market-tested sincerity level: 97.8%, so, yeah, pretty honest, if you ask me). Last night, while flaneuring through my Notes feed at 3 AM, I witnessed something that broke my brain – and not in the usual "ancient tablet reveals proto-memes" way (that would be no surprise). I saw the most authentic™, genuine™, heartfelt™, real™ post I've ever encountered... and it made me want to scream into the digital void. But I won’t link it here for reasons unknown quaquaquaqua

Here's the thing about sincerity in 2024: it's become a commodity so valuable that we've created a perfect paradox. We're trapped in what I'm calling the Sincerity Singularity (bang!) – a point of no return where the performance of authenticity has become more authentic than authenticity itself. Let that cook in your mind for ramen broth cooking length (which is a lot).

Allow yourself to ponder this: every time you open any social media app (such as Notes), you're bombarded with people "keeping it real" with carefully curated candid shots, "opening up" about their struggles, and "vulnerable", “raw”, “sincere”, “honest” essays that have definitely seen more drafts than my college thesis. The market demands authenticity, so we've industrialized its production. Thusly everyone has become a participant in a vast sincerity economy where the currency is performative vulnerability and the exchange rate is measured in engagement metrics, such as likes, restackes, subscribes, etm. (like, restack, subscribe by the way, I’m vulnerable, honest word).

The more we optimize for the authentic and sincere, the further we get from anything remotely resembling actual sincerity. We try to catch our own reflection catching our reflection – at some point, you have to ask which one is doing the catching and which one is being caught¹. When everyone is required to be sincere all the time, sincerity itself becomes impossible.

We're entering a phase where being genuinely fake is becoming more real than being fakely genuine. The most honest people online are the ones who openly admit they're performing, while the ones insisting on their authenticity feel like they're trying to sell us something (which, let's be real, they usually are; native ads, damn ‘em). We're all trapped in recursive loops of performance, watching ourselves watch ourselves be authentic.

This reminds me of something

Thomas J Bevan

once told me during a particularly intense late-night discussion about late capitalism sincerity markets: "When authenticity becomes mandatory, pretense becomes the only honest choice." (He then vanished in a cloud of Marlboro smoke and dialectical materialism, but that's a story for another essay.)

And you know what? Maybe that's okay (maybe not, I dunno). If being genuine has become the only marketing strategy, perhaps the most sincere thing we can do is embrace the performance. After all, if we're all wearing masks, we might as well acknowledge the masquerade. If everyone is a clown, everything is a circus, eh?

I'm writing this at 4 AM, fully aware of the irony of authentically performing my late-night thought spiral for your entertainment and engagement. Is this performance? Absolutely. Is this sincere? Also absolutely. Can both be absolutely? Absolutely. Is admitting you’re here just for the likes also absolutely? Of course it fucking is! Does only a Sith deals absolutes? YEKOKATAA! THE PLACE TO BE!

Keep it real (whatever that means anymore), compadres,

Yours and no one’s,

FF

P.S. Again, a threat (not a gentle reminder), if you enjoyed this authentic™ piece of content, make fucking sure to like, subscribe, and share your most genuine reactions in the comments below. Your engagement metrics fuel my continued existence in this strange loop we call Substack.

1. That was rather deep. I apologise.