If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it

I have been wearing my nametag all day, every day, for twenty five years.

And along my journey, there have been many occasions where people accused me of hiding behind it.

Which is a counterintuitive concept, because wearing a nametag is, in many ways, the polar opposite of hiding. It actually forces me to be seen, noticed and interacted with. The sticker makes me an order of magnitude more vulnerable than the average anonymous person.

I’m putting myself out there with my real name that anybody can call out at any time.

And believe me, people do just that. Especially some of society’s more undesirable individuals.

When was the last time you had a belligerent homeless man yelling your first name while chasing you down the street? So much for hiding.

But that example relates to the physical realm. What about the more psychological aspects of hiding? Is it possible that wearing a nametag for so many years has become my own little security blanket? My own little comfort object to hide behind that justifies my behavior?

Absolutely. I remember attending a support group one night, which is the kind of venue where attendees often wear nametags. But at this particular group, they had a rule. No nametags. Anonymity was crucial for creating their container of safety, and also for preventing any sense of terminal uniqueness.

Before entering the room, the leaders kindly asked me to remove my sticker as a show of respect for the group’s confidentiality. And admittedly, this really bothered me. My ego chimed in and said, hey, what the hell bro? Do you know who I am? I always wear the sticker. How dare you tell me not to tell everyone my name.

I remember feel the fear welling upside my throat. Annihilation. Identity death. Loss of autonomy.

No sticker means I don’t exist. Run now. Run as fast as you can and never come back to this stupid meeting with these nameless idiots.

But saner heads prevailed. I decided to get over myself for an hour and stop hiding behind my precious curtain of specialness. These people didn’t care what my name was. They cared less about the nametag and more about the heart behind.

That next hour of my life was beautiful. I had a wonderful time and learned a lot. Obviously, I never went back to that lame ass support group again, because screw those controlling assholes and their bullshit rules.

But you get the point.

Ironman said it best in his final movie appearance.

If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.

What objects do you hide behind? Are you making a conscious effort not to use props and offer a pure and vulnerable expression of your true self?