Perfectionism may appear to spur us on to adult successes. But in truth it is a fundamentally childish attitude. It imbues us with the conviction that life in effect ends when we give up hope of becoming the best version of ourselves.
Nietzsche observed that the denizens of a secular modernity, having killed God, were unable to live without him. In his place they invented an array of new gods: Culture, Science, Commerce, the State, the Self.
Perfectionism is slippery. Clinically it is reflected in a dizzying range of symptoms: depression and anxiety, obsessional disorders, narcissism of the “thin-skinned” type (when a projected grandiosity conceals intense fragility), psychosomatic illness, suicidal thoughts, body dysmorphia and eating disorders.
The reprieve from perfectionist zeal, followed by its remorseless return, made me think that perfectionism might be a deep-rooted and persistent element of the human condition.
Religious striving for moral and spiritual improvement goes in tandem with the sombre recognition that perfection belongs to God alone.
Educational, aesthetic and financial betterment and the need for validation from others are the elements that form the perfectionist air we all now breathe.
Over-crowded labour markets, particularly for desirable professional and creative jobs, as well as unaffordable housing, are driving young people and their parents to ever greater lengths to secure a competitive advantage. So begins another unpaid internship, further training or some other side-hustle.
In such a culture, young people are likely to grow dissatisfied both with what they have and who they are. Social media creates additional pressure to construct a perfect public image, exacerbating our feelings of inadequacy.
Changing the dimensions of a nose or bust has come to represent the much desired yet unattainable hope of a perfect future. This is just one of the perfectionist fantasies that plague our consumerist lives. Perfect weddings, homes and holiday destinations beam out from advertising hoardings, tv screens and social-media platforms, inciting feelings of envy, inadequacy and longing in billions of viewers.
As lockdown began last spring, I felt I was beginning to see many of my patients let go of the perfectionist demands they had placed upon themselves. Institutions and businesses adapted to home working, and many people saw a lull in the workload, a break from the constant surveillance and an opportunity to recalibrate their priorities. They embraced simple pleasures – baking, walking, reading, talking – and seemed optimistic about their relationships with their partners and families.
The perfectionism of the 1950s was rooted in the norms of mass culture and captured in famous advertising images of the ideal white American family that now seem self-satirising. In that era, perfectionism meant seamlessly conforming to values, behaviour and appearance: chiselled confidence for men, demure graciousness for women. The perfectionist was under pressure to look like everyone else, only more so. The perfectionists of today, by contrast, feel an obligation to stand out through their idiosyncratic style and wit if they are to gain a foothold in the attention economy.
The yearning for something that is intrinsically impossible can result only in feelings of frustration and inadequacy. My own work with perfectionists has led me to reach a similar conclusion. Yet though perfectionism can corrode our sense of self-worth, few of us would want to give up the ambition to develop and grow.
Something about being human makes it difficult to feel that we have done, or are, enough. We are unwilling to extinguish the hope that, one day, we will be recognised as exceptional: the perfect being that our parents once placed on a pedestal.
Perfectionism has a chameleonic ability to adapt itself to different character types and vulnerabilities, which is perhaps why it has never been categorised as a discrete mental disorder.
The hands-off parent who keeps a more respectful distance from their child’s life can induce a deep longing in the child for the kind of recognition he believes can be won only through the never-ending accumulation of achievements. The child who feels she can’t win, that her best efforts at rugby or chess or cheerleading will only draw her parent’s niggling criticism, will also be afflicted by a permanent itch to do better. Yet the child whose parent assures him that every doodle or gold star is a landmark achievement may also come to feel himself under constant pressure to live up to the achievements of his early years. Whichever way you approach parenting, you may end up stoking your children’s desperate need to please and create a lifelong difficulty in distinguishing their own desires from your aspirations for them. This may sound like the formula for blaming the parents that many people view as the essence of psychoanalysis. But you could also regard it as a humane acknowledgment of how hard it is to get parenting right. The sweet spot between over-involvement and under-involvement in our children’s lives is maddeningly elusive.
It’s easy to see how feelings of self-criticism might be channelled into criticism of others.
The demand for perfection may be stifling, but a perfectionist can also feel that his achievements are the only thing holding him together. When we’re overwhelmed by life and chastise ourselves for our inadequacies, a stellar test score or a thousand Instagram likes can deliver the fleeting sensation that everything is under control. That sensation quickly fades, of course, and requires constant refreshing.
Perfectionism may appear to spur us on to adult successes. But in truth it is a fundamentally childish attitude. It imbues us with the conviction that life in effect ends when we give up hope of becoming the best version of ourselves.