what color is a chameleon?

rethinking impostor syndrome (and how we’re all faking it)

let’s start with a seemingly simple question: what color is a chameleon?

on its surface, it sounds like a straightforward question. green, duh. buckle in. the question is far more complex than it first appears. because the answer isn’t a single color. in fact, it’s not really an answer at all. it’s a mirror, a metaphor, a tiny existential puzzle.

chameleons are nature’s most convincing impostors. they are the living embodiment of transformation, camouflage, and context. to ask what color a chameleon is is to miss the point entirely. it's like asking what shape water is. the chameleon’s “default color,” as scientists suggest, is just its state when calm, its version of a neutral setting. but even this baseline is deeply contextual. like the tonic in a musical key, it gains meaning only in relation to the notes, or in this case, the conditions around it. one note doesn’t make a scale. one mood doesn’t make an identity.

so then, what are we asking when we ask about the color of a chameleon?

their color depends on a tangle of genetic factors, emotional states, temperature, light, and communicative intent. (sometimes it’s “back off, bro,” other times it’s “hey girl, fancy a night under the heat lamp?”) the color change itself is powered by specialized cells called chromatophores—biological party cells that reflect light differently based on the animal’s physiological and emotional state. their skin is an oled screen powered by mood swings.

which brings me to me.

as a copywriter, i’ve often heard others on the court describe themselves as chameleons. we shift tone. we adopt voice. we embody brands at the drop of a hat. today i’m a feisty startup; tomorrow i’m a polished corporate monolith. i write as if i am that company—its soul poured into a google doc. but peel back the brand voice and copy strategy, and i find myself asking: who, or what, am i?

behind the copywriter mask, i’m just… human? i think? here’s where i dust off my philosophy degree and wade back into the existential deep end.

cue jean-paul sartre, the chain-smoking father of modern existentialism. existentialism! the “they don’t believe in anything” crowd. except… that’s nihilism. existentialism simply says that humans are not born with any preassigned purpose or meaning. instead, sartre offered one bold little phrase to build a worldview on:

“existence precedes essence.”

meaning: we exist first. and then we figure out who or what we are.

this was a radical idea, but not conceived in a vacuum. sartre came of age in a time of deep disillusionment, in the shadow of world war ii. the senseless brutality, the machinery of death, the shattering of moral frameworks—these left people questioning the value of human life. so sartre started from scratch. he said forget divine purpose or inherent value. we arrive first. we are thrown, as heidegger put it, into the world. into a time, place, and circumstance we did not choose.

and from there? from that starting point of raw, absurd freedom?

we become.

but become what? we are potential. but potential, if i remember my high-school physics correctly, is defined by what it isn’t yet. it's stored energy, waiting. it’s the stopped roller coaster at the top of the hill. it’s the newborn baby, squirming and screaming, with a whole unwritten novel inside.

meaning only comes through doing. through action. through performance. and this is where we find authenticity, not as some magical fixed identity, but as the act of living in good faith. acting, but knowing you are acting. performing roles, but never mistaking them for the whole self.

sartre gave us a little parable: the parisian waiter.

a good-faith waiter knows he’s serving tables, refilling coffee, offering polite smiles. but he doesn’t think he’s inherently a waiter. he knows he’s a human choosing to perform that role right now. the bad-faith waiter? he believes he is a waiter. his identity fuses with the job title. he is lost in the role. he’s forgotten he’s acting.

enter: impostor syndrome.

the classic definition is you’ve done the work, you’ve got the skills, you’ve got the accolades, but deep down, you feel like a fraud. like you’re just playing the role, ill-equipped (against all the evidence suggesting otherwise), and someone is moments away from calling you out.

but what if it’s not a syndrome at all? what if it’s just your brain brushing up against sartre?

impostor syndrome (or phenomenon), i argue, is an existential checkpoint. it’s the final boss before discovering authenticity. it's the tug of war between good faith and bad faith. because if you are acting—if you are performing a role, wearing a mask, shifting your colors like a chameleon—then feeling like an impostor is just a reminder: "hey, you’re not this thing. you’re human first."

so let’s go back to the word. “impostor” comes from the latin imponere: to deceive, to impose. interestingly, in norwegian, imponere means “to impress.” to awe. to inspire admiration. imagine that. the impostor as inspirer.

and not all impostors are villains. some were heroes in disguise. women dressing as men to fight for their countries. enslaved people posing as free to escape bondage. ferdinand waldo demara, who successfully posed as a naval surgeon and saved lives in the korean war. were they deceiving? yes. but for survival. for justice. for freedom. for good.

impostor syndrome, then, isn’t a bug. it’s a feature. it’s the soul checking in to make sure you haven’t mistaken your role for yourself. that you haven’t gone full waiter.

and what’s the opposite of impostor syndrome?

i did some digging, and the internet gave me three unsettling options:

1. the dunning-kruger effect: overconfidence with no competence.

2. brainwashing or coercion: someone convinced you you’re something you’re not.

3. psychosis: full belief in an identity that doesn’t align with reality.

yuck.

if those are the alternatives, maybe a little self-doubt isn’t the enemy. maybe impostor syndrome is the narrow path, the sliver of truth, between arrogance, manipulation, and delusion. maybe it’s a sign (maybe the only sign) that you’re still awake.

because authenticity isn’t a spectrum. you don’t inch toward it. you’re either aligned with your humanity as pure potential, or you’re not. you’re either acting with the knowledge that it’s all an act, or you’ve forgotten and fused with the role. the authentic person knows they are playing the part. the impostor in good faith. the mask-wearer who knows they’re wearing a mask.

so here’s my hot take:

impostor syndrome is not a flaw to fix. it is a signal.

not something to “overcome” or “conquer” through productivity hacks, vision boards, or ted talks. not something to soothe with compliments or compensate with self-help jargon. you can’t solve it externally. you shouldn’t even try. because the impostor is you.

you are not your job title. you are not your brand voice. you are not even your values, which were likely shaped by forces beyond your control. you are a ferment of becoming. a shapeshifter. a chameleon with no default state. you are nothing… yet.

and that is freedom.

that is responsibility.

that is authenticity.

so i say: be the impostor. not because you’re faking it until you make it, but because everyone is faking it. some are just more honest about it.

you already wear masks. you already shift colors. embrace it. laugh with it. live in good faith.

because behind the mask is not the “real” you.

behind the mask is possibility.

behind the mask is nothing… yet.