"You will learn at your own expense that in the long journey of life you will encounter many masks and few faces." When I first read that quote by Luigi Pirandello, I took it as a warning against deceit. But the older I get, the more I wonder… who doesn't wear a mask? And more importantly, is it always a sin to do so?...
Look at nature. It isn't just human beings playing dress-up. A chameleon shifts its skin to blend into the shadows. An octopus liquefies its shape to vanish into the reef. Harmless insects mimic toxic leaves, and flowers fabricate illusions to seduce pollinators. In the wild, camouflage isn't a lie, it’s survival. It is the art of not revealing everything all at once. And humans? We are no different. We find it strange when people proudly boast, "I am exactly the same everywhere." Really? Are you truly the same with your boss as you are with your lover? Do you speak to a judge the way you speak to a toddler? If someone is entirely identical in a boardroom, a bar, a funeral, and a bedroom, they aren't uniquely authentic they are dangerously inflexible. Social harmony requires the performance. We soften our sharp edges, filter our impulses, and compartmentalize our chaos...
Not every mask is born of malice; often, a mask is the highest form of love, duty, or resilience. Consider the surgeon, calm and laser-focused during a medical crisis while their chest tightens with the heavy weight of a human life, or the parent, smiling brightly while secretly drowning in anxiety, just so their child can sleep peacefully. We see it in our closest relationships when we choose a protective fiction over a brutal truth, like when a partner asks, "Do I look tired?" or a child eagerly presents a burnt, experimental dish asking, "Is it good?" We don't offer cold, clinical data in those moments; we offer warmth. Even the familiar phrase, "I'll be there in ten minutes," whispered while we're barely putting our shoes on, is often just a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between expectation and our own human frailty. Courtesy itself is a mask, and social life would crumble if we walked around narrating every fleeting, ugly thought that crossed our minds...
Total, unblinking transparency is a myth. We don't even possess it with ourselves, as we hide our own darkest truths in the basements of our subconscious...!! Therefore, intimacy isn't the total absence of masks. True intimacy is finding a sanctuary where fewer masks are required. We crave a safe harbor where we can slowly, deliberately, untie the strings; someone who doesn't demand a flawless performance, someone who, when the stage lights go down and the costume feels too heavy, is willing to sit quietly with the contradiction, the fear, the weakness, and the beautiful mess of the face underneath...
Maybe Pirandello was right, but perhaps we've misunderstood the danger. The threat isn't that we wear masks to navigate a complex, demanding world. The danger arises when the costume becomes the skin. The definitive question we must ask ourselves isn't whether we play roles to survive the day. The real question is this: when the world goes quiet, the doors are locked, and you finally stand alone in front of the mirror... do you still recognize the face beneath the performance?...
stormborns
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
titsay
