What’s your favourite thing about yourself? Stylist’s Love Yourself campaign asked over 400 women that, and published eight pages of their answers. People mostly picked low-key, quite specific stuff – “I can cook something out of nothing”; “I’m really strong”; “I can talk to anyone”; “I’ve got an excellent bum” – and it was lovely, and touching, to see women affirm what they like about themselves. It also felt strange – almost shocking? Stylist called giving yourself a compliment “squirm-inducing” and yes, the thought of doing it myself made me squirm.
I feel something similar when I see people online expressing uncomplicated, justified pride in their achievements or liking who they are out loud – it’s a sort of “is that allowed?” feeling, like the rules have changed and no one told me. If toxic humility is a thing, I definitely have it, because I get a masochistic buzz from self-deprecation, especially when it provokes someone into contradicting me. I have a shopping list of things I hate about myself that I take out and luxuriate in on sleepless nights, but deep down, I don’t actually believe I’m a worthless, irredeemable worm (even typing that feels transgressive!); I do hate the idea of letting anyone know that though.
It’s weird, but not that unusual, I think – try it yourself and see how it feels. Are you also squirming, or are you a well-balanced person with healthy self-esteem? I’m certain I’m not the only one unable to express anything resembling self-love and we can’t all be deeply, individually, messed up – it’s our conditioning. “Modest” and “humble” are unequivocal compliments almost everywhere; most spiritual traditions prize humility and many nations have a dysfunctional relationship with pride. In Scandinavia, there’s the “law of Jante”, an expression coined to describe the social disapproval that feeling you’re a bit special attracts; Ireland has the easily weaponised idea of “notions”, and in Britain one of the most unseemly things you can be is full of yourself – we’re paradoxically proud of how self-effacing we are.
Then, of course, there’s the cautionary example of people who go way too far the other way. There’s a lot of it about in the age of the LinkedIn braggart (a recent study found bigging yourself up on the networking platform helped mask professional incompetence), with stable genius-in-chief Donald Trump, claiming he deserves the Nobel peace prize, or has “one of the highest” IQs and “strong common sense”. We’ve all met someone who says they’re “very empathetic” or “easygoing”, but displays the compassion of Caligula and the laid-back, anything goes energy of Kim Jong Un. There’s something very winning about the opposite, too: Claudia Winkleman – who must, surely, know how brilliant she is – is always claiming she’s an orange muppet who only gets work because she has a distinctive fringe – and we adore her for it.
I also think we’re a storytelling species and lacking self-belief makes for a better narrative – both the stories other people construct about us, and the ones we tell ourselves. If someone says they’re great at something, then goes on to show they are indeed great at that thing, where’s the surprise; what’s the redemptive arc?
It’s tough to go against all that and maybe we don’t need to – telling people we’re lazy and stupid is an honourable tradition. But I do sometimes find myself wistfully wondering what it would be like to post a proud gym selfie, or a piece of writing I’m pleased with (I did this once, found out I had misspelled something in it and nearly expired from shame – never again).
But if nothing else, could we maybe whisper to ourselves that we’re OK? Because that’s demonstrably good for us. A meta-study published this October reviewing 129 papers on self-affirmation (reflecting on your values and positive traits) found it had positive effects on people’s wellbeing and sense of self-worth that lasted for around two weeks. Telling ourselves we’re good makes us feel good? I can’t decide if that makes us simple, or bizarrely complex creatures, but it makes me think more of us should give it a go.
Maybe it’s a case of starting very small and gradually building up the (ew) self-love muscles? I’ll go first: I’m pretty good at meeting deadlines. Your turn.
Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
