Perfectionist Problems
Though the word ‘perfect’ is used to express the highest form of praise, being labelled a ‘perfectionist’ is anything but a compliment. The term insinuates a relentlessness, fussiness and uptightness in a person — not particularly attractive characteristics.
As much as it pains me to admit it, perfectionism is an inherent part of who I am — a part I endeavour to conceal from those around me.
My need for perfection is very much confined to my self: my house, my appearance, my mind. In the outside world, perfection is not something I particularly enjoy; I actually find symmetry, order and harmony pretty dull. I revel in the imperfection of others, and seek to immerse myself in it, whether that be through the friends I surround myself with, or the art and culture I consume.
Perfectionism is defined as ‘The refusal to accept any standard short of perfection’. Considering the fallible, unpredictable, chaotic nature of human existence, this can be a hard thing to maintain — yet I continue to try nonetheless. There is no room for mistakes in the life of a perfectionist; it can be full of routines, rituals and specificities that are intended to erase any potential for error or failure.
Being a perfectionist definitely has its perks; when channelled, it can lead to excellence. It’s not uncommon to see the trait exhibited by those at the top of their profession: Steve Jobs, Martha Stewart and Serena Williams being prime examples. Fear of failure clearly has the potential to drive some people to success — those who are lucky enough to get a handle on it.
Many of my successes so far, have undoubtedly been thanks to this trait. When I used to compete in athletics, my perfectionism compelled me to push myself to my maximum potential during training; my fixation with aesthetics has ultimately improved the art I’ve created; at the age of eight, my fastidiously neat handwriting meant I was the first person in my year to receive my ‘pen licence’ (arguably my greatest success of all?).
Striving to improve yourself, and being able to identify what it is that needs improvement, is essentially what separates the mediocre from the marvellous. The trouble is, I find it hard to differentiate between taking the time to create something that is the best I can offer, and falling into my obsessive perfectionist tendencies.
They say that your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness, and it’s true. My perfectionism wreaked havoc in my school days, resulting in an incredibly bumpy journey through the education system: my immaculate handwriting was so slow, that I never managed to write more than half a page for an essay in any of my exams; I would rip-out page after page of my exercise book (regardless of its content) if there was the slightest ink smudge, spelling mistake or crossing-out on it; and I would refuse to pay attention in classes that I found challenging for fear of failure. In one of the earliest cases I remember, around the age of 10, I had a complete breakdown to my mum when I couldn’t draw a picture for an art assignment as well as I wanted to (my mum ended up having to draw it for me — it was a masterpiece!)
Evidently, my perfectionism is fear of failure in disguise, which can prevent me from even trying things that I don’t think I’ll excel at. It manifests as an all-or-nothing approach, meaning I’ll either do something to the extent of my capabilities, and do it well, or I won’t do it at all. I set excessively high performance standards for myself which, when not met, can result in self-denigration. It is not that I am seeking extrinsic validation, but rather validation from myself — and I am a tough critic. Journalist and activist Gloria Steinem put it well when she said ‘Perfectionism is internalised oppression.’
Surely what we need to understand is that perfection is an unattainable goal. Like the horizon, it’s a morphing, subjective, infinite destination that we can keep chasing but will never manage to reach; so we end up living in a state of simmering dissatisfaction, irked by our own inadequacies.
The line that differentiates perfectionism from obsessiveness is a fine one. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is essentially a very extreme form of perfectionism, and a condition that is greatly misunderstood by the general public. The term OCD is often used in a casual, cavalier way in conversation, to describe someone who is very specific about how they live their life, when what people are referring to is really perfectionism.
Though the two may share common behaviours — often around cleanliness and organisation — they are very different entities: perfectionism is a personality trait, whilst OCD is a diagnosed disorder. I, admittedly, used to merge the two, assuming that my behaviour fell into the OCD category.
What separates them is rationale. A perfectionist will fold their clothes in a meticulous fashion so that their cupboards look tidy, whilst someone with OCD may fold and unfold the clothes countless times to ensure that it’s done properly. If a perfectionist’s hands are dirty, they will wash them until they are visibly clean, whilst someone with OCD will keep scrubbing their hands even after the dirt is gone.
With OCD, these obsessive compulsions can often consume hours of someone’s time, and will impede their ability to function in everyday life. These rituals are also often linked to severe anxiety and the idea that, by carrying them out, that person is preventing harm to themselves or others. OCD is debilitating to a far greater degree than perfectionism, however it’s not uncommon for a perfectionist’s rituals to also venture into anxiety-inducing territory.
Some of the ways my perfectionism manifests may seem trivial: I cannot leave my bedroom in the morning if there are any remaining creases on my bedsheets; the fridge has to be organised in a particular way; I have to lay the table properly before I sit down to eat (even if I’m alone); and my underwear always has to colour-coordinate with what I’m wearing (no black knickers with a navy blue outfit). We all have our idiosyncrasies, our distinctive ways of doing things, and our peculiarities, but on a larger scale, perfectionism can be a real hindrance.
When I was performing on tour with a dance company, I developed a very strict pre-show routine, which I carried out religiously before every performance. The other company members laughed at just how early I’d arrive at the side of the stage every night to warm up — it was a little excessive — but what they did not realise was the compulsivity and specificity of this routine. I would begin my warm up one hour before the curtain went up (not a minute later); I had to complete exactly 30 repetitions of every warm-up exercise; and I had mantras which I needed to have repeated in my head 3 times before we were called to ‘stand by’.
Initially, this warm-up served its purpose: to get my body primed and my mind focussed for the show ahead. In some ways it worked — my performances were quite consistent (not too many duds). But soon enough, the routine morphed insidiously into a rigid ritual, with an accompanying paranoia that the fate of the show ahead was determined by me carrying-out these exact actions. If, for some reason, I wasn’t able to complete the ritual as usual, I’d believe the show was destined to go badly, which, of course, became a self-fulfilling prophecy. In hindsight, it’s obvious that doing 29 sit-ups really wouldn’t have affected my ability to dance well, but at the time, my fear of failure dictated that 30 was the perfect number – so 30 it was, no more, no less.
Perfectionism becomes obsession when things cease to be practical; when the benefits reaped from an action don’t extend further than the immediate satisfaction of completing it; when the behaviour starts to consume more time and headspace than it’s worth. I often experience chemical, gut-churning stress around the need to make things perfect, things that are ultimately really unimportant. But despite knowing that these feelings are entirely self-inflicted and unnecessary, I cannot control them.
When it comes to creativity, I sometimes encounter a creative-block, brought on by the subconscious fear that what I’m producing isn’t good enough. What I forget, though, is that there’s so much to be learnt from making mistakes. Author Michael Law articulated it well when he said ‘At its root, perfectionism isn’t really about a deep love of being meticulous. It’s about fear. Fear of making a mistake. Fear of disappointing others. Fear of failure. Fear of success.’ Scrupulous attention to detail can get in the way of free-thinking, and eradicates the potential for the kind of creative genius that is born out of total mess, chaos and spontaneity.
I’ve come to acknowledge and accept my perfectionist quirk, and am beginning to understand how to use it to my advantage (when I can) and challenge it (when I can’t). I don’t need to abandon my perfectionism altogether — there are aspects of it that propel me forward which I’d like to hold onto — but by loosening my grip just a little, maybe I can embrace and celebrate the parts of myself that are perfectly imperfect too.