Is It Me I’m Looking For? The Dark Side of Flexible Identity

Riddle:
I wear many masks, yet I am still the same.
Each mask tells a story, each role, a name.

What Am I?

We* have already ventured into the shadows: traits often perceived as dangerous or destructive hold an undeniable fascination, and our proposal of a dark authenticity explores exactly how people rich in these aversive personality traits relate to their “true self.” Now, we’re turning the spotlight on what the flexibility of one’s identity, brighter or darker, means for the very nature and subjective experience of being yourself.

We often think of “being authentic” as sticking to our “true self,” a consistent identity that never wavers. Pop culture constantly reinforces the mantra: “Just be yourself. Don’t change for others.” We see it in social media ads, career advice, and endless self-help books. But is this really how authenticity works, like an on/off switch?

In reality, our identities are constantly shifting. We reinvent ourselves¹ after heartbreak, a career change, sometimes even after being involved in a political debate², or moving to a new city. For some people, this feels like personal growth, adaptability, or flexibility. For others, it sparks self-doubt and the haunting question: “Am I still me?”

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” This paradox challenges the idea that authenticity always comes from stripping away layers of societal-enforced falsehood. Sometimes, it actually emerges through the very masks or roles that we adopt, consciously or not, as we navigate through life. In other words, being authentic can mean holding various (sometimes opposing) pieces together in a way that feels coherent³. Or, in the words of American writer Augsten Burroughs “I, myself, am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”

Modern psychology echoes this: authenticity isn’t a fixed trait⁴, as Kernis & Goldman put it, it means to “experience the self as a fluid process rather than (..) static” (2006, p.294). It can be an ongoing negotiation with ourselves. At the heart of that negotiation, there are two powerful forces shaping who we are and who we become:

• Agentic goals - self-focused drives, such as achievement, influence, and power.
• Communal goals - other-focused drives, such as care, belonging, and connection.

We could think of life as a constant balancing act between me and we⁵. At work, agentic goals may dominate as we strive for success, recognition, and achievement. At home, communal goals often take center stage, as we nurture loved ones and find meaning in connection.

But does this constant metamorphosis feel liberating, or is it experienced as fragmentation⁶? That’s where the psychology of self-concept stability (the sense that who we are remains continuous over time) comes into play.

And the answer might not be universally valid. For some, shifting between "me" and "we" feels natural. For others, it can feel draining or destabilizing. Researchers^7,8,9,10 distinguish between various patterns of identity and self-concept change:

• Consolidated Selves – relatively high self-coherence over time, with some degree of flexibility guided by a well-established internal compass.
• Fragmented or Disturbed Selves - each role-shift feels like losing a piece of individuality. Inconsistencies are perceived as proof of “faking it,” leading to distress, confusion, and self-doubt.
• Fluid Selves⁷ - individuals can move between different (even incompatible) roles and goals without losing coherence. They adapt, evolve, and still feel authentic, as change feels like growth, not self-betrayal.

The difference isn’t in whether we change (we all inevitably do), it’s in how these changes fit into a coherent personal narrative.¹¹ Certain dark personality traits, like psychopathy, narcissism, or Machiavellianism give people a remarkable fluidity in navigating their social roles¹² and self-perceptions.¹³ These individuals, often seen as charismatic leaders or influencers, can move seamlessly between self-interest (me, agency) and connection (we, communion) without visible distress. Besides being social chameleons,¹⁴ they are also self-chameleons.

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When depicted in fiction, this duality is exemplified by the antihero archetype, which reveals that morality isn’t always black and white. As The Punisher from the Marvel Universe puts it, “Sometimes good guys gotta do bad things to make the world better.” Or, Frank Underwood from House of Cards, another fictional yet charismatic villain who blends ruthless self-interest with a compelling vision, sometimes even using prosocial masks to get his way, knowing that "Generosity is its own form of power".

But there’s a darker side to this flexibility, of course. For those without this adaptive edge, frequent shifts can feel alienating, as if one is living as two or multiple different people. Instead of liberation, change becomes a source of self-doubt. The mask that helps reveal inner truths can feel like a disguise to others.

Dean Koontz’s book Mr Murder explores this concept vividly through the psyche of the personal clone or doppelgänger, a representation of one’s shadow or “dark” self whose self-awareness is shaped by solipsism (an egocentric and fractured narrative of self). The tension between the real character and his darker clone escalates, while the line between hero and villain becomes increasingly blurred, a chilling reminder of the latent darkness that lies within us all. And this can go beyond fiction, as the author goes on to confess, “Every book has some real life in it. I was never pursued by an evil twin clone, but everything else in MR. MURDER was pretty much out of my own life.”

Patrick Bateman's internal conflict and detachment from genuine emotion illustrate the dangers of a fragmented self, where the facade of normalcy conceals a chaotic inner world.

Source: Patrick Bateman from 'American Psycho' movie / Lionsgate

Patrick Bateman in American Psycho epitomizes it: a man who projects a pure agentic and authentic identity while living in emotional chaos because nothing truly satisfies him. When shifting between agentic and communal selves lacks integration, it becomes solipsism, like living in a hall of mirrors, where your reflection is your only reality, an endless looping of distorted self-perceptions.

This dual reality, where identity flexibility can be both a gift and a trap, is one of the most striking tensions in understanding what it means to truly “be yourself.” Authenticity might be less about freezing yourself in time, and more about embracing change without losing your sense of self. Not clinging to one fixed version of who you are, but weaving your changing (past and future) selves into a coherent story that feels real and relevant to you¹⁵ (known as perceived coherence).

The liberating truth? You can be many versions of yourself and still be authentic. The less liberating truth? If you can’t hold those pieces together comfortably, change can feel progressively more like fracture. Perhaps the key to authenticity lies not in holding still, but in mastering the art of self-integration through self-awareness — a topic we will delve into more deeply in a future post.

Riddle answer: The self, identity.

*We = Doctoral student Andreea-Alexandra (Lexi) Bulbuc from Babeș-Bolyai University, Romania & University of Warwick, GB, the main voice in the article above, and Prof. Laura Visu-Petra. The ideas are based on a recently submitted manuscript⁷, dealing with identity flexibility and how it could be shaped by the presence of high dark traits.