As a hyper-introvert, one thing I’ve learned is that while my seemingly insatiable appetite for solitude has put limits on my capacity for relationship-building, I’m also convinced my general aversion to social interaction has been a powerful (though unexpected) developmental advantage.
In recent months, the work of the now deceased French polymath, historian, and philosopher Rene Girard has been the subject of much discussion and, like many others, I’ve become intrigued by his work. Although Girard first retained a professorship at Stanford starting in 1981 (which lasted until his passing in 2015), I hadn’t been exposed to his work until reading Luke Burgis’ book earlier this year titled, “Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire, and How to Want What You Need”. At the center of Girard’s worldview is the concept of Mimetic Desire: the idea that humans, as social creatures, develop desires not through an independent or autonomous process but instead through a process of social learning - a process whereby we acquire or “borrow” desires from the people around us (Ex: friends, colleagues, rivals, role models, etc).
There’s a popular saying that goes something like, “You become the average of the five people you spend the most time around”. While perhaps not true in its most literal sense, it’s certainly true in the Girardian sense. Because, in accordance with Girard’s concept of Mimetic Desire, the people that we regularly expose ourselves to (and, in turn, seek approval from) greatly influence our desires.
I’ve seen this repeatedly in my own life. In evaluating career paths as an economics major at Stanford, I found myself pulled toward those paths that my peers thought highly of: Investment banking at Goldman Sachs, Consulting at Bain, Venture capital at a16z. When I did eventually land a job at Goldman and started working full-time, I again found that my desires somehow converged with those of my Goldman colleagues: gaining a CFA charter, making associate quickly, or pursuing exit opportunities in the lucrative fields of private equity or venture capital.
We like to think that our desires are our own. That it’s only after careful reflection that we decide to make some goal or aim our priority. But this is largely untrue.
The renowned 20th century American psychologist Abraham Malsow, known for establishing Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, once said, “It isn’t normal to know what we want. It is a rare and difficult psychological achievement.” Girard’s theory of Mimetic Desire, if true, provides a helpful starting point to tackle this “rare and difficult psychological achievement” because this assertion that our desires (which drive our nearly every action) emerge not intrinsically but rather through a process of social learning and imitation, when taken seriously, should give us pause for thought.
Once you start to understand Mimetic Desire, you see it everywhere. The rising popularity of NFTs (or Non-Fungible Tokens), for example. Do they truly have value? What about high-end art? Could I not hire a skilled artist to replicate the Mona Lisa such that to 99.99% of the population the duplicate would be indistinguishable from the original? What about apparel from popular streetwear brands like Supreme, Stussy, and Kith? How is it that a simple logo on a stock sweatshirt commands value in the hundreds and even thousands of dollars?
Mimetic Desire offers a compelling explanation. NFTs. The Mona Lisa. Supreme apparel. Sure, there is some practical value to be gained from these goods. But the value we attribute to them are leaps and bounds beyond the practical value they offer. Again, we inherit an appetite for things through a process of social learning and imitation and it is through this process that our desires develop.
One of the dangers of social media use is that we are constantly exposing ourselves to society’s desires. Whether conscious of it or not, we are constantly observing what it is other people are attributing value to and adopting those desires as our own. Even when the object being attributed value appears trivial, with enough exposure and conditioning, we’ll find ourselves wanting things we otherwise would not have.
While there are material costs to detachment, there are also advantages. My unusually high appetite for solitude, I’ve found, has been of great benefit to my ability to think independently. As somebody who is acutely aware of their susceptibility to conformity, it is largely through detachment and extended reflection that I’ve been able to ensure that my own desires and aspirations are truly my own.
As the French philosopher Blaise Pascal once stated, “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”
