Maybe I'm not that deep, and that's okay

Welcome to Single POV, personal essays from a single perspective of a not-so-single hopeless (sometimes disappointed) romantic

We say ‘it’s not that deep’ a lot. It’s mostly about things, topics, themes… A person makes a complaint about a comment, and that exact phrase excuses everything. It’s a way to remind ourselves that, at the end of the day, not everything needs to hold intense meaning.

But when it comes to people, it always needs to be that deep.

I’ve never seen someone proudly describe themselves as ‘shallow’, because it’s something to be ashamed of. There’s no cultural capital in swimming only on the surface.

I tried so hard to seem more interesting. I thought that was what being deep was, since being interesting is basically the opposite of being called shallow. But I was always drawn to appearances more—it was never the guy with a funny personality, but the one with the prettiest face (for me). I’d fall in love with the idea first, the couple we could be, the way we would look together in pictures I hadn’t even taken yet.

If anything, I attach meaning to looks, and it might even give me comfort. A change of haircut might as well be a change of personality to me. I know that probably makes no sense, but it feels true. I’ve looked at someone after they changed their hair and felt like I had to get to know them all over again. Safe to say I’ve had my own share of meltdowns after a visit to the hairdresser’s.

It doesn’t mean that the people I love don’t have intellectual depth. They do, and they need to. Whilst I was always the one who seemed smart because I could memorise things long enough to pass a test, I’ve always admired people who understood something so deeply they wouldn’t forget it. I’m drawn to the outside, but I don’t take the inside for granted.

When I watch very deep movies, I rarely try to understand any hidden meaning. If it’s sad, I cry. Even if it’s not sad, really. I don’t need much to shed tears. I don’t need to understand why, as long as I feel it. Don’t ask me to explain the emotion itself; I’ll probably not find the words.

And maybe that’s the difference. Some people experience life through meaning, and some experience it through feeling.

Because that’s the thing: you don’t need to search the deepest corners of your mind—and you don’t need to truly understand your own and life’s complexities—to be a good person. And at the end of the day, being good is so much better than being deep.

Like in The House Bunny, Shelley was the obvious stereotype of a shallow girl, and she was probably the best friend you could have. She was a true girl’s girl. She cared and loved loudly. None of that required her to be ‘deep.’

It’s funny how superficiality is more often associated with women. The girl who cares a lot about her appearance, makeup, outfits, and shopping. She’s also usually assumed to be dumb, or at least less serious. I don’t see men being judged in the same way for caring about how they look. Somewhere along the way, caring about beauty became incompatible with being seen as intelligent.

Maybe that’s why I always felt slightly ashamed of how I move through the world: noticing faces before personalities, aesthetics before ideas, feelings before rationales.

Some things are not that deep.

And maybe we don’t always need to be that deep, either.

If you also find joy in swimming on the surface, don’t forget to subscribe so you don’t miss the next Single POV essay.

Sincerely,
Renata 💋