The Performance of Goodness

It’s always felt weird, this performance aspect of being “good.” Not like in theatre, although I guess there’s a connection there—playing a role. More like… when you do something that *should* be inherently good, and then worry more about how it will look to other people than whether you actually feel good doing it. Like volunteering at the animal shelter last summer. It wasn't miserable work, not exactly; scrubbing kennels isn’t exactly delightful, but I enjoyed interacting with the animals. But afterwards, I felt this… pressure. This need to announce it, subtly, on social media. Not a direct “look what I did!” but more like an artfully curated photo of my slightly muddy boots next to a fluffy cat.

I remember feeling incredibly silly about it then, even as I posted it. And then someone commented something nice—"so sweet!"—and the relief was almost physical. Like a little weight lifted. It shouldn't have mattered what she thought, right? But it did. It *does*. Which is, I suspect, precisely what researchers were getting at with this new study exploring how our sense of morality intersects with age, gender, and culture. Apparently, the desire to be seen as moral isn’t always about, well, *being* moral.

My mom used to say that looking good is a consequence of doing good. Sounds nice, right? Like you just focus on being intrinsically virtuous and the positive perceptions will follow organically. But that assumes everyone operates with the same framework for what constitutes ‘good,’ which feels… naive now. My older cousin, Liam, who studied abroad in Japan for a year, has talked about how different concepts of politeness – and by extension, certain moral obligations – can be. It's not necessarily about right or wrong, but maintaining harmony and avoiding shame, even if it means making sacrifices that wouldn’t register as particularly virtuous back here.

There was this whole drama at Jacobs Pavilion last month—the National show—and seeing everyone there in their carefully constructed aesthetic… the curated good deeds plastered across Instagram stories... It felt performative to a degree I hadn't really recognized before. Like we were all vying for some invisible prize based on who looked like they cared the most. The whole experience left me feeling depleted, which is probably why that blog post finally came out. Just… observations. Unfiltered thoughts tumbling onto the screen. Twenty-seven people read it, and I kept refreshing the page for an embarrassingly long time.

It’s funny how easily discouraged some people get by a small audience – like, a massive drop from 50 to zero is enough to shut them down completely. For me, though? Twenty-seven felt… validating. Because it meant someone else maybe *got* it. Got this weird tension between what feels genuine and what we feel pressured to project. My friend Chloe, who’s studying psychology, pointed out that a lot of the pressure on young people—especially women—comes from these internalized societal expectations around nurturing and selflessness. It's less about being inherently selfless, and more about *appearing* that way, which inevitably leads to this exhausting feedback loop.

I think part of it is social currency, too. Like, demonstrating your moral superiority, even subtly, can be a status booster. The person who always champions the underdog, or donates to every cause—they’re signaling something beyond genuine altruism. It's a declaration: *See how good I am?* Which then creates this pressure on others to perform similarly. It’s less about wanting to do the right thing and more about wanting to be seen as someone who does. The blog post, I think, was an attempt to break free from that cycle—to just… be honest about feeling a little fraudulent sometimes.

The study’s findings feel particularly relevant in light of how polarized everything is now. It's not enough to just *be* good; you have to signal it correctly. And the signals are interpreted through these wildly different cultural lenses, which inevitably leads to misunderstandings and conflict. What one person considers a virtuous act—say, protesting a political injustice—another might see as disruptive or disrespectful. There’s this inherent tension between expressing your values authentically and navigating social expectations in a way that doesn't alienate others. It’s exhausting.

Ultimately, maybe the most important takeaway from all of this isn’t about figuring out how to perform morality better. Maybe it’s recognizing that the performance itself is often the problem. Recognizing that genuine compassion and ethical behavior don’t need a soundtrack of public accolades—they just *are*. And feeling comfortable with simply doing what feels right, even if no one else notices or approves. That initial sense of relief after posting those muddy boots… I want to try to feel that less about external validation, and more about the quiet satisfaction of having done something meaningful.