A colleague once told me that the most dangerous lies aren’t the ones we tell others, but the ones we tell ourselves. I didn’t fully understand what he meant until years later, when I watched a respected executive’s carefully constructed image unravel in a single afternoon.
For thirty years in negotiation rooms, I’ve observed how people craft their public personas. The fascinating part isn’t the image itself. It’s the private behaviors that contradict everything they claim to stand for. After keeping notebooks full of observations about what people say versus what they do, I’ve identified seven private behaviors that reveal when someone’s public image is fundamentally dishonest.
These aren’t minor inconsistencies we all have. These are the deep contradictions that expose when someone is living a complete fiction.
I once knew someone who kept index cards with talking points for dinner parties. Not facts or figures for work presentations, but rehearsed opinions about movies, politics, and even personal anecdotes. Every “off the cuff” remark was scripted.
When someone rehearses casual conversation, they’re not just preparing. They’re manufacturing a personality. They study what successful people say, what gets laughs, what makes them seem intelligent. Then they present these borrowed thoughts as their own spontaneous reactions.
The tell is in the delivery. Their stories are too polished. Their insights arrive too quickly. They never stumble or reconsider. Real conversation involves thinking out loud, changing your mind mid-sentence, admitting you don’t know something. People living authentic lives don’t need scripts for small talk.
2. They maintain different moral standards for different audiences
In my negotiation days, I watched executives preach integrity in all-hands meetings, then instruct their teams to “do whatever it takes” behind closed doors. Not gray area stuff. Direct contradictions.
People whose public image is false compartmentalize their ethics. They have one set of values for public consumption and another for private advantage. They’ll condemn gossip at lunch, then spread rumors over drinks. They’ll advocate for transparency in meetings, then hide critical information from their teams.
This isn’t about being imperfect or making mistakes. It’s about consciously maintaining incompatible value systems depending on who’s watching. When someone’s private moral code contradicts their public one, their entire ethical framework is performance.
3. They keep detailed records of their good deeds
A former peer used to photograph every charitable donation receipt, screenshot every supportive comment they made online, and document every favor they did for others. Not for taxes or memories. For ammunition.
When generosity requires documentation, it’s not generosity. It’s reputation management. These people treat kindness like a investment portfolio, tracking returns and calculating optimal timing for maximum visibility. They’ll reference their good deeds months later, ensuring everyone knows about their sacrifice.
Genuine kindness doesn’t keep receipts. People with authentic public images help quietly and forget quickly. They don’t need proof of their character because their character isn’t a constructed narrative requiring evidence.
4. They practice their emotional reactions
I’ve seen people rehearse surprise for announcements they already knew about. Practice concern for problems they don’t care about. Even rehearse laughter for jokes they’ve already heard.
When someone practices emotional responses, they’re admitting their natural reactions don’t align with their desired image. They know their real feelings would damage their reputation, so they prepare acceptable alternatives.
The practice isn’t always obvious. It might be mentally rehearsing how to react to potential bad news, scripting responses to compliments, or preparing facial expressions for meetings. But when emotions become performance, the person presenting them has become performance too.
5. They maintain relationship spreadsheets
I discovered someone once kept a detailed spreadsheet of their relationships. Not contact information. Strategic assessments. Who had influence, who might be useful, who could damage their reputation, who needed to be cultivated.
When relationships become data points in a strategy document, they’re not relationships. They’re transactions. These people track birthday wishes like sales metrics, calculating the minimum investment for maximum return. They’ll remember your kid’s name not because they care, but because their spreadsheet reminds them it’s advantageous.
People with genuine public images don’t need to track their human connections like stock portfolios. Their relationships exist because of actual affinity, not calculated benefit.
6. They delete evidence of their past positions
In the digital age, I’ve watched people systematically delete old social media posts, emails, and comments that contradict their current image. Not embarrassing photos from college. Opinions and positions they held just months ago.
This isn’t growth or evolution. It’s historical revision. They’re not changing their minds; they’re pretending they never held different views. They scrub evidence of past failures, wrong predictions, and unpopular stances, creating an artificial consistency that never existed.
Authentic people own their evolution. They’ll say “I used to think differently” or “I was wrong about that.” People living false images need their past to align perfectly with their present narrative, so they edit history to match.
7. They have scripts for their “authentic” moments
The ultimate contradiction: rehearsing authenticity. I’ve known people who plan their vulnerable shares, script their admissions of imperfection, and calculate when to appear unguarded.
They’ll practice stories about their failures, ensuring they’re relatable but not damaging. They’ll rehearse admitting mistakes that make them seem human without questioning their competence. Even their moments of “radical honesty” are carefully calibrated for effect.
Real vulnerability is messy and uncomfortable. It doesn’t arrive on cue or follow a narrative arc. When someone’s authentic moments feel like perfectly crafted scenes, it’s because they are.
Closing thoughts
After decades of observing the gap between public image and private behavior, I’ve learned that the most exhausting lie isn’t the one you tell others, but the one you live. Maintaining a false image requires constant vigilance, endless calculation, and the gradual sacrifice of every genuine connection.
The practical rule is this: observe what someone protects most fiercely about their image. That’s usually where the lie lives. People don’t defend the truth with rehearsed arguments and deleted evidence. They defend fiction.
The irony is that most people would find the truth more interesting than the performance. But once someone commits to the false image, backing out feels like losing everything they’ve built. So they double down, script another conversation, update another spreadsheet, and move further from the person they actually are.
Reputation does travel faster than truth, as I learned early in my career. But eventually, the private behaviors leak through. The exhaustion shows. The scripts fail. And the person left standing isn’t the one from the public image. It’s whoever’s left after the performance ends.
