The Narcissist Test: How to spot outsized egos ... and the surprising things we can learn from them
Her conclusions, however, have drawn fire right from the start—and the evidence she marshals to support the idea of a narcissism epidemic has come under the heaviest attack. The NPI, on which Twenge draws so heavily, is a deeply flawed measure. Under its design, agreeing with statements that reflect even admirable traits can inch people higher up the narcissism scale. For example, picking “I am assertive” and “I would prefer to be a leader” counts as unhealthy even though these qualities have been linked repeatedly in decades of research to high self-esteem and happy relationships. People who simply enjoy speaking their mind or being in charge are clearly different from narcissists who enjoy manipulation and lies. But the NPI makes no distinction. More people checking these salutary statements could easily account for millennials’ rising NPI scores through the years, and that’s what some studies indicate has happened.
Second, numerous large-scale studies, including one of nearly half a million high school students conducted between 1976 and 2006, have found little or no psychological difference between millennials and previous generations (apart from a rise in self-confidence). In fact, one study of thousands of students suggests that millennials express greater altruism and concern about the world as a whole than do previous generations, prompting psychologist Jeffrey Arnett, of Clark University to call them “GenerationWe.” The results of a 2010 Pew Research Report, surveying a nationally representative sample of several thousand millennials, also stands in stark contrast to Twenge’s findings. Millennials, the Pew authors concluded, get along well with their parents, respect their elders, value marriage and family far over career and success, and are “confident, self-expressive, and open to change”—hardly the portrait of entitled brats.
But there’s another far more troubling problem with using the NPI to declare an epidemic: we have no way of knowing whether or not people scored as “narcissists” remain so over time. No study has followed up on these thousands of college students after they graduated. Furthermore, just about every theory of adolescence and early adulthood presumes that the young are only temporarily a self-absorbed bunch, and research seems to support that view. We used to think that was a good thing: the bright-faced idealism of youth. The young believe themselves capable of anything; they’re ready to take over the world and make it a better place. Most of us, in our less cynical moments, appreciate their ostentatious energy. But just as with other temporary bouts of narcissism brought on by specific life stages, such enthusiasm eventually fades. As we approach our thirties, most of us come back down to earth, and our self-importance, and yes—self-absorption—give way to the realities of life.
Though we currently seem obsessed with Kernberg’s dark narcissism, the pervasive better than average effect—where healthy people do appear to feel special—suggests that Kohut’s benign view is the right one.
We need our grandiosity at times to feel happy and healthy. And a growing body of recent research concludes that a little narcissism, in adolescence, helps the young survive the Sturm und Drang of youth; moderate teenage narcissists are less anxious and depressed and have far better relationships than their low and high narcissism peers. Likewise, corporate leaders with moderate narcissism are rated by their employees as far more effective than those with too little or too much. And my own research with my colleagues is pointing in the same direction: only people who never feel special or feel special all the time pose a threat to themselves and the world.
The difference between narcissists and the rest of us is one of degree, not kind. To better understand that, we need to explore the full range of the narcissism spectrum.
3
From 0 to 10
Understanding the Spectrum
When my daughters were in kindergarten, they loved to visit the Cambridge Museum of Science. One exhibit, in particular, fascinated them. It consisted of a small tile with a lamp shining down on it. By turning a knob on the lamp, they could change the color of the light. But each time the lamp changed color, so did the tile. What seemed to be a bright red tile, a few moments ago, would deepen into purple, then turn yellow, then green, and on and on. At the edges, some colors would blend, making it hard to discern any one color at a time. A seemingly trivial question, What color is the tile?, suddenly became far more complicated.
We tend to like clear, distinct categories—it makes life easier to impose order on the world. The tile is either green or red, but it can’t be both. Similarly, we like to think in stark extremes—full or empty, black or white, good or bad. But as soon as we start looking more closely at our world, the categories blur. Even the paint on our walls seems to change color throughout the day, depending on the directness and intensity of the light. There are gradations and nuance to almost everything in life, including attitude, emotion, and personality.
So instead of regarding narcissism in all or nothing terms, imagine a line stretching from 0 to 10, like the one below, with the desire to feel special slowly growing as we move from left to right.
The Narcissism Spectrum
0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 abstinence habit moderation habit addictionLife at either of the extremes, whether at 0 or 10, isn’t a particularly healthy place to be. At 0 people never enjoy feeling special in anyway. Perhaps they never have. At first, this might sound healthy. Most of us have it drummed into our heads, whether by religion or family or culture, that anything even approaching the desire for special treatment or attention is bad. Our distaste is epitomized by the question What makes you so special? We all recognize the reprimand in the rhetoric. What people really mean is You’re acting like you’re special. Stop it! In most cultures around the world, selflessness is often held up as the ultimate virtue. No one has a right to feel special anyway, the argument goes, so we should celebrate people who never indulge the feeling.
But bear in mind what that really means: unrelenting selflessness, feeling abjectly ordinary, no more deserving of praise or love or care than anyone regardless of the circumstances. It doesn’t take long to see that this presents a range of problems. Say, for example, you’ve lost your beloved mother to a horrific car accident. Most people would agree that you deserve special attention; during grief, our pain should take center stage for a time. Living at 0 means you not only wouldn’t accept sympathy and assistance, you might even actively push it away. I once worked with a woman who rigidly refused to let anyone help or support her, even after her husband died. “Please—don’t trouble yourself,” she’d say when anyone tried to pick up groceries for her or drive out to visit her (she lived an hour from most of her friends). She was determined to be alone instead of surrounded by supportive companions giving her special attention.
Life at the far right is just as bleak. While people at 0 assiduously avoid the spotlight, those at the far right either scramble for it or silently long for it. In their minds, they cease to exist if people aren’t acknowledging their importance. They’re addicted to attention, and like most addicts, they’d do anything to get their high, so even authentic love takes a backseat. At 10 our humanity collapses under the weight of empty posturing and arrogance. Think of Bernie Madoff, who swindled hundreds of millions of dollars from his clients and who, when caught, scoffed at the “incompetence” of the investigators for not asking the right questions. Even as he faced life in prison, he still managed to feel superior.
Being at 1 or 9 isn’t much better. People at 9 are still in the territory of dark narcissism; they can live without elbowing their way into the spotlight, but it pains them to do so—so much so that they need professional help to break the habit. (Think of Don Draper of the TV series Mad Men, hopping from affair to affair, desperately seeking excitement and attention; he can’t stop even after he sees the damage his lies and infidelity have inflicted on his family.) People at 1 suffer just as much; their aversion to feeling special is unyielding. They might tolerate a little attention on birthdays, but they hate it.
As we approach 2 and 3 and 7 and 8 on the spectrum, we leave behind the compulsive rigidity found near 0 and 10, and enter the area of habit. There’s greater flexibility of feeling in this range, and therefore, more possibility for change. On the left, at 2, people enjoy feeling special, albeit infrequently; at 3 they may secretly dream of greatness. On the right, at 8, they might occasionally set aside their flamboyant dreams and devote some thought to other people; at 7, they’ve begun to show signs of humanity again, including the occasional ability to admit to ordinary faults.
A hallmate of mine in college offers a good example of someone around 3 on the spectrum. She enjoyed birthdays and accepted compliments, but she still hated it when anyone tried to take care of her. She’d actually get up and clean dishes as soon as someone tried to clear hers. She struggled with this inability to let others do things for her, confessing to me late one night, “I hate that it’s so hard for me to accept help or special treatment.” Likewise, a dormmate of mine who lived at 7 felt self-conscious about the way he’d name-drop or find a way to work his high test grades into casual conversations. “I know it’s wrong,” he said, “but I do it so people will be impressed. I’m worried that if I don’t, they won’t think much of me at all.” Habitual echoists and narcissists recognize that their behavior might be less than healthy; they just can’t always keep it in check.
The healthiest range is found in the center, at 4 through 6; it’s the world of moderation. Here, we might find intense ambition and occasional arrogance, but feeling special isn’t compulsive anymore. It’s just fun. At 5, in the very center, there’s no relentless need to feel—or avoid feeling—special. People here enjoy vivid dreams of success and greatness, but don’t spend all their time immersed in them. You’ll notice that 6, though it tips past the center, is still in the healthy range. That’s because it’s quite possible to have a strong drive to feel special and still remain healthy. Healthy narcissism is all about moving seamlessly between self-absorption and caring attentiveness—visiting Narcissus’s shimmering pool, but never diving to the bottom in pursuit of our own reflection.
Wiggle Room: Moving Up and Down the Spectrum
Recently, I got slammed with a miserable cold, one that left me feeling grumbly and demanding. I just wanted someone to take care of me. But then a friend called who’d just lost his job, forcing him to uproot himself and find work in another part of the country. Suddenly, my cold wasn’t so important anymore. I rose from bed, cleaned myself up, and went to talk with him.
Most models of human behavior consider flexibility to be the hallmark of mental health. We adapt our feelings and behavior to fit the circumstance. When it comes to narcissism, similarly, only the most extreme echoist or narcissist becomes fixed at one end of the scale. Healthy people generally remain within a certain range on the spectrum, moving up or down a few points throughout their lives. Nevertheless, we’re all prone to climbing even higher on the scale if something provides a big enough push.
Narcissism spikes dramatically, for example, when we feel shaky about ourselves: lonely, sad, confused, vulnerable. In adults, major life events like getting divorced or becoming sick in old age often trigger a large surge of self-centeredness as we struggle to hold on to our self-worth. In younger people, narcissism tends to peak during the teen years. Adolescents often betray a staggering sense of omnipotence, as if they’re somehow above natural and man-made laws (fatal accidents might happen to others who drive drunk, for instance, but certainly never to them). Teens are well known for elevating even the act of suffering to great heights—prone to fits of despair, convinced no one can fathom the pain of their unrequited crush, or the searing humiliation of not owning the next cool smartphone. Nothing else—and often no one else—matters more than the anguish they feel.
Though vexing for parents, this adolescent peak in narcissism is normal and understandable. This is the time when we develop an individual identity, separating from our parents to become our own person. We push away from people who’ve held sway over us, even though we know, somewhere deep inside, that we aren’t yet equipped to handle the world on our own. It’s at times like these—when we need people but aren’t sure if we can or should have their support—that we lean heavily on feeling special. It boosts our confidence, however temporarily. And while it’s not genuine or lasting self-assurance, it gets us through a rough time. Once we’re through adolescence, narcissism falls sharply; it’s time to get on with the business of adulthood—and that means thinking about people other than ourselves.
Varieties of Special: Extroverted, Introverted, and Communal Narcissists
You’ve no doubt come across extroverted narcissists. That’s the kind of narcissist you’re used to hearing about, the one about whom all the fuss is made. They’re loud, vain, and easy to spot. They flaunt their money and possessions, scramble to be the center of attention at every occasion, ruthlessly jockey to rise through the ranks at their office. But narcissism manifests itself in other ways, as well. An intense drive to feel special can yield two other types of narcissistic behavior: introverted and communal.
Introverted narcissists (also called “vulnerable,” “covert,” or “hypersensitive” in scientific literature) are just as convinced that they’re better than others as any other narcissist, but they fear criticism so viscerally that they shy away from, and even seem panicked by, people and attention. Their outward timidity and wariness makes them easily mistaken for self-effacers at the far left of the spectrum. But what makes them different from echoists is that they don’t feel inferior. They believe they harbor unrecognized intelligence and hidden gifts; they see themselves as more understanding of, and more attuned to, the intricacies of the world around them. In self-report, they agree with such statements as I feel that I am temperamentally different from most people. To an observer, these people appear fragile and hypersensitive. In conversation, they’re apt to jump on a misplaced word, or a change in tone, or a brief glance away, and demand What did you mean by that? or Why are you turning away? There’s an angry insistence to introverted narcissists: they seethe with bitterness over the world’s “refusal” to recognize their special gifts.
Communal narcissists, a type more recently identified by researchers, aren’t focused on standing out, being the best writer or most accomplished dancer or the most misunderstood or overlooked genius. Instead, they regard themselves as especially nurturing, understanding, and empathic. They proudly announce how much they give to charity or how little they spend on themselves. They trap you in the corner at a party and whisper excitedly about how thoughtful they’ve been to their grieving next-door neighbor: That’s me—I’m a born listener! They believe themselves better than the rest of humanity, but cherish their status as givers, not takers. They happily agree with such statements as I am the most helpful person I know and I will be well known for the good deeds I have done.
As you can see, not all narcissists look and sound alike and, no doubt, we’ll discover even more than these three variations over time. But remember—regardless of their differences, they all share one overriding motivation: each and every one of them desperately clings to feeling special. They just do it in different ways.
Special Demographics: Age, Gender, Career
As you’ve learned already, narcissism may come more easily to the young; people under 25 tend to be the most narcissistic, with the drive to feel special declining as we age. But what about that perennial question of who’s more narcissistic—men or women? Most studies only capture the extroverted narcissists and, when it comes to this group, researchers consistently find slightly more men than women in the mildly unhealthy range (7 to 8, by this book’s scale). In stark contrast, as soon as we get to the extreme right of the spectrum, men dominate sharply; they’re double the number of women.
This difference is at least partly attributable to gender roles. In most societies, women are criticized for being loud and assertive, while these same qualities are encouraged in men. So it’s no surprise there’s a slight difference in habitual narcissism and a huge difference in the addictive kind. It’s one thing for a woman to be extremely confident and hypercompetitive, but being floridly arrogant and forceful departs dramatically from common notions of how women should behave.
Research on communal narcissism is just beginning to get under way, but so far, it seems to affect men and women in equal numbers. Communal narcissists can either quietly believe they’re the best parents or friends or humanitarians in the world or get up on stage and announce it to everyone. With more men outnumbering women in the loud camp and women edging past men in the quieter one, the gender difference washes out. Interestingly, introverted narcissists, too, seem to be about equally divided between the sexes.
Some professions seem to be magnets for people from certain regions of the spectrum. People on the high end of the spectrum tend to gravitate toward careers where there’s an opportunity for power, praise, and fame. US presidents seem to be more narcissistic, on average, than most ordinary citizens, according to psychologist Ronald J. Deluga, of Bryant College, who used biographical information on every commander in chief from George Washington through Ronald Reagan to score them on the NPI. Predictably, high-ego presidents like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan ranked higher than more soft-spoken leaders like Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford, but almost all presidents scored high enough to be considered “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.