Why Everyone Should Try Being Invisible

In the circles in which I travel—very small and strange circles, but circles nonetheless—the question of “which superpower would you want” comes up quite often. While others would usually answer super-speed or flight, I usually answer “invisibility,” although I’ve often struggled to articulate why. But I read something recently that made me think more about it, for which I am very grateful.

In a New York Times piece titled “How to Be Invisible,” Akiko Busch hails the benefits of social invisibility, positioning it as a salve to modern society’s tendency toward narcissism, the “look at me” preening so common to reality TV and YouTube. As Busch writes, “We live in a time and culture that value display and are largely indifferent to the virtues of passing unnoticed.” She points to Susan Cain’s book Quiet as well as the natural world as support for the value of invisibility, but I didn’t need convincing.

I’ve long tried to be invisible, at least in person if not in print. (I am a writer, after all.) Even when out among “the people,” I prefer to pass unnoticed, to blend with the crowd—which stands in stark contrast to my general contrarian nature in the world of ideas. Chalk it up to my introversion if you want, but my self-loathing probably explains it better. My desire to remain invisible is based less on wanting to be left alone and more on not wanting to bother anyone. I try to pass through crowds as smoothly as I can, letting people pass when they’re obviously in a hurry and holding open doors when I can, contributing while not taking. As Busch writes, “Invisibility can be about finding a sense of fit with the immediate landscape, be it social, cultural or environmental. It can be about adaptability and the recognition that assertiveness may not always be in our best interest. Most of all, it can reflect a sense of vigilance, a sensitivity to and respect for external conditions.”

As I’ve written before, my role models in this are servants, like the butlers of literature and film who seem more a part of the house than of the people in it, who add without subtracting, greasing the wheels of society within their small domain. It’s also a very Taoist idea: in verse 8 of the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu says, “The supreme good is like water, which nourishes all things without trying to. It is content with the low places that people disdain.” From the lowest places, where one cannot be seen, often the greatest good can be done, even if it goes unrecognized.

Returning to the topic of superheroes, invisibility takes several forms among the mask-and-cape crowd. Perhaps the most well-known of the unseen is Susan Storm Richards, also known as Invisible Woman of the Fantastic Four (played by Jessica Alba in the first two movies and Kate Mara in the upcoming reboot). Her power has been interpreted by various writers as symbolizing her feelings of living in the shadow of the men in her life, and was originally portrayed as a weak, defensive power, augmented shortly after her introduction with the more offensive capability to project force fields (invisible ones, of course). Over the fifty years of Fantastic Four stories, the Invisible Woman has developed into the most powerful and admirable member of the group, in both physical and emotional terms, but largely despite her most basic power, not because of it.

But invisibility can be a valuable trait, even if not in the form of a superpower granted by exposure to cosmic rays. Consider Batman, for example, who has no superpowers per se, but whom various writers over the years have portrayed as an unseen “urban legend,” which contributes enormously to his mission to protect the citizens of Gotham City. Also, the close association of the word “shadow” with Batman, and the striking image posed when a streetlight casts his immediately recognizable silhouette on the side of building in the dark Gotham night, points to the importance of the mere suggestion of his presence, which is often enough to strike fear into the hearts of criminals.

In fact, one of my favorite comic book series relies critically on Batman as a storytelling device while rarely showing him. Written by Ed Brubaker and Greg Rucka and illustrated by David Lark, Kano, and others, Gotham Central was a series that chronicled the lives of members of the Gotham City Police Department as they tried to do their jobs in a city inhabited by masked vigilantes and criminal psychopaths. The absence of Batman from most issues of Gotham Central belied his importance to the storyline and how he defined the life of the GCPD and the people within it. Even when Batman did appear in the comic, it was often in silhouette, and the creators focused instead on the reaction of the GCPD detectives and officers to him, some appreciative and others resentful. Gotham Central showed not only the benefits to Batman of cultivating an air of mystery by remaining largely in the shadows, but also the way that invisibility can enhance storytelling. It’s common to hear the writing advice “show, don’t tell,” but sometimes the best way to show is not to show at all!

Invisibility can be just as beneficial and enriching in the real world as it is in the four-color world of comics. As Busch writes, “Escaping notice need not be about complacent isolation, mindless conformity or humiliating anonymity.” Invisibility doesn’t mean sacrificing one’s individuality; it only means not having to assert it all the time. In this sense, blending in can reflect a deeper sense of self-confidence than standing out—even if no one else ever knows.

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For a select list of my previous Psychology Today posts on self-loathing, relationships, and other topics, see here.

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