Summary

The article compares pride to a plastic-covered couch, suggesting that while it may protect, it also creates discomfort and distance, whereas humility and authenticity are more appealing and relatable.

Abstract

The metaphor of a plastic-covered couch is used to illustrate how pride acts as a barrier, making individuals uncomfortable and inaccessible, much like the unpleasant experience of sitting on a couch wrapped in plastic. The article argues that humility, which strips away this protective layer, reveals one's true self, making them more genuine and attractive to others. This is exemplified through various stories and characters in films and real life, emphasizing that authenticity resonates more with people than a polished, plastic persona. The article also criticizes the artificiality often found in politics, religion, and certain narratives, particularly those that are overly scripted or controlled by handlers, suggesting that such lack of authenticity leads to a disconnect with the audience. It concludes by highlighting the value of truth and humility, quoting St. Vincent de Paul, who equates humility with truth and pride with lying.

Opinions

Pride is depicted as an uncomfortable barrier that prevents genuine connection, similar to a plastic-covered couch.
Authenticity is highly valued, as it allows the true, unfiltered self to be seen and appreciated by others.
The article suggests that audiences are drawn to authentic individuals, as evidenced by the popularity of figures like Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders, who were perceived as more genuine than other politicians.
There is a critique of overly managed public personas, particularly in politics and religion, where scripted responses and image crafting create a sense of inauthenticity.
The narrative implies that vulnerability and imperfection, as seen in an uncovered, well-used couch, are more endearing and relatable than a flawless, yet artificial, exterior.
The article emphasizes that humility is akin to truth and is essential for forming deeper, more meaningful relationships.

Pride: A plastic-covered couch

Pride is like the plastic coverings grandmothers used to zip around their couches: It makes you uncomfortable, unattractive and no one wants to get too close (at least for long).

The plastic was developed to protect the couch from harm (it does). But no one wanted to sit on it. It makes a creepy noise and doesn’t feel right. And don’t even think about lying on a plastic-covered couch.

Humbling rips away the plastic: the “authentic’’ real and true person you were created to be is revealed and people say “wow.’’

A great story (fiction or nonfiction) rings true. A fake story (and a phony person) is like that plastic covered couch, a little too hard to believe in.

In a thousand films, we see a similar variation when someone removes glasses, lets down hair and the audience gasps as a caterpillar becomes a butterfly.

Michael Corleone, in “The Godfather” films, evolves from fun to frightening. Over three films and as many decades, Kaye’s love for Michael descends from adoration to dread.

The Gift of being humbled: When Michael is near death in a hospital bed, his humbled, needy state melts her hardened heart and her love blooms again. Michael’s protective shield that kept him so strong has been torn away like the plastic cover from a couch. The authentic, softened Michael is easier to love.

Just like a real and comfortable old couch unproteced by plastic.

Sadly, many stories, personas and films, (particularly Christian and political stories) are like that plastic-covered couch. They seem a little too polished to feel believable.

The language is so stilted and formal your brain thinks “no one talks like this’’ and you zone out thinking about anything but what’s before you.

Pride rampant among risk adverse managers, pols, religious (and people hiding under tattoos and other protective layers)…

Politicians, executives, clergy and PR-minded types have done the same thing for decades: burying themselves in phony plastic coverings.

When I was a young newspaper reporter in 1990, we interviewed Ronald, a freshman lawmaker who literally brought a fat plastic binder of talking points with him to his interview. We would ask a question and Ronald flipped through the binder to find his pre-scripted answer written by someone else.

We looked at each other in disbelief. A politician is supposed to learn this background but come up with his own answers from his heart, mind and conscience. We interviewed him to get to know him, not his handlers. At the presidential level, we see politicians who have similarly been fed scripted lines year after year — but at least they have the descency to memorize the phony lines.

Nearly 30 years later, I wondered “Whatever happened to that guy with the big fat binder?’’ So I googled him and found learning his lines and doing as he was told meant he kept that job for nearly three decades. But note, he never rose any higher.

We crave authenticity and truth, removing the protective plastic to find the real comfortable couch buried beneath. That’s why millions gravitated toward Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders in 2016. They seemed so much more authentic, genuine and real than the once impressive Hillary Clinton, who had been plasticized by the handlers surrounding her.

Plastic vs. Real. When I was little, I had an aunt who seemed to be protected by a layer of plastic. She looked great, sounded good but something didn’t quite ring true and I was always a tad put off, keeping a bit of a distance. It was always polite and fine but never truly close.

Years later, my wife and I were in her town so we called and she invited us over. She was near the end of her life, couldn’t drive any more and had nothing to hide. We picked her up, took her out to eat and she told us her life story, the three husbands, the crazy boyfriends, the band guy sneaking out a window. The drama and the hilarity. We dropped our jaws in amazement. She instantly went from being an OK aunt to a beloved and treasured one.

Because the plastic had been ripped off the couch and the real authentic lady, the unrepeatable unique person, was so much more interesting than the plastic one trying to be perfect.

“The reason why God is such a great lover of humility is that He is a great lover of truth,’’ St. Vincent de Paul said. “Humility is in fact, truth, while pride is nothing but lying.’’