The blurry line between being real and putting on a show
There’s a kind of sharing that doesn’t feel like connection. You know what I mean? Someone opens up, says something heavy, maybe even personal, but something about it feels off. Like it was rehearsed. Like they’re telling you something raw but you’re still not really in the room with them. That’s what I think of when I hear “performative depth.”
It’s tricky because it looks like openness. It sounds like vulnerability. But it doesn’t land. It doesn’t create space it takes up space. And instead of feeling closer, you walk away feeling more distant. Like they said a lot, but you didn’t actually meet them anywhere real.
Oversharing isn’t the same as connection
There’s nothing wrong with being open. I’m all for people speaking honestly about what they’ve been through. But sometimes it feels like people share too much too fast, not to connect, but to control. To steer the narrative. To come across a certain way. And when that happens, it stops being about intimacy and starts being about image.
You can tell when someone’s sharing to be seen versus sharing to be understood. One feels grounding. The other feels like you’re being dragged into something you didn’t ask to hold. And the hard part is, we don’t always realise when we’re doing it ourselves.
The need to be deep can become a performance
I’ve fallen into this trap too. Saying something emotional because it sounds meaningful. Talking about pain in a way that’s polished, because I know how to wrap it in the right words. But if I’m honest, sometimes that’s just another mask. It looks like honesty, but it’s not messy enough to be real.
Real vulnerability isn’t tidy. It doesn’t have a perfect arc. It’s not delivered with a bow. It’s awkward and quiet and sometimes lands wrong. And that’s what makes it human. That’s what makes it feel safe.
Depth without presence is just noise
You can’t fake presence. You either show up or you don’t. And you feel the difference. There’s something so grounding about someone who’s really there with you, even if they’re not saying much. And something so unsettling about someone who says a lot but never really arrives.
True connection doesn’t need a spotlight. It doesn’t need applause. It’s built in the quiet space between two people who are willing to not have all the answers. Who are willing to just feel whatever’s happening without trying to package it for anyone else.
How to tell the difference
If you’re not sure whether it’s real, ask yourself: does this sharing make space for the other person, or just fill the room with my story? Do I feel more connected after, or more alone? Is this about being known, or being admired?
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be understood. But when that desire turns into performance, it loses its power. The most honest moments I’ve had with people weren’t scripted. They were quiet, clumsy, sometimes even confusing. But they felt safe. And real. And mutual.
That’s the kind of depth I want. The kind that doesn’t need to be impressive. Just true.