Fake It Till You Make It

I’ve been thinking about the difference between courage and faking it. Can someone be called courageous even if she is, in some way, pretending?

Another image comes to mind—a bird (why do I always imagine birds?). This bird claims to be strong, but if you gently lift her feathers, you see carefully placed, inflated balloons instead of muscles. It’s a way of appearing strong. It doesn’t have to be about physical strength, but the image makes the idea easier to see. Chat GPT imagined a different version:

So what does “fake it till you make it” really mean? If we were completely honest all the time, would we risk losing? Looking weak? Is there an expectation of “role-playing” as we move through life and try to get what we want? For example, could you persuade your husband to do something he would otherwise not agree to? If that sounds reasonable, then where does authenticity fit in? Is life full of small performances and carefully chosen behaviors?

What about social pressure and the need to belong? Can someone truly be authentic if that authenticity doesn’t align with the norms of their social circle? Would you feel comfortable sharing your thoughts if you knew you would face strong disapproval? Or would you slowly begin to adjust—silently reshaping your thoughts to fit in? And if so, do you gradually lose the courage to hold different opinions?

Do people change depending on the circles they enter? And what is a “norm,” really, if it shifts from one group to another? If you resist, is that courage—or simply being seen as unfit? Imagine a social norm where you’re expected to serve six homemade dishes at a gathering. If that doesn’t align with your values or energy, how much resistance do you feel?

Maybe it comes down to what matters more: meeting the need for social adaptation, or maintaining alignment between your values and your actions. Most of us probably live somewhere in between, moving back and forth. Courage might be the voice that stops us when our integrity feels compromised—when we think, “This is too much.”

Yesterday, while we were walking, my daughter asked for a new pair of Crocs. I asked, “Does it have to be real Crocs, or anything that looks like them?” She said, “It’s better if it’s the real one.”

That reminded me of my childhood. We used to buy sweatpants from street bazaars—imitations of well-known brands. They would still say “Adidas,” but not quite the “real” version. In Turkish, other kids used to joke about this by saying, “Is this Adidas, or ‘aadi das’? (fake-das)”—a humiliating way of pointing out you got it from the bazaar.

So what is it about authenticity when it comes to brands? Why do we value the “real” product over a careful imitation that costs much less? When I was living in Türkiye, this felt like a big social signal. Wearing original brands suggested wealth; wearing bazaar versions revealed something about your financial reality.

I remember watching a documentary that said the cost of making sunglasses is often quite similar, yet the price can range from $10 to hundreds of dollars. So what makes us stop at $10—or keep going? There is a hidden paradox here, if I try to be authentic and wear real brands, I am also not authentic to myself because I am wasting extra money to produce an image that does not align with my values.

In The Psychology of Money, Morgan Housel touches on this idea. He suggests that showing off what you spend actually highlights what you no longer have. Real wealth is what you save—quietly, invisibly. Luxury spending, especially when driven by ego, can become a kind of trap. You try to look rich, but in doing so, you spend more and feel more pressure, all while maintaining an image, you become gradually poor.

He shares an example of Rihanna, who nearly went broke at one point due to financial mismanagement. Her advisor reportedly said, “Did someone need to tell her that if she keeps buying the things she wants, she’ll end up with the things—not the money?”

So perhaps this is about balance, not just wealth. Ronald Read—a janitor and gas station attendant who quietly became a millionaire through disciplined saving—is an extreme but powerful example. We don’t all need to be Ronald Read, but there might be a potential for added savings when we accept to care less about what other people think of us. Wearing fake imitations might seem like a solution in that sense.

But how about the flip side, faking emotions, knowledge, thoughts, strength.. That feels inauthentic in a similar way. Deliberately being authentic and rude is also not going to work all the time.  A paradox loop that goes on and on. In our search for authenticity that clicks, in trying to be ourselves without becoming outsiders in our circles, maybe there is a middle ground—a place where we can exist as ourselves, aligned with our values, virtues and goals. Remember this alignment is one of key correlates of happiness in life.

This was what was floating in my brain this morning, how about yours?

Until next time "Aadi" yos, friends :)