your authenticity will cost you

on the price of being real in a world that charges admission 💸

tl;dr: authenticity isn't just about "being yourself" anymore - it's become a luxury brand that many can't afford and a risk that could cost you everything.

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Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

"okay everyone, close your eyes. breathe into your truth. let your authentic self emerge."

i'm sitting cross-legged on an overpriced meditation cushion in a converted craftsman. the exposed brick walls and carefully curated succulents are screaming "authentic space.” the workshop facilitator - let's call her sage (because of course that's her name) - is wearing what appears to be a $425 free people dress specifically designed to look like something a peasant might have worn in 1800s romania.

"share your raw truth," sage whispers in that hushed, reverential tone that somehow always accompanies expensive spirituality. "what's really in your heart? what is your soul saying?"

she walks around rubbing obsidian. across the circle, someone that (to me) looks like a tech executive in a $200 "artisanally distressed" t-shirt starts crying about his difficult relationship with his tesla. (“elon is a nazi now, i bought my cybertruck before that!”) sage keeps walking around. then, someone else confesses their shame about not making their own oat milk.

i check my banking app: the $175 i paid for this "authentic storytelling workshop" just cleared. that's roughly what my abuela spent on groceries for our entire family for two weeks when i was growing up in puerto rico.

the irony is thick enough to spread on artisanal sourdough toast. with reduced sodium.

the authenticity industrial complex™️

somewhere between 2010 and now (based on my perception at least), authenticity became a luxury brand. like everything else under capitalism, the simple act of "being yourself" got packaged, priced, and sold back to us.

some examples i have seen myself in the wild:

• "authentic" puerto rican cooking class in san diego: $245

• my abuela's actual recipe for pasteles: free (but you have to endure her judging your technique while telling you about your cousin's recent divorce)

• "genuine" handcrafted coffee pour-over set: $179

• my stovetop coffee maker i inherited from 1985: still making perfect café for $0

but it goes deeper. last month, i saw an instagram ad for a "genuine puerto rican experience" tour in old san juan - $399 for one day. you get to "live like a local" (they promise, at least) and it’s all complete with an "authentic street food tasting" at places no actual local has ever eaten at.

meanwhile, my titi vilmarie actually lives her genuine puerto rican experience every day, but she can't afford the admission price to her own authenticity.

funny how colonialism works, right? first they try to erase your culture, then they sell it back to you at a 1000% markup.

the price of keeping it real

"just be yourself," they say, as if authenticity was a cute outfit you could put on instead of a potentially lethal choice.

let me paint you a picture: it's 2 am at a gas station somewhere between grand rapids and lansing, michigan, circa 2008. i need to pee. i'm wearing nail polish because i had just started embracing my queerness. i spend 20 minutes doing complex calculations:

• how badly do i need to pee? (8/10)

• how many trucks in the parking lot? (4 - not great)

• any pride flags or "safe space" stickers? (lol, no, that was not a thing then)

• likelihood of violence if someone decides my authentic self is offensive? (too high)

i held it until the next “safe harbor”. (shoutout to my bladder.)

"speak your truth," they say. coño, my truth comes with a surcharge and a potential hospital bill.

every queer person i know has a running spreadsheet in their head:

• places we can hold hands

• places we can't

• places we might be able to, depending on the time of day and the alignment of the stars

• places that claim to be "welcoming" but charge us double for the privilege

my trans friends budget for therapy, hormones, surgery, new wardrobes, legal fees - just to access their authentic selves. that's if they can get past the gatekeeping, the waiting lists, and the insurance denials.

i know social media managers who are paid six figures to be "authentically themselves" for brands, while actual authentic voices (like you and me, for instance) are silenced for being "too much."

the performance of realness: a user's guide

i recently watched an influencer's "raw and unfiltered morning routine" video. you know the type:

• "just woke up like this" with makeup that definitely took 45 minutes

• a "messy bun" that required three youtube tutorials to perfect

• "casual" outfits that costs more than my monthly rent

• "impromptu" coffee moment with perfect lighting and camera angles

• "random" journaling session with carefully arranged crystals and a $75 "authentic" hand-bound journal

production budget? probably around $2,000. authenticity level? about as real as my mom's "natural" hair color. (sorry, mami, te tire pa’l medio.)

also, let me take a break here to say - i follow a lot of fitness influencers on instagram. they all do grwm videos… all the time, over and over again. if i said i follow them because of their tips on form and diet… well, that’s part of it… i would be lying. they’re usually hot, jacked, and handsome. why is it that in their grwm videos, they don’t wake up with morning wood like a normal person? that’s the authenticity i wanna see…

@eddyplolzi guess thats what the only fans is for 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 sorry y’all, i cracked up at my own joke lol

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but the most hilarious part of all of this is not my predilection for an erect bulge, but that i'm complicit in the authenticity industrial complex too. right now, i’m writing about authenticity on a paid subscription platform, carefully crafting my "genuine" voice. the irony isn't lost on me.

but here's what breaks my brain: we're now performing authenticity more elaborately than we ever performed conformity. it's like we've created a new, more expensive closet to hide in - only this one has great lighting and an aesthetic instagram grid.

the authenticity tax: a breakdown

let me show you my receipts (literally and metaphorically):

financial costs:

• "authentic" farmer's market vegetables: $8/pound

• same vegetables at northgate gonzález market: $2/pound

• "genuine vintage" t-shirt: $85

• actual old t-shirt: apparently worthless until someone markets it

• "real" experiences at "authentic" prices: unlimited

• my therapy bills from dealing with all this: don't ask… please

the social surcharge:

• every time i have to explain why i don't "look" puerto rican enough

• every job interview where i tone down my queerness

• every time i code-switch between:

  • professional english

  • casual english

  • puerto rican spanish

  • "acceptable" spanglish

  • what white people think spanglish sounds like

  • whatever language keeps me safe in this particular room

professional penalties: the price of being real at work

remember when i worked in republican politics? every day was a masterclass in the cost of truth. one time, i pushed back on an anti-lgbtq+ hit piece at my old job. i had the audacity of suggesting that maybe, juuuuust maybe, we shouldn't compare queer people to predators.

my boss's response? "if you want a future in republican politics, you need to be more of a team player."

translation: your authenticity is costing us money, clicks, and votes. my salary in that job? $32,000 (circa 2015). cost of staying silent? my entire soul.

the mental tax: your brain on authenticity™️

the constant calculations are exhausting:

• am i being too queer?

• am i being queer enough?

• am i being puerto rican enough?

• am i being too puerto rican?

• is my authentic self authentic enough?

• is my performance of authenticity convincingly authentic?

it's like starring in a one-person show where you're simultaneously the lead actor, the critic, the audience, and the person who has to clean up after everyone leaves. and the reviews? they're always mixed.

finding real freedom (for real this time)

plot twist: the freest i've ever felt was at 1 am at flicks in hillcrest, dancing badly to madonna with other queers who couldn't afford the admission price to authenticity but showed up anyway. no one was performing realness - we were too busy actually being real.

or at the family gatherings where my titis argue about who makes the best arroz con gandules while my primos play dominoes and talk shit. no one's charging $200 for this "authentic cultural experience" - we're just living it.

or at the kiwanis all-inclusive club of hillcrest meetings in uptown tavern where we're too focused on helping our community to worry about whether we're being "genuine" enough about it.

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the revolution will not be aesthetically curated

here's what i know: true authenticity isn't something you can buy at whole foods or learn in a workshop run by someone named sage.

it's the group chat where you can actually say what's on your mind. it’s having friends who love you even when you're not posting your best self. it’s the communities that protect each other without charging admission. it’s the the spaces where you can exhale without calculating the cost.

while the authenticity industrial complex is busy selling $400 "genuine" experiences, actual authenticity is happening in the margins… and maybe that's the point.

com mucho amor,

edgard

p.s. if you're struggling with the cost of being yourself - you're not alone. your authenticity isn't measured by your ability to afford the authentic™️ lifestyle.

p.p.s. yes, this essay about the commodification of authenticity is hosted on a platform that commodifies personal writing. we contain multitudes, and sometimes those multitudes shop at whole foods while complaining about gentrification. we're working on it.

p.p.p.s. to sage from the workshop: if you're reading this, i want a refund. i could have had a really good mofongo for that price and then some!