The Foil Effect

The comedy and tragedy of defining yourself against others

I do this weird thing at restaurants. I have to ask everyone at the table what they’re ordering before they order it. I must find out because I can’t order the same thing. 

If it’s a large group, I don’t care all that much. But in a more intimate setting, two to four people at the table, I can’t get the fried chicken sandwich or the spaghetti or the steak if you’re also getting it.

I’m sure there’s something pathological at play here, because literally who cares? Also, it’s not like I expect anyone to share their food with me. I’m allowed to order whatever I want even if someone else orders the same thing???

But something about order copying someone feels humiliating. Entirely unoriginal.

Or maybe I am suffering under the delusion that we, as a group, must experience the entire breadth and depth of the menu? So as not to insult the chef?

I’m really and truly not sure where this comes from. It defies all logic.

Interestingly, I’ve noticed a similar feeling crops up when someone, say, compliments my outfit. I’m always loath to accept compliments on my style, because in my mind, I’m not The Fashionable One. 

That’s my bestie! She started working New Orleans Fashion Week when she was 16. She has the most insane wardrobe. She’s styled many shoots. She boldly mixes prints like a pro. She owns shoes I once described as “that of a Medieval peasant.” 

The shoe deadass looked like this.

In my mind, she’s the one with the incredible sense of style. Therefore, I can’t also be.

When I first made this connection, it reminded me of the idea of literary “foils,” characters introduced to contrast the protagonist and highlight specific traits or qualities. Think Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Tom Buchanan and Jay Gatsby, Atticus Finch and Bob Ewell. 

Is this starting to ring bells from eighth grade English class?

This is what I’ve come to call The Foil Effect.

By choosing to change my order at the restaurant just because someone else is ordering what I wanted to order, by refusing to see myself as stylish because I perceive my best friend to be more stylish than me, I’ve set myself up unwittingly to play the role of the Foil.

I’ve noticed this in other people, too. Especially in couples. We must get some pleasure out of polarizing ourselves.

“She runs hot, and I’m always cold.”

“He’s the practical one, and she’s more sensitive.”

“They’re spontaneous. I prefer a plan.”

In comparing ourselves to others, we define our own edges more clearly. We begin to take shape.

Similarly, we perceive light because there’s darkness. We notice beauty as it juxtaposes ugliness. We experience sunshine all the brighter after rain. 

The Foil Effect may be useful at times in figuring out who we are within a certain context. It’s almost like writing with a prompt rather than staring at a blank page and a blinking cursor. See how we’re continuing the literary metaphors here?

But The Foil Effect becomes a prison of our own design when we feel trapped or limited by these repeated narratives of our own creation. Rather than providing valuable feedback, it sets us on a course that may or may not serve us.

Case in point: my attachment to this idea that I’m not fashionable because my bestie is the “fashionable” one. Or the story I tell myself that I’m “bad with money,” that my wife is the more “financially sound” of the two of us. 

If I don’t actively work to combat The Foil Effect, I may not graciously accept compliments about my style. I may miss a key learning about myself, who I am or how I wish to be.

If I succumb to The Foil Effect, I am at risk of cementing my destiny as someone who manages money poorly. I may rob myself of financial literacy or overly rely on my wife for financial planning.

The more I start to pull this thread, the more I realize how much of my own identity, my own personality, was formed in contrast to something or someone else.

How do I define myself apart from others? Who am I in a vacuum? Can I ever really accurately answer these questions?

I’ve been actively investigating my role as The Foil in so many areas of my life, and truth be told, I feel a lot of embarrassment upon examination.

I consider myself a pretty independent thinker, a pretty self-aware person. It’s hard to admit I’ve defined myself so much in contrast to others, in opposition to my environment. 

Much of the dissonance I’ve experienced in my life, much of the stress I attributed to a turn of fate, has turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Words are spells.

“I’m not the fashionable one.” And I downplay my own taste and personal style.

“I’m bad with money.” When I am actively educating myself on this subject.

I’m battling The Foil Effect in my own life. It’s a work in progress. Follow along as I seek to become the Protagonist of my story again.

Have I belabored this literary metaphor yet? You’ll have to forgive me.

Much more to say on this subject, but I’ll leave you with a question: in what ways are you playing The Foil in your life? Do you want to be?

<3 Syd