On The Commodification of Self
“So.. who are you?”
Upon meeting a stranger for the first time, this question gently gets wedged, marking a segway into the beginning conversation. An ice breaker. A lever of social lubricant to break the awkwardness. Perhaps, a bridge which might lead to a highway of a deeper social connection. But, most definitely, as a way to gather clues about someone so that we can form a conception of their identity. An impression.
Our answers to that question tend to revolve around what we have gotten used to answering small talk with — our names, what we studied in university, what our professions are, what we tend to do in our free time, where we’re from — and, if lucky, our favourite sauce for fries (or what the English elegantly call “chips”).
And from these clues, others make their best implicit judgements about who they think we are — someone who possesses certain qualities, earns a certain amount of income and has a very ‘predictable set’ of interests. We get placed into brackets, categorised and labelled almost immediately. And, we do that to other people too — sometimes explicitly. But especially, implicitly.
Seldom do we truly ask ourselves — who am I?
Devoid of all the conditioning that I was brought up with, through the influences and friends that I have met. Who am I, in absolution? Without reference to a certain social role I play — in relation to my family, company, society?
It seems difficult, if not impossible, for one to define what one’s identity is without a reference point. Without a reference point to who we are to others — a brother, a sister, a teacher. Without a reference point to what we do — an accountant filing taxes, a poet writing about writing, or a banker selling overblown valuations of stocks. And so, we’ve grown up, accustomed to defining our self identity through referring to the external roles we play, the people we serve — and there’s nothing reprehensible about that.
It’s perfectly normal.
But, it being normal does not necessarily mean it’s bringing us satisfaction, joy and happiness. Not fully at least.
We live in a world now where worth is measured mostly in market value.
We live in a world premised on income growth to service growing debts.
Countries are all competing on the key metric of gross domestic product (GDP) and income growth. The Joneses (and I) are trying to earn that higher bracket of income to fund a certain life style. Housing is being packaged as worthy investments, with further financial ‘wizards’ inventing new trade-able contracts premised on these investments (i.e., derivatives). And as if that wasn’t enough, wizards got more creative and cooked up more wizardry — by sprinkling fairy dust; building contracts on top of these contracts — essentially allowing markets to bet on housing price movements.
“It’s to hedge risk”, they say.
Simply put, we are living in a society where the accumulation of capital is the core aim. And the worth of this ‘capital’ is based on psychological aspects — driven by the core fundamentals of supply and demand.
And there’s no denying that capital accumulation has benefited humanity in numerous ways — particularly in terms of material wealth which had further third order effects on other well-being measures such as life-expectancy.
But there comes a point where capital accumulation no longer ‘trickles’ down to economic value — but as to what economic value is, that in itself is debatable.
Should we be focussing on ‘consumer surplus’?
Or should we be focussing on addressing ‘market failures’?
I am no economist.
But, I do know that I am human.
A human who happens to be curious on what it means to be human in this 21st century. I don’t purport to know what it means to be human — for it means different things to different people.
But I do know that people are unhappier now than ever — true, it might be harder to develop deeper connections now with others. It’s harder to trust strangers. It’s harder to be in touch with our environment when it’s changing at suck a quick pace. And this is more exacerbated when we’re most likely living in a densely populated city.
But deep down below this shared dissatisfaction and unhappiness, lies a more important aspect.
The measure of worth.
The measure of the worth of others.
The measure of self-worth.
For those of us living in the liberal democratic Western World, we primarily operate in an environment defined by a market economy. We are ingrained to define ourselves by external measures — how many friends we have, how many things we have, how good looking, how fit we are, and, what job we have.
True, not everyone measures themselves in that way — but it’s hard not to measure yourself in such ways, even in a tiny bit.
How can I be sure of that?
Through our impressions of other people. When we interact with a person who happens to be serving us in a restaurant — do we first see them as a person, or as a waiter? Do we interact with them as a person first, before a waiter?
Just as we see others in terms of the social role they happen to be playing, we measure ourselves in that sense too (i.e., its hard not to).
And particularly so when we start viewing other people like that, relationships become easily commodified — in other words, they become defined in terms of how much they can bring to the table in transactions of resources and services.
And in a market economy, we have the inclination to define ourselves by the jobs we hold (especially if you’re a workaholic like me) or by the number of social events we get invited to (especially if you’re a social butterfly, totally unlike me). In other words, we become subject to the external forces of supply and demand.
We have the tendency to measure ourselves in terms of commodification.
Now, I am not claiming that it is commodification in terms of willingness to sell ourselves on the market. But it’s the aspect of the measure of self-worth through some external means of measure — through the identity that we think we hold. Through the role that we serve — or think we do.
And what does this mean? It means seeing our self-worth in terms of how good we are as means to other ends. We measure our self worth by achievements, by jobs and by the people we know.
“Important” people, we think.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with having external measures to base our self-worth on. But much like the valuations of Kodak and Nokia, so will our skills go out of demand. Much like a flower wilting, so will our bodies age. Much like a child outgrowing his or her baby clothes, so will our relationships change. And as the world changes, so will your identity — for your external role and contributions change over time.
Keeping this in mind, who are you?
How do you define yourself?
How do you measure your own self-worth?
Man is the measure of all things. — Protagoras
There is no doubt that we are living in world where worth is primarily defined by material wealth, by social status and power. And some might say that it’s the ‘natural hierarchy’ of how things operate. True, we likely need heads of companies to work insane hours to keep organisations afloat, so that people get to keep their livelihoods. We need competitive creative people to think out of the box to innovate on new goods and services — keeping people happier.
But, what guides this hierarchy?
Will you let this guide your values as well?
Will you use this measure against yourself too?
