A Lifetime of Being an Imposter
“Impostor syndrome (also known as impostor phenomenon, impostorism, fraud syndrome or the impostor experience) is a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their skills, talents or accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud”.” -Wikipedia (the source of all truth)
After a long and comfortably emotionally uncomfortable conversation with my partner, I’m reminded how debilitating the imposter syndrome can be. My partner is a painter and as a recent graduate of a fine arts university, is trying to get her career started. This has been a hard year for anyone trying to start a new career, and being locked down in a 600 square foot box in the sky for 7 months isn’t what either of us would call inspiring. It also probably doesn’t help that she’s trapped in this small box with an unapologetically cynical and pragmatic person who’s also trying to start his new career (that’s me!).
She had mentioned how she was feeling like an imposter, that no matter how much education and experience one might have, it’s only a matter of time until she is discovered to be a fraud. This notion got my brain buzzing and reminded me of all the trials and tribulations of imposter syndrome that I’ve dealt with in the past. These feelings can happen in any career or situation, but I’ve found it most prominent in the creative sectors. The immense depth of grey area in all things creative can create an endless space for self-doubt and uncertainty. This accompanied with the Dunning-Kruger effect (I find best simplified as the more you know, the more you realize how little you know) can make the creative sectors quite the beast to tackle.
There was a moment in our conversation when she expressed how she feels like she is going to fail at being an artist, and as an emotionally aware and supportive partner I said, “You will fail”. Cue: tears.
Wait! That wasn’t the end of that sentence! It’s so cliché, but failure is a component of success. In most cases we will fail, and in that failure is an opportunity to learn and grow. These failures can help us build a thicker skin, teach us to persevere and remind us to be persistent. It’s not likely we’ll get things right on the first go around, and it can take several attempts and adjustments to accomplish the great feats that we aim to conquer. Zoolander’s Maury Ballstein said it best,
“What do we do when we fall off the horse? …………….”
In my early 20’s I recorded covers and was uploading a video to YouTube once a week. This was an early attempt to grow a digital presence, and to become more comfortable being vulnerable in a digital space. A song I covered, Burn One Down by Ben Harper, received a lot of views and comments on it, but the thing was 9 of 10 of these comments were along the lines of, “you’re not very good” and “your voice sucks”. Fortunately, I’m not an overly sensitive person and am quite aware of my musical deficiencies. I kept the video online and left all the comments as a reminder to stay humble, to keep working hard, and most importantly, haters gonna hate. Some might see that video as a failure, but it was really a reminder of how i’m a work in progress.
Well, let’s jump into the DeLorean… scratch that. Let’s make it my old Toyota Tercel, and let’s take a closer look at moments of my own feelings of imposterism.
In 2013 I had finished a college program for audio engineering and got the opportunity to intern at an advertising studio in downtown Toronto. Outside of my receptionist duties (answering phones, making coffees and ordering lunch), I got to troubleshoot technical issues for the full-time engineers and managed the entire backup and archiving system. I didn’t want to overstep my role as an unpaid intern so regrettably, I stayed in my zone and was a bit timid. I eventually asked to be paid as I was spending 40 hours a week at the studio, which unfortunately turned me into their glorified receptionist. Whoops… As months passed and my patience tested, it became clear that they didn’t have space for an inexperienced engineer (the typical can’t get a job without experience, and can’t get experience without a job). I decided to moved on, amicably of course.
During this time, I had been meeting with a friend from college about potentially opening a studio of our own. After planning and researching for a year we took the plunge. I invested about $10k, which in the grand scheme of life isn’t all that much, but it was pretty much all I had at the time. We ran the studio for around 3 years; we recorded several bands, some voice over work, and produced and wrote for several of our clients. In those 3 years we never went into the red but we never made any money either, we were just staying afloat. I had my own studio with top of the line equipment, I was working with real clients with real projects, and I was where I thought I wanted to be. For most of those 3 years I was miserably stressed, doubtful and emotionally confused. I had a hard time accepting my ability as an engineer. The quality of work was incredible and our clients were seemingly pleased with their experience with us, but I felt like I cheated the system. I didn’t earn my stripes by working at the big studios or learning from a proper mentor. I didn’t earn any stripes at all, I essentially just bought a studio to bypass all that. I doubted myself deeply and assumed everyone around me thought the same. These notions mitigated my efforts in finding new clients and possibly attributed to the demise of my time there.
In the final year at that studio I picked up photography as a creative outlet, since my primary creative craft essentially became the source of all my stress. In the years following my departure from the studio, I continued to practice and learn more about photography. Utilizing the endless resource of the internet, I became quite savvy with a DSLR camera. Within those few years I somehow got the opportunity to shoot 3 weddings, several headshots and some odd gigs here and there (the strangest of which was a bachelorette party). The feedback I was getting from my clients and friends was great, but my lack of experience and formal education made me feel as though I couldn’t truly call myself a professional photographer. I began using Instagram as a way to share my work, which only attributed to my insecurities. I thought I was putting out good content but I could barely crack 50 likes for a photo, and I began constantly comparing myself to all the incredible talent on that platform. During that time I was also in a strange place mentally in terms of how I wanted to interpret my creative skillsets. I was jaded from entrepreneurialism and was/am making an effort to keep photography a stress-free side project. This isn’t even the past, this is what’s happening with my photography today.
Imposter syndrome is very real and very powerful. I don’t regret anything from these experiences as I truly believe they helped immensely in my personal and professional growth. I had to fall off the horse and get back on (what Zoolander couldn’t figure out) to learn what was important to me in terms of my professional environment. I continue to fight the imposter syndrome even today as I embark on a job search for UX design. I took a 3 month course… I don’t see how that qualifies me to pivot into an entirely different career. These are the thoughts on bad days, and fortunately not all days are like that. We must continually fight to keep a positive perspective, and understand that often the only thing stopping our own progress is ourselves.
My partner has recovered from the tears I incidentally caused, and she wrote down some tidbits from our conversation. I can only hope that my perspective helped motivate and or inspire her. She is one of the most stubborn people I know so her progress will ultimately be only from her own fruition, and as I write this I remind myself that the same is true for myself.
