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Tuesday, September 30, 1997

Brace yourself for the brutal truth

LIES: Society admires honesty as virtue, but fragile egos can't always call life as they see it

Admit it: you've told a few white lies in your time. Before you deny it, take a deep breath and think back on your life. "I didn't roll through that stop sign." "I didn't back into that parked car." "I didn't inhale." No worries - little white lies are part of life. We all use them to save our asses once in a while, with the rationalization: "It's no big deal."

What would life be like, though, if we all told the truth for a day? This isn't some cheap take-off on "Liar, Liar" - just a challenge for you to look within yourself and ask whether or not you could actually be truthful to everyone you come across. Could you tell that nasty guy who's been hitting on you to get the hell away? Could you look your sorority sister in the eye and tell her she looks like crap? Could you tell your girlfriend that yes, indeed, she is rather fat after all?

Maybe you could. But if you're like most people I know, you wouldn't dare. No need to rock the boat, no need to complain or be rude or mean, no need to be honest. Or is there?

Being honest has landed me in mounds of trouble in the past. I am not always honest. I, too, fall prey to the white-lie syndrome. But 98 percent of the time, I tell it like it is. If that bothers you, I'm not the least bit sorry.

Honesty is a virtue, people say. It is one of the most important characteristics one seeks in a friend. It is the key to achieving personal and professional success.

Right. Do you still hold that opinion after your professor says your paper is an embarrassment to this institution?

Sure, people admire those of us who are honest and straightforward. It is noble to speak our minds and stand up for what we believe in. Yaaay for us.

But this idolatry only goes so far. It abruptly ends when we get to honesty (is there such a thing?). People like it when you're honest about others, but they prefer lies or half-truths when it comes to their own very fragile egos. Sorry, but the truth hurts. And it has to come out sometime.

I am blunt. Why? I don't know. Maybe because I was born in Brooklyn. Maybe because my parents never hid me from the facts of life. Maybe because I had to move to nine different schools as a child. I grew sick of the superficial niceties I encountered from every new girl in school, who first smiled at me and then told her friends to beat me up because the boys looked at me.

I don't know why; I don't care why. All I know is that when I received a foot-long pin for my 15th birthday that read, "I'm from New York. What's your excuse?" I realized that my attitude, or whatever you want to term it, is an inescapable part of my personality.

Don't get me wrong - I am not unabashedly rude or heartless, neither of which are particularly productive. Actually, I am a connoisseur of tact. I think very long and hard about something before I say it. But truth still lurks behind the tact.

It's possible that the definition of truth changes with geography. In Los Angeles, a different frame of truth exists from the one in New York. Here, people are really nice to your face but talk shit about you when you leave. In New York, if they even care about you enough to dislike you, they will tell it straight to your face. And they don't even feel bad about it later. Nor should you, especially if you deserve the criticism. Maybe you were, in fact, obnoxious, snotty or just plain ugly. Wouldn't you like to know the truth? Maybe you have a tragic character flaw you don't even notice, and you need someone else to bring it to your attention. You should thank them - or me, as the case may be.

If we were all honest, we could all thank each other: Thank you for telling me this column sucks. Thank you for telling me that no, I can't borrow your car. Thank you for telling me I have toilet paper hanging from my underwear. We could all learn from the truth! Think of the pain you could avoid from a relationship gone sour if, at the first sign of lemon, you brought up the problem or headed for the door.

A word of warning: should you decide to heed my advice and be straight with someone, prepare yourself for the consequences. You might be called "abrasive," "moody" or "unfriendly." But instead, tell them to call you Honest Abe.

Stephanie Pfeffer

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