There are people you meet in life—at work, at gatherings, sometimes even within your circle—who leave you wondering. You talk to them, you share space with them, maybe even eat lunch side by side. And yet, there’s something about them that feels… off. It’s not something they do outright. They smile when they should, they laugh when it fits, they ask you how your weekend was, and nod with interest. But there’s a hollowness to it. Like a scene from a play that’s well-rehearsed but missing a real heartbeat.
You can’t quite place it at first. Maybe you think you’re imagining it. Maybe you feel guilty for even noticing. After all, they’re polite, they show up on time, they do what’s expected. But there’s a subtle discomfort in the air when you’re around them. A quiet feeling that you’re not seeing the whole picture—that what they show you isn’t all there is. It’s like they’re wearing a mask, one that smiles and speaks in a perfectly practiced tone, but never lets you see what’s underneath.
You try to connect, maybe share a little bit about yourself. Something small, like a story about your weekend or a memory that made you laugh. You watch their reaction closely, hoping to see a spark of real connection, something warm or vulnerable. But their response is carefully measured. Pleasant. Safe. Noncommittal. And again, that same feeling returns—that you’re speaking into a hallway with no end, waiting for a genuine echo that never comes.
It’s not that they’re mean or deceptive in an obvious way. It’s more subtle than that. You get the sense that everything they say is run through an internal filter. They’re always “on,” always performing a version of themselves that’s meant to be palatable, agreeable, harmless. And in doing so, they become slippery. Hard to pin down. Impossible to truly know.
This can be especially confusing in the workplace, where so many relationships are built on small talk and surface interactions. It’s easy for someone wearing a mask to blend in. They meet expectations, follow the rules, say the right things. But try to build something deeper—a real friendship, a moment of shared honesty—and it becomes difficult. You hit a wall. Not one made of rudeness or rejection, but of carefully curated politeness. It’s a wall that looks like a welcome mat from a distance, but never opens the door.
Sometimes, these masked interactions leave you feeling like you’re the one being too sensitive. You wonder if you’re asking too much from people. Maybe it’s okay that some folks prefer to keep things professional, to keep their personal lives private. And yes, that’s true in many cases. Not everyone wants or needs deep connections in every setting. But there’s a difference between privacy and performance. And when you sense someone isn’t just private, but actively hiding behind a version of themselves, it makes connection feel impossible.
What makes this even harder is that these people often come across as successful or socially accepted. They might be well-liked, even admired. And still, you feel that something essential is missing. There’s a lack of sincerity, a missing humanness that can’t be taught or faked. You might catch glimpses of it sometimes—a pause before they speak, a moment where their smile doesn’t reach their eyes—but it disappears just as quickly.
It’s not always malicious. In fact, it’s often rooted in fear. Fear of being seen, of being judged, of being vulnerable. Some people wear masks because life has taught them that showing their true selves isn’t safe. Maybe they’ve been hurt before. Maybe they’ve learned that blending in is the only way to survive in certain spaces. And so, they become masters of appearing okay. But in doing so, they cut themselves off from the very thing that makes life rich—authentic connection.
For the people trying to connect with them, this can be draining. You might find yourself questioning your own instincts. Are you being too skeptical? Too demanding? But over time, the pattern becomes clear. With these individuals, no matter how kind you are or how much effort you put in, the relationship doesn’t move forward. It stays in a loop of polite small talk and surface-level engagement. And that leaves you feeling unseen too.
It’s a lonely kind of interaction. Not because you’re alone, but because you’re alone with someone. Sitting across from them, words bouncing back and forth, and yet you feel like you’re both standing on opposite sides of a glass wall. You start to realize that there’s no bridge being built. No vulnerability offered. Just the same smiles, the same phrases, the same careful choreography.
And here’s the hard part: you can’t force someone to take off their mask. You can offer warmth, openness, honesty. You can be consistent, present, kind. But if someone isn’t ready—or willing—to be real with you, the mask will stay on. And the longer you spend trying to pull it off, the more exhausted you’ll feel.
That doesn’t mean you have to cut them off or treat them with suspicion. But it does mean adjusting your expectations. Not everyone is meant to be a close friend. Some people will only ever occupy the outer circle of your life. That’s okay. You don’t have to fix them or dig deeper than they allow. But you can choose where to invest your energy. You can save your openness for the people who meet you in kind.
Authentic relationships take two people willing to show up honestly. Willing to risk being misunderstood. Willing to let their guard down, even just a little. It’s messy sometimes. Awkward. Imperfect. But it’s real. And that realness, even when it’s a little clumsy, is so much more satisfying than perfect politeness.
So if you find yourself around people who feel like they’re always “on,” remember this: it’s not your job to figure them out. You’re not responsible for pulling the truth out of them. Just notice the feeling. Trust that discomfort. Let it guide you, not into judgment, but into clarity.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to connect, to build friendships that feel genuine. With so much performance and pretense around us, that desire is more important than ever. So keep showing up as yourself. Keep being real, even when it feels like no one else is. And eventually, you’ll find the ones who are willing to meet you there—without the mask, without the performance. Just people being people. That’s where the good stuff lives.
