There’s something quietly revolutionary about being real these days. Not polished. Not perfectly branded. Not layered in filter after filter of how you should be. Just… real. A little messy, occasionally magnificent, honest even when it’s awkward, and able to laugh at yourself when the alternative is crying into your oat flat white.
We’re living in an era where people are exhausted from trying to keep up appearances. Your LinkedIn is supposed to sound like you’re gunning for a TED talk. Your Instagram should look like you live on a Greek island, have a perfect size 0 body and neve snore. Your WhatsApp messages to friends are meant to be upbeat even when your soul feels like a sock that’s been through the wrong wash cycle.
But here’s the wild thing. The minute someone drops the mask, it gives everyone else permission to breathe.
It’s a quiet kind of courage. Saying I actually don’t know what I’m doing with this project, can someone help. Or admitting that you cried watching the John Lewis advert because it reminded you of someone who left. Or telling someone you care about that you miss them, even when part of you is bracing for silence.
In business, it’s still seen as a bit daring. There you are in a meeting, someone’s droning on about robust pipelines and value alignment, and then someone breaks the spell and says, I’m not sure this is working, can we just say what we actually think and language that we can all understand. And suddenly the air returns to the room. People look up. The truth walks in and sits at the table.
Because realness, believe it or not, works. Investors are tired of smoke and mirrors. Teams don’t want buzzwords. Customers are savvier than ever. The leaders who say, I made a mistake, or I’m proud of you, or I don’t know yet but I’m figuring it out, are the ones people actually follow. Not out of fear. Out of trust.
It’s the same with friends. We all say we want low-maintenance friendships, but what we really mean is real ones. The kind where you can show up in Canterbury joggers with a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps and just say, Right. It’s been a week. The kind who text you a photo of the sky because they know you like that sort of thing. The kind who say, You seemed quiet earlier, are you alright, and actually mean it.
The world is full of people performing wellness and pretending not to care. So when someone actually tells the truth, it feels like finding gold. Real friendship is less about shared hobbies and more about shared honesty. About knowing you can be a bit emotionally cluttered and still be loved. You don’t need perfect conversation. You need presence. You need someone who will sit with you when you can’t be witty or wise, just real.
And then there’s the person you let in close. The one who gets to see the raw cut of your life, not just the highlight reel. It’s not easy, especially if they have their own history with closeness, if connection feels both wanted and overwhelming. But realness is the only way in. Not pretending you’re always fine. Not making every moment Instagrammable. Just being there. Letting him see you dance in the kitchen to a song you forgot you loved. Crying at a film and not making a joke to cover it. Saying what you feel and trusting that if he’s ready, he’ll meet you there, even if just for a moment.
It’s brave to be the first one to be real. To show softness. To admit desire. To not perform coolness when what you really want is closeness. It takes a different kind of strength to say, I care about you, I like being close to you, I feel it when you pull away. Not as pressure, but as truth. As offering.
Being real doesn’t mean being raw all the time. It doesn’t mean trauma dumping on your barista or writing long captions about every heartbreak. It means congruence. That your inside matches your outside. That you say what you mean, when it matters, even if your voice wobbles.
Real is telling someone they’ve made your day without worrying you’ll seem too much. It’s asking the question you’ve been sitting on for three days. It’s going to that yoga class even if you don’t know the difference between a child’s pose and a chair’s pose. It’s sending the photo you’ve been asked for at 5h even if you have bed hair and haven’t brushed your teeth. It’s admitting you want to be kissed, held, needed, and not having to pretend you’re above it all.
So go on then. Tell your friend you’re proud of her. Text the person who crossed your mind at midnight. Dance even if someone’s watching. Cry if the film gets you. Laugh too loud in the kitchen. Say what you mean and mean it when you say it. And if someone shows you who they are, listen. But if they show you they want to try, softly, let them.
Because real is rare. Real is truth. Real is worth it. And real is how we actually live, not just exist.
