The Mortifying Ordeal of Comparative Human Studies

I’m really good at not practising what I preach. Like, really good. I’m pretty sure most of us are, honestly (you included, dear reader). Do as I say, not as I do, and all that. But it’s much easier to sit by and give comforting words and sound advice to those you care about, those you have a duty towards or even those you know in passing but feel necessary to inform which research assistant tool is the best to download. There’s something ingrained in us to be forgiving to others and harsh towards the one person we should go the easiest on. And there’s no other place that becomes more apparent than the mental gymnastics of comparative studies. Not literary (ha-ha), but the ever-present process of matching yourself up against the world around you in a way you don’t do to others.

We’ve all been there, I think, sitting next to a classmate who’s lamenting how they bombed their test, their essay, their cardboard macaroni art. We’ve shrugged it off, smiled, and told them it’s a good grade (hey, you passed, that’s all that matters!), it’s a great essay (I thought it was really good, at least), that their macaroni art does so look like a snail (they come in many shapes and sizes, after all), and we say this with nothing but the utmost sincerity. There’s no lies, no half-truths, nothing but the utmost conviction that what they did was good, fine and enough. Your hair is fine, your voice is great, I’m sure nobody noticed that and even if someone did, who the hell cares? You shouldn’t be cagey about your interests, your skills, your thoughts, they’re all great and deserve to be heard. Be yourself, there’s no need to look at others.

And then there’s you.

There’s a different yardstick here, something much more exclusive and harsh. There’s side-eyed glances at the person next to you whose stitches are neater, dancing is better, pronunciation is more natural. There’s something in you that needs to measure up, some kind of special circumstance that doesn’t apply to anyone else but you, one that allows others the freedom to exist as themselves but that demands you squint at those around you with a pressing need to be ranked equal and outdo. The same impulse that groans out loud when you spot another small business owner, professional artist or influencer who’s two years younger than you but is reaching for heights you didn’t even notice were there. A cloying feeling of inadequacy, like you should be just as good, even if you aren’t interested in small businesses, art or influencing.

The ruthless comparison between yourself and others is something a lot of us feel no matter how irrational it may seem. You’ll hoard your achievements and accomplishments like some kind of non-fantasy dragon and compare it to others, even if you hoarded cups and they hoarded spoons, even if you’re one of those funky mediaeval dragon drawings and they’re that dragon from Shrek who wears lipstick. There shouldn’t be grounds to compare two things that are so distinct and differently oriented, but nonetheless you feel like you have to do it, because you’re both dragons and you both have hoards. They simply have to be compared because that’s what you do. You can’t simply be yourself, you have to be yourself not in relation to but in comparison to everyone else, because that’s how people are taught to function. Best in class, fastest runner, highest ratings, most friends, most hobbies, we’re raised to compete.

And I mean, how messed up is that?

I’m not saying all comparison and competition is bad, but there’s a line when it stops being about encouraging or motivating someone to improve and simply becomes a mechanism to put yourself (or someone else) down. There’s only so many times you can be given standards to live up to until resentment starts to build. Towards those standards, towards yourself, towards whoever makes those comparisons. And the last two tend to overlap as well, souring yourself towards not only others but yourself as well. Comparing yourself to others can go from motivating to discouraging to destructive incredibly fast and the damage it can do is not a joke.

Obviously my point here is that you shouldn’t do it (shocking), but I understand how unlikely it is that one semi-bitter article can do much about something so deeply personal and often hurtful. So I also want to tell you that, while it’s not healthy behaviour, it’s natural behaviour. Obviously we’ll compare ourselves to others, especially those we’re close to or admire. There’s no way around that, and you’re not alone in whatever feelings it might stir up inside you. Heck, a lot of us are taught to compare ourselves to others, often in very disparaging ways (why can’t you be more like the neighbour’s kid? Why can’t all of you play as well as she does?), and we’re never taught to stop doing it. Instead we’re left with the festering idea that we should not be content with who we are, but strive to be something else. And those kinds of thoughts can follow you around for a long time.

But going back to the friend with the unfortunate macaroni snail. You wouldn’t tell them that someone else’s snail is clearly better, right? Or that they should be more like someone else in class? Obviously you wouldn’t (and if you would, what is wrong with you?), because they’re your friend and good enough just the way they are. They don’t need to be like someone else because then they wouldn’t be themselves, and that’s the person you’re actually friends with. You're not friends with some artistic snailmaster, but with this person with a questionable gastropod on their sheet of paper. You have enough kindness in your heart to appreciate them for who they are, not for some exacting standards they’ve reached in your eyes. And who’s to say you shouldn’t extend some of that mercy towards yourself some day?