In the world of One of Us, identity is presented as a carefully managed construct, shaped by political maneuvering and constant media scrutiny. The novel shows how its characters perceive authenticity as a risk. Consequently, they learn to suppress or fragment their private selves, replacing them with curated personas designed to project stability, charm, or authority. These performances gradually displace authentic identity and estrange the characters from genuine feeling, leaving them torn between their public image and their private selves. The result is a social environment in which interior life is subordinated to optics, and selfhood becomes indistinguishable from branding.

Day’s depiction of political life exposes this habit most clearly, presenting the political arena as a stage on which identity is continuously rehearsed and recalibrated. Richard Take exemplifies the deliberate reconstruction of the self in response to public failure. After a pornography scandal that reduces him to a “national joke,” Richard reinvents himself through the media, appearing on the reality show Shit Happens! and building a TikTok following. His assertion that this strategy allows him to send his “message across directly to the people who count” reveals a shift from ideological engagement to performative marketability (133). Ben Fitzmaurice also relies on meticulous image‑building. His reputation as a warm, empathetic leader stems from the “politician’s mask” he wears in public encounters. His public self is a curated persona that masks the corruption, ambition, and self‑interest that guide his decisions. For Richard and Ben, the self they present to the world is a product designed to secure their political advancement.

This tension between performance and authenticity extends beyond politics into the domestic sphere, particularly for Serena Fitzmaurice. As the wife of a rising political figure, Serena plays the role of the flawless, supportive spouse, appearing poised and elegant in public settings while “keeping all the necessary secrets” (34). This sustained performance grants her status but leaves her detached from her own identity and needs. Her private frustration and anger clash with the composed figure she presents to the world. Her stay at a wellness clinic hints at her desire to rediscover an unfiltered identity. Still, she eventually returns to the polished image expected of her, albeit after negotiating certain conditions with Ben. The decision is presented as a conscious choice of status over the development of a more authentic self.

The Fitzmaurice family’s treatment of Fliss’s death offers the most extreme example of performative identity. In this instance, the suppression of authenticity expands beyond individual behavior to a coordinated, collective strategy. To protect Ben during his leadership campaign, the family reframes Fliss’s death by suicide as a “tragic accident” connected to her history of addiction. Every aspect of the funeral, from the carefully-worded invitation to Ben’s eulogy, is orchestrated to produce a coherent, fictional narrative that protects Ben’s career. By turning their grief into a choreographed display, the Fitzmaurices show how thoroughly performance shapes their lives.

Through these interlinked examples, Day critiques an elite culture that privileges appearance over substance and rewards those who can most effectively manipulate perception. Authenticity, where it exists at all, is relegated to fleeting moments of private awareness, continually threatened by the demands of visibility and power. This portrayal suggests that in a culture governed by surveillance and ambition, the cost of maintaining a public-facing image is the gradual disappearance of the self.