People love to talk about authenticity. They seek it out. They claim it for themselves. But there’s a problem with authenticity. It doesn’t mean what it seems to mean—not for creators and not for consumers.
Like many concepts that have wormed their way into the early 21st-century discourse of the self, authenticity ultimately only makes sense if you see yourself and others as consumables. It reduces profound human experiences to their visibility and marketability as commodities. There’s a reason why we also refer to things like tourist experiences and cheeses as “authentic.”
In the context of digital media, the deepest and truest sense of self becomes just another void in the emptiness of content. You observe people being authentic the way you observe the locals doing an authentic indigenous dance at your hotel, with the same ethically questionable gaze.
And observation opens up another massive hole in the notion of “authenticity.” It further only makes sense when there is an implicit overseer who determines whether one is being authentic. This overseer’s role establishes a power dynamic over the person deemed to be authentic. When you judge someone’s online performance as authentic, you’re implicitly claiming the authority to authenticate another person’s authenticity. That’s an authority you don’t have.
Authenticity is equally bad faith on the part of the creator. It’s a way of portraying oneself within the conventional language and expectations of authenticity. The audience wants to see the creator do the authenticity dance, and the creator does it.
There’s also a way out for creators: focus on intentionality and ethical alignment rather than seeking validation from external “authenticators.” When we emphasize explicit intentions and values, we escape the constraints and superficial notions of authenticity imposed by others.
