Who Are You Reading For?

There is apparently something suspicious about reading a book in public.

Put a book on your table at home and nobody cares. Put the same book on the table at a café, and suddenly there is a possibility that you are trying to make a statement.

Maybe you’re not even reading it properly. Maybe you’re just holding it there so people can see the title. At least, that’s what someone might think.

It is a curious thing about us. We have become remarkably good at assigning motives to other people’s ordinary behavior.

Someone sits in a café with a book, and somebody thinks, “Trying to look intellectual.”

Someone takes a photo of their coffee, and we call it pretentious.

Someone dresses carefully, and we say they’re trying too hard.

Someone goes running every morning, and suddenly they’re “showing off.”

We see the act. Then we invent the reason. Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re doing it.

Perhaps the person with the book actually likes reading. Perhaps the coffee looked particularly good that morning. Perhaps the person who dressed carefully simply enjoys clothes. Perhaps the runner is trying to lose weight, clear his head, train for a race, or just likes running.

Or perhaps they really are showing off.

We don’t know. And that’s the uncomfortable part. We are often more certain about other people’s intentions than the facts allow.

There is something especially amusing about accusing someone of being performative. The accusation itself assumes that we know what is happening inside another person’s head.

“He’s only doing that for attention.”

“She’s just posting that to make people jealous.”

“They’re trying to look important.”

Maybe.

But maybe not.

And sometimes, I suspect, the accusation says more about the observer than the person being observed. If I see someone reading a book and immediately think he’s trying to look intelligent, why did I arrive at that conclusion? The book didn’t say it. The reader didn’t say it. Nobody announced an intention to impress anyone. I supplied the motive myself.

That is where things get deliciously uncomfortable.

Maybe we are so accustomed to performing for an audience that we assume everyone else must be doing the same.

There is also a strange double standard in how we treat visible interests. Read a book and you’re pretentious. Read a book on your phone and you’re probably just scrolling. Go to the gym and you’re showing off. Stay home and you’re lazy. Dress casually and you don’t care. Dress well and you’re trying too hard. Post your achievements and you’re bragging. Say nothing and you’re mysterious.

At some point, a person simply cannot win.

Maybe we should allow people to enjoy things without requiring an explanation.

A person is allowed to like coffee. A person is allowed to like books. A person is allowed to run. A person is allowed to dress well. A person is even allowed to post a photograph of breakfast without it becoming a referendum on their personality.

Not everything we see is a performance.

Sometimes a book is just a book. A cup of coffee is just a cup of coffee. And a person sitting quietly at a café may not be trying to be interesting at all. Maybe they’re just having a good afternoon.

Which brings us back to the reader with the book.

Perhaps the funniest thing about seeing someone read in public is that the person reading is probably paying the least attention to everyone else in the room.

And maybe that’s the real irony.

We are so accustomed to performing for an audience that we sometimes forget how beautiful life can be when no one is watching.