Obsession With Identity (and My Hatred for It)

In middle school, I had a friend with a liking to comment on who we would all be, where we would go, and what we would do. I was drawn to New York, making my life out to be urban and refined. Others were outdoorsy and drawn to traveling, the mountains, and fresh air. We were thirteen, but my life felt decided without me doing so. I was annoyed by these conversations, not because they were ill-intended, but because they implied there was a role I was supposed to play. The rebellion was not rooted in resisting a thirteen-year- old's authority, but in the expectation that I should conform to someone else's version of myself. To be named, labeled, or titled had put me in a box.

My early frustration didn't disappear. It shifted. People have aesthetics and lifestyles, ways they prefer to present themselves. And that is habitual. What becomes noticeable is the tendency to treat those choices as defining or to apply them to others. Colors are catalogued at this point, with the expectation that they will signify something defining about the person. Identity is no longer defined by what you've lived, but what you wear and choose to display. I have chosen to travel, with New York being where I go next, but not without having seen mountains, beaches, and the country. My life has been orchestrated by me, but the urge for people to define surrounding peers persists. And like all habits, it's been lingering there since before I noticed it.

The habit of assigning identities shows up young. It's in the small ways that people would predict who would be what. These moments are minuscule, but they form how we view ourselves. And the impulse to define others is amplified when we are overly invested in defining ourselves. I think part of it comes from an underlying need for understanding, a way to predict the unpredictable. If someone's life can be summarized in a single phrase, then it also becomes easier to read. I don't think the single phrase a person is made out to be is intended to be cruel. I'm not sure it's even conscious.

Aesthetics have become a way to describe someone with social media so prominent in our lives. It makes it easy to identify how one is packaged. Suddenly, everyone is trying to be a clean girl, but then the next week, everyone wants to seem original. The desire to be your own individual is apparent, but it's nearly impossible to be when your roots stem from something mass-consumed. Aesthetics have been around since TikTok has, but what leaves me feeling unsettled is how easily it replaces curiosity. When someone is packaged visually, there is no need to look further. The aesthetic becomes the conclusion. The summary. It suggests that what you can see explains depth. Reducing people to something legible helps us avoid the uncomfortable questions and complexities of a person.

But that's exactly when people begin to feel limited. Once an aesthetic gets assigned, it follows you, shaping how people will talk to you and what they assume you value. It waters down this version of yourself that you didn't agree to. And then change gets questioned. You are now forced to stay in this identity you didn't claim because others labeled you.

The obsession extends further, though. It lies in our language, in the constant repetition of "I" or "my," the endless possession of tastes, spots, etc. Our language trains us to own ourselves, which leads us to define ourselves by these materialistic aspects of our lives. The singular self holds power over conversation, reinforcing the pressure to be a consumable version of ourselves. Noticing this is tiring. Every post, every casual claim. We spend so much energy curating and performing that it becomes exhausting to exist outside of the pronouns. We don't often notice how life is filtered through the singular self. Once you notice this, it feels like identity is reduced to possessions and pronouns and how you perform, leaving any future decision made, followed by a worry that it will box you in.

In response to this, I've resisted assigning myself to one thing. Not a color, a city, or an artist can make you feel reassured without also limiting deeper questions you need to ask yourself. I don't think understanding yourself involves you being certain of yourself. You are ever-changing, and this we often forget. There is a pressure (I blame the internet) to be finished. To present yourself as labelable, but life offline doesn't support that. Your life supports growth, learning, and experience. To insist on a singular definition is to resist the way your identity naturally will shift.