The 10-Minute Theater: Why People Oxs**t Each Other Upon Meeting

The Unspoken Rules of Social Performance, Mirroring, and the Games We Play to Be Seen

Preface:

We all do it. Within moments of meeting someone new, we slip into a carefully curated version of ourselves—polished, scripted, and ready to perform. But what happens when both people know it’s a game? Why do we keep oxshitting each other, even when we see through the act? And why do we unconsciously mirror each other’s lies, creating a feedback loop of mutual adaptation? This is the 10-Minute Theater—a social dance where authenticity takes a backseat, and the need to be seen, categorized, and validated takes the wheel. Let’s pull back the curtain.

Elias: Let’s cut to the chase—why does every new interaction turn into a self-narrative dump? People meet, and within seconds, they’re serving up their polished, scripted version of themselves. But here’s the kicker—they know the other person is doing the exact same thing.

Mara: Right. It’s not about truth. It’s about presentation. The goal isn’t to be known—it’s to control how you’re perceived. Those first 10 minutes? It’s a social handshake in disguise. A mutual agreement: I’ll pretend to believe your version of yourself if you pretend to believe mine.

Elias: So, what are we looking at here? A game of self-fabrication? Because let’s be honest—if you’re paying attention, you can watch someone’s lips move, hear their story, and know they’re lying. And the other person knows it too. Yet, the cycle continues.

Mara: That’s the paradox. They all know it’s happening, but they still do it. It’s like two people sitting across from each other playing poker—but instead of bluffing for advantage, they’re bluffing as a requirement of the game.

(Bro leans back, arms crossed, smirking.)

Bro: Hold up. So you’re saying we’re all just out here cosplaying as our LinkedIn profiles?

Mara: Pretty much. But here’s the twist—it’s not just about the performance. It’s also about the mirroring.

Elias: Mirroring?

Mara: Yeah. When two people meet, they’re not just performing—they’re also subtly mimicking each other’s tone, energy, even their lies. It’s like a feedback loop of mutual adaptation.

Bro: Wait, so you’re telling me if I start humble-bragging, the other person’s gonna humble-brag harder?

Mara: Exactly. It’s unconscious, but it’s real. You’re not just bullshitting each other—you’re bullshitting together.

Elias: So that’s why it feels so… coordinated. Even in this game of self-fabrication, we’re trying to connect.

Mara: Bingo. It’s like a dance. You lead with your scripted self, they mirror it, and suddenly you’re both waltzing through a carefully choreographed lie.

Bro: Hah. So it’s not just a poker game—it’s a poker game where everyone’s copying each other’s tells.

Mara: Exactly. And that’s the irony. Even in this performative space, there’s an unconscious drive to align and connect.

Elias: But doesn’t that just make it worse? If we’re all mirroring each other’s oxshit, aren’t we just amplifying the facade?

Mara: Maybe. But it also shows how deeply wired we are for connection—even if it’s through a distorted mirror.

Bro: Alright, but here’s the real question: If we’re all just mirroring each other’s performances, who’s holding up the mirror?

(Silence. Elias and Mara exchange a glance, momentarily speechless.)

Bro: Thought so.