How Being the Fakiest Fake Helps You Fake It

Imposter syndrome explained

One day, some years ago, I posted on Twitter, “Is there a writer alive who doesn’t suffer from imposter syndrome?” and received a thunder of replies. I didn’t even need to explain what I meant by “imposter syndrome”. It’s firmly planted in the vernacular, and everyone seems to instantly understand what it means. Just to freshen your recollection: It’s the feeling that you’ve pulled a fast one, that you’re faking it. When it comes to writing, it’s the feeling that you aren’t entitled to be treated as a real writer; that other writers are real writers but you aren’t; and that one day you will be found out and will be publicly shamed—your sword broken over someone’s knee, epaulettes ripped from your uniform.

Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash

When I posted my question on Twitter, I really shouldn’t have limited it to writers. Imposter syndrome afflicts everyone. I have friends with professional degrees—fancy framed certificates attesting to their expertise—who suffer from it. People doing creative work are probably more vulnerable because there is no benchmark that grants us a bit of legitimacy. I think even parents suffer from imposter syndrome. I often feel like I’m not really a real parent—not real the way my parents were real parents. How could I be a parent? Who am I kidding?