What Is Even an Identity?
“People tell you who they are, but we ignore it because we want them to be who we want them to be.” - Don Draper.
There’s something about a well-cut suit that feels like magic. A good suit doesn’t just clothe you—it transforms you. It whispers that you’re capable, confident, and composed, even if you’re a swirling sea of doubts and insecurities underneath.
My love for menswear isn’t just about fabric and fit; it’s about what it symbolises: the power of appearances to craft an identity. Yet this raises an unsettling question: if identity can be styled, stitched, and tailored, what is it?
To investigate this question, we might turn to one of modern television's most impeccably dressed characters: Don Draper from Mad Men.
Draper, with his perfectly parted hair and an endless supply of tailored grey suits, embodies the allure—and the agony—of a manufactured identity.
Donald Draper is a man who isn’t, strictly speaking, Donald Draper.
Born Dick Whitman, he assumes another man’s identity after a battlefield mix-up during the Korean War. With that simple switch, he sheds his past—a poor, abusive upbringing—and reinvents himself as a suave, successful ad executive.
“If you don’t like what’s being said,” Draper advises in one episode, “change the conversation.”
For Don, identity is as much an ad campaign as the cigarettes and cars he sells.
But the genius of Draper’s character lies in the cracks of his façade. Beneath the polished exterior is a man haunted by his disconnection from his true self.
His life becomes a poignant illustration of Sartre’s idea of bad faith—the denial of one’s freedom to choose and be authentic.
Don clings to the lie of Donald Draper, even as it isolates him from genuine intimacy and self-understanding.
The “thing” with menswear
It’s no coincidence that Draper’s identity is inseparable from his wardrobe. A great suit, after all, isn’t just about how it looks; it’s about the story it tells. Like Don, many of us use clothing to curate our identities, signalling who we are—or at least, who we want to be.
James Bond’s tuxedo, Steve Jobs’ turtleneck, and Harry Styles’ flamboyant Gucci ensembles are not just outfits. They are identities made visible, compressed into fabric and silhouette. And yet, they remind us of the performative nature of identity.
Is James Bond suave because of his tuxedo, or does he wear it because it reinforces his persona?
This raises a deeper question: if identity can be crafted so intentionally, how authentic is it?
In the 21st century, identity is a moving target. Social media invites us to be curators of ourselves, crafting digital personas that often bear little resemblance to the messy realities of our lives.
It’s easy to see how this might be liberating: a chance to escape the constraints of geography, gender, or history. But it’s also exhausting, forcing us to become perpetual actors in a play of our own making.
Who Am I Without the Suit?
Returning to Don Draper, we see the dangers of mistaking the mask for the man.
Draper’s downfall isn’t just his infidelity or his alcoholism—it’s his inability to reconcile the persona he projects with the person he truly is. His story invites us to reflect on our own identities: Are we wearing our suits, or are they wearing us?
In contrast, someone like Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood), whose identity feels deeply authentic. Fred didn’t need a suit; he had a cardigan. His gentle demeanour and unwavering kindness weren’t performances—they were extensions of his core self.
Rogers reminds us that identity, at its best, isn’t something we create to impress others but something we discover in the process of being true to ourselves.
Pop culture loves exploring the tension between who we are and who we pretend to be.
Tony Stark uses the Iron Man suit to mask his vulnerabilities. In Breaking Bad, Walter White hides his moral decline behind the facade of a family man. Even Bruce Wayne struggles to reconcile the billionaire playboy with the tormented soul behind the Batman mask.
These characters remind us that identity isn’t static—it’s a narrative we constantly rewrite. But they also warn us of the danger of losing ourselves in the stories we tell.
So, what is even an identity?
Perhaps it’s a balance between the self we project and the self we feel. It’s not about rejecting the suit but ensuring it fits the person inside.
Don Draper teaches us the peril of abandoning authenticity for appearances, while Fred Rogers reminds us of the power of living in alignment with our values.
Identity isn’t a suit you buy—it’s a garment you tailor over a lifetime, adjusting the seams as you grow.
