Prestige and the Perfect

Never quite there

When I think about being at my desk, when I think of sitting at the computer, doing work, or studying, there’s always a tinge of insecurity. More than a tinge—I’d say it’s the driving force.

The insecurity came from recognizing the prestige in the things around me, and wanting to be worthy of it myself. I wanted others to look at me with the same respect I looked at the prestigious things.

But now I was comparing myself to an idealized train, a mirage I had but was my own head. This idealization didn’t come from me choosing something that came from within. It came from within, yes, anxiously noting all the things around me that other people give respect to. The things that they venerated. I bundled these up into an idea of Prestige, and I chased the hell out of it.

How can I describe Prestige to someone who hasn’t experienced it? It’s the sheen of a new car, the gleam of its metal, the purr of its engine. It is the outward symptom of Things That Move the World Forward. Prestige belies Power, not just will, not just power selfish power, but a Power that is widely accepted, widely respected because it works.

Prestige is the clean smell and soft carpet of the office and wealth advisor. It is the quiet wisdom, a gift bequeathed us by previous generations. It is accompanied by traditional music, God hymns, classical music. There is a gravity to it, a weight that cannot be ignored. And that gravity is the sense that this is the music school which the world revolves.

Prestige is Atlas holding up the world. It’s the marvel of the things that are so important, so vital to the function of the world that you don’t even need to prove or announce. Prestige isn’t loud—that’s showmanship. That’s the desperation of those still trying to prove themselves. No, Prestige is quiet because it has nothing to prove.

It’s a curse to compare yourself constantly against this image of effortless perfection. Prestige just is, it doesn’t work at it. It’s, like they say, just been born with it.

This unattainability carries over to the people who carry the banner of prestige as well. The ones who brandish its holy name—they were always worthy, they were always born with it. And so there are two types of people in this world—the kind who deserve Prestige, and everyone else.

The goal of my life, then, for as long as I could remember, was to join the ranks of the Prestigious. That is what it meant to be special, and that’s what I chased.

But here is the funny thing about chasing perfection. By chasing it, you’re admitting you don’t have it. So then you’re not there yet. That you’re not perfect. So even when you achieve the goal you were aiming at—even if you get into that dream college, or get the dream job—it’s a momentary exultation. Quickly, too quickly, it’ll disappear, and in its place, there will be another goal, another need to prove yourself, another gap, another lack. It’s a constant cycle that never ends. Nothing is ever good enough, because nothing is perfect.

Between the illusion of Perfection & Prestige, and the reality of the daily toil, a gulf emerges. And that gulf is full of guilt.