Catching the Chameleon in Action

Lady Bird, 2017

“I’m playing LoL right now,” an ex-crush responded after I asked him what he was doing.

“Oh, really?” I said back, one tab already opening Google. Search: ‘Best League of Legends champions.’

After skimming through the first article that showed up, I typed out: “You know, I used to play. I liked using Ryze a lot.” Send.

That was a lie, of course, but it’s a lie that got me another message from him. “You played mid, then?” he asked, and I’m once again back to searching. This time: “What is a mid in League of Legends?”

We would talk until midnight about matches and servers, which would eventually lead to him say that I was ‘not like other girls.’ I’d cling to that compliment—revel in it—and, before you know it, convince everyone else in my life that I loved League of Legends. Spoiler alert: I’ve never played a single game in my life.

While that was several years ago, I’ve had many similar conversations since then. The script changes here and there—varying interests and different settings—and yet the intention is always the same. Though I’m not proud of it, I’ve since memorized the process: A crush would let on about something they were interested in and I would be quick to echo their sentiments. Yeah, I listen to The Click Five! Oh my God, did you just say you like Steven Universe?

I would do the necessary research and keep tabs on possible conversation starters. I heard they released a new song. Did you watch the latest episode? Then, I’d keep the illusion of interest up for as long as necessary. There are some things that I eventually developed interest for, like the Beatles and Thai dramas. Most of the time, though, it ends up being nothing but a charade; tiresomely predictable the same way one might go through the unconscious motions of lather, rinse, repeat.

Surprisingly, very few people have noticed this side of me. I’m meticulous like that—making sure I have an answer for which chapter I like in their treasured book, who my ‘bias’ is in their favorite K-Pop group. Or maybe people just aren’t as observant. Oftentimes, they’re happy enough to have someone indulge their rants and opinions, and I’ve never minded being that someone.

On some close calls I’ve had, I’ve blamed my bad memory or agreed to their own preferences to secure my facade. I’ve always thought of my pretending as harmless; I wasn’t inconveniencing anyone—except myself, that is. The most extreme and elaborate fake interest I had to keep up was for Game of Thrones. Season eight was rolling out and the boy I was absolutely crazy for then adored the series. Hoping to make a semblance of a connection with him, I swore I “caught up” on seasons one to seven over Christmas break. (The truth is that I watched the entirety of season one then turned 30 minute YouTube summaries and fandom “wikis” for the rest of the seasons.) Over the course of season eight, he sent me memes and theories that made little to no sense to me. We watched the last episode together and my reactions were nothing but copies of his. It was then, I think, that I realized I was exhausted of chameleoning my way through life.

My insatiable need to be relatable has come at the price of not being able to resonate with anyone. What used to be one or two passing similarities have morphed into quirks I’ve memorized as if they were truths; years later, I am still keeping up fronts that were made for people who no longer matter to me. Each white lie built up over another until I could no longer figure out which parts of me weren’t made up for the sake of others.

While no one has figured out the extent of my pretenses, I’m glad I’ve caught myself. There’s much to undo—films to stop declaring as my ‘all-time favorite,’ songs to take out of my playlists—but it’s the closest to honesty that I can afford right now. In pursuit of being more sincere, I remember admitting to the Game of Thrones guy (one failed relationship later) that I actually never liked the series. “I know,” he had assured me, laughing. “I figured that you only watched it for me.” I wanted to argue that I really did think Lyanna Mormont was cool, or that I still also thought that the last episode fell flat. I didn’t, though, because I knew I would just be fooling the both of us into caring about a show that I really didn’t feel much for. What I thought was the cornerstone of our friendship turned out to be nothing but a footnote and it’s helped me want to be more genuine with both others and myself.

I’m trying to remember that not knowing someone’s favorite band wouldn’t be the end of my world, nor would it ruin my shot at friendship. I’m trying to follow a new script now, one that requires much less acting. There are no Google searches in this routine; no common grounds right off the bat or comments on being so alike. It’s not as foolproof as lather, rinse, repeat—but it’s honest, and it’s real. It’s as simple as letting myself say “I don’t think I’ve heard of that yet.”