Obsessed with personality quizzes? Me too.
Are you asking me about me?
Internet, you have my attention.
It’s amazing what one can learn about oneself just by answering a few short questions . . .
[Warning: quizzes referenced in this post may contain offensive questions, grammar, spelling and logic.]
Recently, I learned I should live in a cottage. Though, apparently, alone as a sloped roof and cozy sitting rooms make a house “too small” according some others with whom I should like to live.
Perhaps I should travel back in time and live in this cottage with my soul mate writer, Jane Austen. I’m sure we could find some agreeable little dwelling in Hampshire, which Google tells me is near enough to London, the city in which I should be living.
However . . .
This morning, it seems things may have changed.
I should now live in Portland . . . probably because I’ve drifted from lattes to cappuccinos since I last took the quiz.
Coffee, after all, is the supreme definer of personality . . . with writing tool as a close second.
Today, to confuse matters even more, my classic writer soul mate has turned out to be Virginia Woolf. Based entirely, I am sorry to say, on my indecision over lighthouses and cottages and the ridiculously scratchy assortment of writing utensils from which to choose– not a smooth writing blue Bic ballpoint grip among them!
On these two questions, you see, my fate hinges.
I’ll accept Virginia . . . since I am in more of a lighthouse mood than cottage mood at present. English cottage charm has been sullied forever because I shared my results on Facebook . . . Thanks to my friend Jonathan, a thatched roof now conjures images of earwigs falling on my head.
Also, I was more than slightly affronted by the result of Which Jane Austen Heroine are You?
Fanny Price, quite disturbingly, married her cousin. Her first cousin. And Mansfield Park? So clearly not my favorite Austen. Irrelevant, however, to the quiz writer. There should have been a choice between chickens or pugs. Chickens would have made all the difference.
WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET ELINOR DASHWOOD?!?!
Go back to turn of the century internet quizzes bloated with flashing ads?!
Well, yes. As it turns out, the 90’s-internet’s non pop-culture-driven questions yield results much more satisfying:
Note: if you just said in your head, “I bet you just love that Mister Darcy,” you are now my New Best Friend.
Although, I must warn you, when my Disney love affair with the Beast (yes, Dave, that’s you and only you) culminates in a lush, candlelit wedding in a library or bookstore, you’ll have to share the stage with Taylor Swift.
Turns out T-Swizz will be my celebrity bridesmaid.
Contrary to all indications otherwise, ahem . . . Darcy . . . I am decidedly not hipster. At least that’s how I interpret “Meh,” which is as nebulous an answer as “sure,” which is the most annoyingly noncommittal response in the English language and, as such, quite worthy of Mr. Darcy. Observe:
Mr. Bingley: [overheard by Charlotte and Elizabeth] But her sister Elizabeth is very agreeable.
Mr. Darcy: Meh.* Barely tolerable, I dare say. But not handsome enough to tempt me.
[*My apologies to Jane.]
There are, to my dismay, some things I may never really know about myself . . . like whatever I’m supposed to learn from the myriad of quizzes that ask too many Beyoncé questions. (Knowing “All the Single Ladies” only gets you so far.)
Interestingly, my alleged personal theme song is a Beyoncé song. “Run the World Girls.” Which contains a surprising amount of profanity and aggressiveness . . . hmmm . . . I suppose “Daydream Believer” would be an odd personal theme song choice for someone whose real age is 32 anyway. (I once told my children they were to give thirty-two as the answer to how old is your mom? until it got really awkward. This proves I was right. Right?)
Still, that song is SO NOT ME.
I am also befuddled by this conundrum:
My favorite ice cream? Vanilla bean . . . which makes me literally the fanciest person in the world.
FANCIEST PERSON IN THE WORLD!
In. The. World.
Yes, the world needs more down-to-earth fancy people.
Wait . . . what?
And therein lies the problem.
We are complex creatures, not defined in total by our answers to six, ten, or a hundred questions.
Even the real-ish quizzes don’t give satisfaction.
You know, the ones based on more scientific questions that leave me wondering whether I am more like Obi-wan, Luke, Quigon-Jin or Amadala as I sit on the borderline of Extrovert and Introvert, Perceiving and Judging. I could be Galadriel, Elrond, Frodo, Gandalf, Arwen or Faramir — depending on the day.
I’m not a counselor, therapist, psychiatrist or even really that good at people. But I do know this: We want to be affirmed. We want to see true selves reflected in our choices. And we want confirmation that we chose right.
We look for labels and yet we want to be more than the label. I am not one word, I am thousands.
We want to know our place, our part, how we fit into this hurrying, hurling movement of earth and skies and stars. We may speak of it in different terms, but we want to know who we are and what God’s plan is for us.
There is nothing more comforting than being known.
And, oddly enough, it’s the secret to good marketing.
Here’s to validation!
* * * * *
Enough about me. Let’s talk about you!
What have you learned about yourself from social media quizzes?
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