The Trap Of Conformity: Can We Escape It?
One of my favorite movies is “Dead Poets Society.”
If you aren’t familiar with the 1989 film, it’s a coming-of-age movie that sets itself inside of Welton Academy, an elite boarding school, and tells the story of a group of young men who become inspired to create a poetry group by their enigmatic English teacher. The film is an intelligent, yet humorous tale exploring the consequences of passion and vulnerability.
The piece, as a whole, is deeply insightful. This being said, one scene, which takes place in the courtyard, has always particularly stood out to me.
In this clip, three students are told, without further instruction, to walk in a circle at the front of the class. After a moment of hesitation, they comply, awkwardly bouncing around for a moment before falling into a rhythm with one another. As the excitement grows, their classmates are encouraged to clap along, shouting “LEFT, LEFT, LEFT RIGHT LEFT” in military-like fashion, and inspiring the three boys to continue to move in sync.
At the end of the scene, it is pointed out by the teacher that each of their walks were distinctly imperfect at the start. One was shy and cautious, another boisterous and performative, and the last entirely led by his groin. It was only once they witnessed their classmates, comparing themselves to those around them, that they began to feel comfortable mimicking their surroundings. Conformity, as the teacher calls it, is what began to take over.
“Now, those of you — I see the look in your eyes like, “I would’ve walked differently.” Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping.”
Conformity, as described by the Encyclopedia Britannica, is the practice of changing one’s beliefs, attitudes, actions, and/or perceptions in an attempt to match those held by the communities that they belong to, want to belong to, or by groups whose approval they crave.
Most people will fall for the deceptive nature of seeking approval this way. It’s a tricky thing to spot in oneself, as well, if you aren’t already well-attuned to your personal values.
Years of my early life were spent meticulously analyzing my peers and how they interacted, desperately trying to adjust myself well enough to one day fit in. The relentless bullying that I endured during my first years of school implanted a paranoia deep within me, screaming that all of the aspects about myself that were true were, in turn, deeply flawed. This force-fed facade became poisonous to my mental health, clawing away at my individuality and robbing me of my spirit.
In the following years, I made toxic friendships and maintained mediocre connections, all thanks to my faith in the sparse crumbs of recognition that planted themselves in the form of familiarity. Of course, due to my stellar social techniques of people-pleasing, self-shaming, and brainless hypocrisy, those friendships never ended up lasting very long.
This spiraling performance ran my life, and I began to feel that it was the inescapable price of human existence. I convinced myself that everybody around me had already mastered their act, and that, somehow, I was the only person falling behind.
Then, without warning, I was ordered not to leave my house or interact with others — for months.
The 2020 Covid-19 quarantine was a brutal and devastating time for nearly everyone on Earth. Graduating high school over the computer, losing contact with friends, and spending countless hours “entertained” by nothing more than my own thoughts, I began to give myself no choice but to come to terms with destructive perceptions and beliefs.
It was during quarantine that I came to another realization — I didn’t identify with my assigned gender at birth. I began to look back through my catalogue of childhood memories, finding clue after clue that would have surely shaken any other person awake to the truth much earlier than I had. I researched like a madman, reading personal accounts and scholarly sources until my eyes nearly popped from my skull.
For the first time in years, I felt the passionate spark again. I was motivated, curious, and open-minded to everything I could get my grubby little hands on.
This realization illuminated just how much of my personal worth and dignity was being defined by the criticisms of others. Accepting that I was transgender meant accepting that there would be people in my life who, no matter what, would never like me.
That was, admittedly, a terrifying thought.
The two decades I had spent bending and twisting myself into the shape of something I prayed would be seen as “acceptable” weren’t ever going to disappear, but I did finally have the chance to embrace pieces of my identity that had never fit that mold.
Now, don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of villains introduced to my story as my urge to appease subsided. The price of my existence became no longer to perform, but rather to persevere in the face of rejection. For once, I was forgiven by the one and only voice that ever truly mattered in the first place: my own.
The trap of conformity consumes us all, whether consciously or not, and we are all privy to becoming the perpetrator of it’s influence in someone else’s story. This being said, embracing the unique and often flawed traits that make up every individual can help us overpower the instinctual ache to acquiesce.
So, for the sake of individuality, I urge you to take your own walk around “the courtyard.” Step out of rhythm and in your own direction.
And for the love of God, ignore the sound of clapping.
