The Snapshot Illusion

Who Are You?

We make assumptions quickly—about people, backgrounds, and worth—often from just a few cues. These assumptions form the lens through which we define others and, more importantly, ourselves.

My freshman economics professor once opened the semester with a statement that has stayed with me:

"Welcome to Economic Theory 101. Let me explain it to you in a few sentences. Each of you has already aligned with an economic theory that will define you for the rest of your life. Some of you grew up with modest means, struggling for every dime. Many of you will go on to become highly successful, amassing vast financial resources. Yet no matter how far you rise, you will always identify with your roots. You’ll think of yourself as someone who came from humble beginnings, even if, as an adult, you are far from poor. Others of you grew up in privilege. Even if life brings you to the lowest of circumstances, you’ll continue to see yourself as privileged.”

This statement has lingered with me ever since — and it seems to hold true.I’ve met many successful individuals who are quick to recount their modest beginnings and the struggles they faced. It's equally fascinating how those from affluent, well-bred families often move through life with an innate confidence, almost untouched by setbacks.

Why is it that our identities remain so fixed?Why don’t we revise them as we grow, evolve, and experience new realities?Can we? Or are we tethered permanently to the identities we first form in life?

Identity is a noun: a person, place, or thing.Webster’s Dictionary defines it as:

• The distinguishing character or personality of an individual; individuality.

• The relation established by psychological identification.

• The condition of being the same with something.

One synonym for identity is sameness.

But is identity only a noun? Or is it also a verb?Are we not constantly becoming — evolving from one state into another?Perhaps identity as a noun defines what we are — a mother, a friend, a teacher.And identity as a verb defines who we are — what we internalize as our being.

If identity is established by psychological interpretation, then it is not an absolute.It is subjective, fluid, responsive to experience — yet curiously resistant to change.What are the characteristics of this interpretation?Is it shaped more by memory than by reality?By longing more than by fact?And if so — how much of who we think we are is a reflection of the past, rather than a mirror of the present?

Upon meeting someone new, a familiar dialogue unfolds:

Where did you grow up?The answer offers what we believe is insight into a person’s background—often reduced to class status.“That’s a blue-collar town.”Or, “Only the very rich live there.”From a single place-name, we begin constructing a narrative.

Where did you go to school?We ask, assuming the answer will reveal intellectual ability, athletic achievement, or family connections. It also hints at socio-economic standing.“Ah, that’s a pricey school—must come from money.”Or, “No way they got in without Daddy building a building.”Public vs. private? Another cue to class.

What do you do for a living?This is the clincher.A modest school, but a high-powered job? “They must be smart.”An elite background, but working as a waiter? “Connections, no ability.”

Where do you live now?The final snapshot. Regardless of background, if you live in an exclusive area, it signals financial success.“They made it.”If you came from less, “They pulled themselves up. Worked hard. Beat the odds.”

Sound familiar? Got the picture?We’ve just “met” someone—constructed entirely from four questions.Or have we?

We make subjective assumptions we treat as absolute.We confuse correlation with causation.

But:

• A top school doesn’t guarantee brilliance—or effort.

• A fancy job doesn’t mean someone earned it.

• A zip code doesn’t tell a full story.

  
  

These questions say more about us than the person we’re asking.They reveal our need to sort, label, and understand—quickly, and often unfairly.

Behind each answer lies a far more complex reality—family dynamics, personal struggles, chance encounters, missed opportunities, quiet triumphs.

We confuse where someone is from with who they are.We confuse appearance with essence.We confuse summary with story.

If identity is tied so tightly to early memory and self-perception, then it can serve both as an anchor — and as a cage.

On one hand, our early sense of self can give us stability. It roots us, offering a familiar narrative that helps us navigate an unpredictable world. We say, “I’m a hard worker because I grew up with nothing,” or “I’m resilient because I’ve always had to be.” This story becomes a kind of armor.

But on the other hand, if left unexamined, that same identity can trap us.It can limit our growth, stunting who we are willing to become.We may continue to believe, “I’m an underdog,” even when life is offering us a different reality.Or, conversely, we may cling to privilege long after it has eroded, insisting on an outdated sense of superiority or safety.

If identity is a psychological interpretation — a story we tell ourselves — then it can be rewritten.But rewriting it requires a conscious act:

• The courage to reexamine our early assumptions.

• The willingness to live in a kind of tension, between who we were and who we might yet become.

• The humility to understand that no single narrative fully defines us.

Perhaps identity at its best is both a noun and a verb:A foundation we stand on, and a force that propels us forward.Something we are and something we are always becoming.

The real question, then, is not “Who am I?”But rather, “Who am I allowing myself to become?”

This tension between identity and assumption plays out in the smallest, everyday moments — and sometimes in surprising ways.

A friend of mine recently recounted an experience during a trip to New York City with his wife and college-age son. They had spent the day moving their son into his summer apartment for a prestigious internship. Exhausted, they decided to treat themselves to dinner at an exclusive restaurant.

As they waited for their meal, an elegantly dressed woman at the next table struck up a conversation.

"Where are you folks from?" she asked."Georgia," my friend replied. "We’re helping our son get set up for his internship.""How exciting," she said. "Where will he be working?"He mentioned the name of a highly respected private equity firm."Where does your son go to school?" she asked next."The University of Georgia," he answered.

At that, her expression shifted — a visible pause as she processed this unexpected information."Who do you know?" she asked, trying to square the prestigious internship with a state university background.

Without waiting for an answer, she handed him her card and said, "Pass this along to your son. I'm a big deal in that industry. Tell him he can call me if he needs anything."With that, she waved the waiter over, charged her meal to her account, and swept out the door.

Still holding her card, my friend turned to his wife and asked, *"What just happened?"

What happened, of course, was a collision of assumptions and reality.A moment when the polished surface of expectation met the unvarnished truth that life — and merit — is not always as neatly categorized as we think.

These small moments — the quick questions, the puzzled glances, the snap judgments — reveal just how deeply we rely on assumptions to navigate the world.We crave neat explanations. We look for shortcuts. We want identity to be simple, easily legible, immediately understood.

But real identity resists that.

It is layered, complicated, contradictory. It is formed by memory, shaped by experience, tested by adversity, and rewritten — if we allow it — by courage and imagination.

The woman in the restaurant sought to place a young man into a familiar box: where he grew up, where he studied, what connections he must have.But identity is rarely that linear.Reality is rarely that neat.

True identity isn't a fixed set of facts. It’s the ongoing story we write with our choices, our values, our resilience. It is less about where we came from, and more about who we choose to become — over and over again.

In the end, the only real question worth asking may not be Where are you from? or What do you do?The real question is:

Who are you becoming — and what story are you daring to live beyond the assumptions of others?