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There Is No One Backstage
Someone asks how you’re doing and the answer is already out before the question lands. Fine. Busy. Good, actually, really good. You didn’t check with the part of you that would know. There wasn’t time, and there wasn’t, if you’re honest, a part left to check with.
Goffman gave you the mechanics of the performance: the front stage smile, the backstage where you drop it, the exhausting choreography of managing an audience that will punish you the second you slip. What he assumed, reasonably, in the 1950s, was a room backstage. Somewhere the face came off. Somewhere you were just meat and…
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