Shall We Be Different?
The poorest reason in the world for doing anything is that somebody else is doing it.
Children have a name for the imitator; they call him a "copy cat." But isn't it a curious thing that the "copy cat" habit is almost universal among human beings? What? Do I think I am not a slave to it? Don't I wear that monstrosity known as the derby hat, when it is "in," and don't I laugh at it when it is "out"? Don't I fence my lawn when my neighbor does--and take the fence away when he razes his? Don't I say the same things about newspapers, relatives, and sunsets that the leaders in my particular club, set, or party say? Don't I rise, sit, sleep, and eat as others do? Isn't it one of my aims in life not to be queer--that is, unlike others?
Isn't it pitiful! I conform. I conform to style, to custom, to mode, to trend!
As I think about it I come upon a curious anomaly. The world cries out for originality--for something new under the sun--yet slaps at it instantly when it raises its head. No one is so unpopular as he who begins to be unlike the rest. But no one receives such rewards as he who persists in it! Strange! All men seem to be in a conspiracy to curb originality,
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