The Narcissist Test: How to spot outsized egos ... and the surprising things we can learn from them. Dr Malkin Craig
“narcissists.”
Psychologists Robert Hill and Gregory Yousey, of Appalachian State University, also studied the narcissistic tendencies of politicians (excluding presidents), comparing them with librarians, university professors, and clergy. Politicians again ranked higher in narcissism than any other group. Clergy and professors were deemed the healthiest, with librarians the least narcissistic. Unlike the politicians, none of the other professionals scored high enough to earn the label narcissist, though librarians certainly scored low enough to flirt with echoism.
The performing arts is an arena with a heavy pull for narcissists—no surprise there; it’s show business, after all—but here, too, there are shades of narcissism if you look closely enough. Dr. Drew Pinsky, host of the radio show Loveline, did just that, by asking every celebrity who appeared on his show to take the NPI. Then he and psychologist S. Mark Young, of the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California, compared the actors’ scores to those of people in other artistic areas. Actors and comedians, it turned out, fell near the middle of performers in narcissism (women were more narcissistic than men, possibly because their appearance is more important to their success). Musicians were the least narcissistic. And the most narcissistic? (Drumroll . . . ) Reality TV stars. Based on the data, Pinsky and Young concluded that all the celebrities started out high in narcissism, which, in turn, probably drew them to their flashy careers. For the record, Pinsky and Young also looked at MBA students for comparison, since they often score higher than other groups in narcissism—but the celebrities still won.
Few of us regularly interact with heads of state, celebrities, or even MBA students, so the narcissism we’re most likely to encounter will be in the people we see regularly—our relatives, friends, colleagues, dates, and mates. What does that look like? Let’s start with ordinary folks at the extreme ends of both sides of the spectrum.
Life at 2: Self-Denying
Sandy, 28, is single and works as an administrative assistant at a biotech firm. She came to see me after a recent upset at work. Her boss had decided to throw a party in her honor—his way of saying thanks for her tireless effort to make the company’s past year especially prosperous.
“He was giving me an office MVP award and the day he selected for the party was also my birthday so he decided to kill two birds with one stone.” She grimaced as she spoke and her thin frame seemed to shrink further in her loose black pantsuit. “My boss had spent a lot of time setting it up as a surprise, but I kind of figured out what was happening. People whisper around the coolers.” Unhappy with the party, Sandy tried to get it canceled. “I told my boss’s partner I’d been having trouble concentrating at work because I kept feeling awkward and anxious thinking about it. I managed to get it called off.”
“What made you so uneasy?” I asked
“I can’t stand compliments. They make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked being the focus of anything. I don’t like birthday parties, either, let alone surprise ones.”
“Any idea why?”
“No clue,” she said. She stared at a large blue and green abstract painting on the wall in front of her. “All I know is I feel uneasy. I don’t like people fawning over me.”
Though Sandy was nearly allergic to gratitude from others, she had no trouble lending friends her support. But here, too, when they showed their appreciation with flowers or cards, she was visibly uncomfortable and accepted their tributes reluctantly.
“How about from your boyfriend?” She’d been living with Joe for three years in a small apartment just minutes from her office.
“I can’t stand it when he compliments me or tries to take care of me.” She squirmed, shifting back and forth in her seat. “I tell him he doesn’t need to. I’m not a little kid.”
Her evident distress had begun causing ripples in her relationships at work, at home, and with friends. “My boss was hurt. He said he just wanted to do something special for me.” Joe, too, had clearly grown weary of such a one-sided relationship. “He got really angry the other day because he just wanted me to tell him which restaurant I preferred for my birthday dinner. I was tired of talking about it.” She frowned. “I told him, ‘Why don’t we just stay home and cook—or you can pick wherever you want—it’s up to you.’ ”
Joe had thrown up his hands in disgust, and growled, “You never let me do anything for you!”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “Sometimes people need us to be able to take center stage. It helps them feel special, too.”
Sandy is a great example of the dangers of living at around 2 on the spectrum. The people who dwell there aren’t just unfamiliar with feeling special, they’re afraid of it.
Most of us feel a little boost when we receive praise and attention for our accomplishments. For a time, the spotlight has shifted to us. But for people near 0—extreme echoists—even positive attention can be terrifying. It’s not necessarily because they feel ashamed or defective, though some might. It’s just that they’re convinced that being ordinary is the safest way to live. They stay in the shadows because, as the Japanese saying goes, “The nail that stands out gets pounded down.” Even more, they dread becoming a burden. This isn’t the feigned concern of martyrs who proclaim, “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” while loudly voicing complaints that demand everyone’s attention—this is real fear.
People like Sandy worry so deeply about seeming needy or selfish that it’s often difficult for them to recognize they have any needs at all. It’s also exhausting working so hard to expect nothing at all, which is why people at this end of the spectrum can lapse into confusing bouts of sadness. They feel depleted, but what they need to replenish themselves is buried so deep they’re not even sure how to ask for it.
The most common feature of echoists is a deep dread of becoming narcissistic in any way. They’re constantly on guard for any signs of selfishness or arrogance in themselves, so much so that they can’t even enjoy being doted upon. Their vigilance comes with a steep price. People feel closer to us when we allow ourselves to become a gleam in their eye. Enjoying our moments on the pedestal elevates not just us, but also those we love.
Life at 9: Self-Serving
Gary, 24, single, is a business school student who was referred to me by his dean, an old friend of his parents, who’d grown concerned and irate about his absences from class.
“I’ve got bigger fish to fry than going to class,” Gary told me, smiling broadly. “I’m starting up a company with a friend. We got the idea one night when we’d been drinking for hours. But it’s a great plan.” He’d arrived ten minutes late to my office, but didn’t seem the least bit contrite about being tardy. “Just came from an investor meeting,” he’d explained, grasping my hand firmly in greeting.
“Terrific,” I responded. “Congrats.”
“I know how to sell myself,” he said, shrugging. “It’s what I do.”
I could see what he meant. Sitting in a classic power position—arms clasped behind his neck, elbows out—he looked more like a business executive than a student. He dressed the part, too—a sleek navy blue suit, gleaming leather shoes, a red-and-blue striped tie.
“Are you any good at this?” he asked. “I don’t have much time to waste.”
“Guess we’ll find out,” I said, feeling sure he’d already decided. “As I understand it, you might get kicked out because you’ve missed so many papers and assignments.”
“Dean tell you that?” he shot back, snidely. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Listen, they have to keep me in school. I might be the best thing that’s happened to them in a while. The least they can do is try to hold on to me. If they don’t, they’ll see what a mistake they’ve made when my idea takes off and I make a killing.”
“You can appreciate the dean’s position, though?” I asked, curious if he had any perspective on how much jeopardy he’d