We put on masks faster than we can say “good morning.” One waits in the hallway, professional, neatly pressed, with a polite smile. Another sits in the pocket of our coat, social, louder, ready with a joke. A third appears without warning when the phone rings with a call from a parent or when we run into someone from the past. Social masks are not costumes for a masquerade ball; they are everyday tools for survival.
There is nothing inherently false about them. On the contrary, they are often signs of emotional intelligence. We know that not everything should be said, not every thought deserves to be set free. A mask protects us from judgment, from conflict, sometimes from our own vulnerability. It is like a raincoat: it doesn’t change the weather, but it helps us get through the storm without getting soaked.
The problem begins when we forget that there is still a face underneath. Authenticity doesn’t disappear overnight; it grows quiet. Over time, we get so used to our roles that we start to mistake them for ourselves. A person becomes the sum of expectations: the boss’s, the partner’s, society’s, and the algorithm’s. And when silence finally falls, when no one is watching, an unsettling question appears: who am I when I’m not performing?
The modern world loves masks tailored to profiles. On social media, authenticity is often carefully staged, planned, and filtered. “Be yourself,” we are told, but preferably an attractive, productive version of yourself, not too complicated. Real cracks, doubts, and silences don’t generate clicks. And yet, that is often where the truth lives.
Authenticity is not about brutal honesty or public emotional exposure. It is the ability to take off the mask where there is a safe space to do so. With someone who doesn’t expect a performance. With yourself, when there is no applause. It is a consent to inconsistency, to not always knowing what we want or who we are.
So perhaps it’s not about throwing our masks away. Perhaps it’s about learning to set them down—consciously, from time to time. To check whether the face underneath is still breathing. Because authenticity doesn’t shout, it speaks softly: “This is really me.” And usually, that is enough.
2026.01.22 Stockholm