The curtain rises. The stage is set. The auditorium is filled with spectators—some watching intently, others too preoccupied performing the roles they’ve been cast in by school, society, or themselves: Every student at Stevenson steps onto this stage of social glare daily, stepping into the roles they have carefully rehearsed and created. Some are comedians, cracking jokes for applause. Some are overachievers, playing the part of the perfect student. Some slip into the background, hoping to avoid the spotlight entirely.
High school is a performance, and for many, authenticity is a role they fear will not be accepted. At times, students question whether the role they’re playing is genuinely their own. Maybe it was pretending to like a TV show everyone else was raving about. Perhaps it was agreeing with a group opinion, even when it didn’t sit right. Maybe it was laughing at a joke that just wasn’t funny. These moments may seem insignificant, but they build up over time until one day, you wonder: when did I become a character in someone else’s play?
The stage directions are clear: blend in, don’t make mistakes, and follow the cues given by those around you. A 2023 study on adolescent authenticity in the Adolescent Research Review Journal found that 64% of teens feel pressure to change aspects of themselves to fit in with specific peers. It’s not just about fitting in—it’s about curating a version of yourself convincing enough to be accepted, even if that means a little deception. No one wants to be the one who stumbles on their lines. Instead of creating a unique performance, students often adapt to the script of conformity already written for them, fearing that stepping out of character will lead to rejection from peers.
This pressure to conform bleeds into their friendships, which often feel more like social negotiations than genuine connections, which is what truly leads to a close relationship. While some friendships could thrive in an environment of authenticity, others are molded by the need to fit in, with shared interests taking a backseat to unwritten social rules. According to a 2022 study published in PubMedCentral, the quality of friendships, rather than sheer quantity, is linked to overall well-being. Despite this, students often choose relationships that offer protection from loneliness, even if sincerity is sacrificed.
The performance doesn’t stop in face-to-face interactions. Social media has turned self-presentation into an art form where every post is carefully curated to maintain an image. There’s pressure to be likable, seem interesting, and always be in the right places with the right people. The 2022 systematic review “Association Between Friendship Quality and Subjective Well-Being Among Adolescents” found that 81% of teens feel pressure to curate a perfect online persona, and 63% acknowledge living a “double life” between their real selves and digital identities.
The result? A reality where authenticity feels less rewarding than the illusion of having it all together. Seeing others constantly appear ‘put together’ makes students afraid to show their own flaws, fearing that vulnerability might be seen as weakness. Even in close friendships, many hesitate to reveal insecurities, fearing it might change how they’re perceived by everyone.
But the pressure isn’t just social—it’s institutional. Leadership positions, executive board roles, and club presidencies often favor those who can best market themselves rather than those most passionate about the work. Students who are naturally outgoing, charismatic, or well-connected often secure these roles, while those who don’t fit the mold of being well put together must either adapt or accept a lesser presence. This can leave students wondering if who they are is enough or if they must constantly perform to be seen and appreciated.
But does this mean the performance is inherently flawed? Not necessarily. Social adaptability—the ability to shift tone, demeanor, and presentation—is an essential skill, even beyond high school. A study on cultural perspectives of authenticity found that while 74% of American teens prioritize being true to themselves, 48% of Chinese teens value group harmony instead. Adapting to different social settings is natural, but when constant adjustment starts to blur the line between flexibility and self-erasure, it can make connections feel less grounded and more performative.
While American culture, which is individualistic, values self-expression and personal identity, Chinese culture, which values collectivism, prioritizes fitting in and maintaining group cohesion. For instance, in American schools, students are encouraged to express their opinions and stand out, while in schools in collectivist cultures, the focus is often on consensus and avoiding behaviors that disrupt group harmony. True friendships should allow students to be themselves without fear of rejection.
It’s natural to shift aspects of yourself based on context—people behave differently in a classroom than they do with close friends. But when does adaptation become compromised? Maybe when you start hiding parts of yourself not out of choice but out of fear—when fitting in means feeling like a stranger to your own values.
Cultural backgrounds shape how students navigate these decisions, as many gravitate toward peers with similar experiences and values because of comfort. While this can be comforting, it can also create social bubbles that limit perspectives.
However, Statesman acknowledges that authenticity itself has limits—being true to oneself does not mean disregarding the feelings and boundaries of others. Friendships should be spaces of honesty, not excuses for cruelty masked as “just being real.” Sometimes, being honest means acknowledging your own feelings while still honoring the trust someone else has placed in you.
So, where should students draw the line? At Stevenson, competition doesn’t just shape academics but also social dynamics. Leadership positions, often but not necessarily in student government, often turn into popularity contests. Students sometimes mold their personalities to appear more charismatic, more well-liked, or even more “put together” just to secure these roles, even going as far as to falsely praise current executive board members to get positions, often at the risk of making it a more toxic environment for other club members. And while it may seem inauthentic, it’s also a necessary skill for future jobs. The challenge is ensuring that this adaptability does not come at the expense of personal values.
However, Statesman believes students are not just actors—they are the playwrights. If the pressure to perform feels overwhelming, then perhaps it’s time to change the script. Choosing authenticity doesn’t mean stepping offstage completely; it means deciding which roles are worth playing and which ones feel forced. It means nurturing friendships that don’t demand a performance, ones where openness isn’t seen as a weakness but as part of the act of being human. And if a friendship feels more like an act than a connection, it doesn’t always mean walking away; sometimes, it means starting an honest conversation and seeing if the script can be rewritten together.
No institution can force authenticity. No school policy can demand that students stop acting. The only people who can do that are the ones on stage—in other words, the students themselves. If we as students want a different Stevenson experience, one where authenticity isn’t drowned out by applause-seeking, Statesman urges that we create it ourselves. It starts with small choices and not necessarily large decisions that impact every part of your life—speaking honestly, surrounding ourselves with people who allow us to be real, and resisting the urge to say what we think will earn the most approval.
Life will always have an element of performance. But we have more control over the story than we think. We can choose to play roles that align with our values rather than ones written for us. We can choose to surround ourselves with people who appreciate us for more than just our perfected lines. The question isn’t whether we’re part of the play—we are. The real question is whether we’re ready to become the protagonist in our own story.