We are all quite simply role-playing: doing what it is that we think that someone like that who we believe we are should be doing, regardless that there is no one thing that anyone actually is.
Fascinated by this internalised mirror image of Other as Self, we find ourselves transfixed by fantasy and illusion.
Even those who deny that they are pretending are merely pretending to be offended because that is the role that they believe they should be playing to be who they mistakenly think they are.
The bad news is: it is all fiction.
The good news is: it is all fiction.
There is individuality, but there are no individuals.
There is personality, but there are no persons.
We are all just playing a game that we ourselves have invented to make meaning from, in and of this world.
Even more unsettling is a simultaneous and inverse truth: this game is playing us and everything we think we are is merely the other artefacts, grammars, channels and contours through which it does so.