An Interview with My Internet Persona

Greg discusses his memoir, persona, and the decline of social media with Mania

Sep 03, 2024

Every year I like to do something special to celebrate the anniversary of my book’s publication. My debut memoir, Born to Be Public, turned four last Sunday, and I’ve been trying to figure out what I could do to make this year just as fun and memorable as the last three have been. In the past, I’ve held a giveaway; last year, I published a cut chapter about the time I almost stepped on Lady Gaga’s head. I’ve been mulling over what to do this year, and then it hit me.

I visited my friend Chloé Caldwell’s year-long nonfiction generator course to talk about humor, and she told me about another guest writer who did a generative writing exercise by interviewing her internet persona. I loved that idea so much that I made a note but forgot about it—until now. Since so much of my book is about identity, persona, and coming-of-age, I thought a fun way to celebrate my book’s birthday would be to interview Mania, the over-the-top, extended version of myself this book is about, which happens to be my real last name, except pronounced the same way as the mental disorder. Fate ate!!!!!

Scroll down to read my conversation with, well, another version of myself.

Greg: Hello, old friend. I’ve missed you.

Mania: Well, you left New York City and moved to Los Angeles, so I assumed you were too busy extolling the benefits of a sound bath to some poor soul. But, I’m glad we’ve found our way back to each other.

Greg: It wasn’t that hard, you’re not far. It’s like we’re the same person. You know, I’ve recently been thinking a lot about us and how we’ve changed and what that means in terms of our identity and art going forward.

Mania: I knew things would go downhill when you started picking up books instead of a worsening coke habit.

Greg: This may shock you, but I’ve picked up emotional literacy, too.

Mania: Emotional what now?

Greg: And I’m medicated and have been in therapy for years!

Mania: Who are you?

Greg: Literally you. And you are me.

Mania: I would never devote as much time as you have researching the right kind of magnesium supplement to take on a Friday night.

Greg: Maybe not, but look at me. Or, I guess, look in the mirror. My hair is still huge; my boots are still pointed; and I even overdrafted at Walgreens the other day.

Mania: That’s true. I guess some things never change, huh?

Greg: That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. It’s been four years since Born to Be Public was published, and I’m curious: How do you think we’ve changed? What has stayed the same?

Mania: Well, you still have a scrupulously complicated hair routine. But I do think you rely less on me.

Greg: What do you mean?

Mania: It used to be one or the other. You were either Greg, or you were Mania—there was no in-between. Reality was duality for many years: college student by day, NYC nightlife personality by night. I used to be more of an escape for you, someone to inhabit as a means of shedding the inhibitions that used to feel like an extra layer of skin. You don’t need me anymore, at least not in that way. We’re less Jekyll and Hyde, and more like two sides of the same coin.

Greg: I needed you, though, to learn that my confidence and conviction weren’t coming from an external source, like an outlet I had to plug into. The call was coming from inside the house.

Mania: Did writing the book teach you that?

Greg: Yes. It became the purpose of the whole book. The book changed drastically throughout the writing process because, draft after draft, I learned that I didn’t have to forsake one part of myself for another. I can be Greg and Mania at the same time. We can complement and oppose each other, all while sitting side-by-side, like yin and yang. There’s a piece of you in me, and vice versa. By the time I handed the final draft in, duality became totality.

Mania: That wasn’t always the case, though, even after the book came out. There was a year or two when I went away.

Greg: That’s true. We are never done learning about ourselves, and I’m (we’re?) no exception to that. Ironically, the pendulum swung too far the other way, but I’m going to give myself the grace to acknowledge that I had a lot of shit going on in my life. The pandemic, getting diagnosed with a chronic illness, and struggling with my cornucopia of mental disorders all played a pretty big role in the seemingly endless turbulence I was weathering, but I felt like I lost a part of me along the way. I missed the part of me that felt like a rockstar, someone who was high on life and simply didn’t give a fuck. I wanted to find my way back to that, but I had to make room for the things in my life that had inalterably changed it.

Mania: Not gonna lie, there was a moment I didn’t think I would ever see you again.

Greg: I felt like I didn’t fit into the persona anymore. It’s almost like you were tailored for someone else. I didn’t need to be Mania to be confident or make heads turn, so I felt like if I embodied that part of me, I would come across as disingenuous, because the motivation behind Mania had changed. My voice never changed—writing the book taught me that, too—but Mania, to me, felt like I was performing a character I didn’t have the range for anymore. And I loved that about you! I love performing. But I also wanted to be real, tender, soft. I became self-aware—

Mania: See, there’s your problem.

Greg: —as I was saying, I became self-aware of the role you played and how it has changed. It’s almost like working at the same company and moving to another department within it. So much of us, back then, was existing in this prismatic universe where everything was heightened. It was theater. It was ridiculous. It was magic. But, at the same time, I was also hiding, and that created this sense of removal. Of numbness. And, let’s be honest, we were numbing a LOT back then. I don’t want to be numb anymore.

Mania: You have a joint in your mouth right now.

Greg: I am trying to alleviate the headache talking to you has given me.

Mania: You love me.

Greg: I do! And that’s why I needed to find a way back to you. Or, rather, I needed you to find a way back to me—because I wasn’t where you last saw me.

Mania: Yeah, bitch, drop a pin next time.

Greg: I don’t have to! I felt like I left you behind like I left myself behind all those years ago, and as I got older, I started learning new choreography to accommodate the new way I was moving through the world. I was being public in a new way, which meant being vulnerable in a way I’ve never been and sharing me—all of me—with those nearest and dearest to me. But I’m not all of myself without you.

Mania: You felt unbalanced, but in a new way.

Greg: That’s right. And then I realized how we move in totality had to change. I oscillated between Greg and Mania for so long, and then realized I didn’t have to. But then, I thought it was about striking a balance. For the yin and yang to remain proportionate to each other. But here’s the thing: We’re always moving, changing. It’s not about striking a balance because there’s no balance to strike. So while I’m not interested in oscillating anymore, I’m also not interested in trying to find some sort of internal equilibrium. Instead, I’m going to waltz with you.

Mania: Bitch, HOW HIGH ARE YOU LMAO.

Greg: Shut up, you whore. I’m getting to my point.

Mania: Please, I don’t want to miss happy hour.

Greg: Oscillation—and balance, for that matter—implies a fixed position. There’s no variation in movement beyond the back and forth; there’s no moving to the side, or up, or down. A waltz has a trajectory. You move together in unison; we’re doing it right now.

Mania: And you know I can dance. I used to for tips!

Greg: Do you still consider yourself to be a persona?

Mania: Besides also literally being your last name, what else would I be?

Greg: You know what I mean. I think most people associate persona and artifice with having a gimmick or schtick. Or that there’s nothing serious or authentic about them. It’s not the “real” you. But you are part of what makes me real, what makes me myself.

Mania: I think persona and artifice are more truthful than the actual truth in a way. A persona stems from the unvarnished truth and exposes an element of it in a way authenticity can’t. No matter the motivation for the persona—whether it’s a commitment to the bit or a way to deal with insecurity (or both and more)—you are communicating something to the world about yourself, and that is coming from a truthful place. I see it as a story, or, at least, part of a story.

Greg: And what are we if not our stories?

Mania: I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Greg: You were always present on the page, though. That’s how I found you again—I wrote my way back to you.

Mania: One Panera joke at a time.

Greg: So, in a way, it’s like you never left me, even though I felt this feeling of being unmoored and disconnected from everything around me and myself. You were right under my nose the whole time. I found my voice because and through having an internet persona. I wasn’t writing to impress or pander to anyone, or to have the hottest take and go viral—I was writing for myself. I love who I am on the page, and that played a huge part in learning to love myself.

Mania: You’re writing about heavier things now, especially in your current work-in-progress. Are you worried that readers won’t recognize your voice on the page? Or that you’re not as funny as you used to be?

Greg: I would be lying if I said those thoughts hadn’t crossed my mind once or twice, but ultimately, no. I still metabolize everything through humor; I’m just getting better at knowing when to pull back. I’ve learned that I don’t have to make everything funny. If I write a joke out of reflex, that tells me a joke belongs there—at least in whatever draft I’m on. It could be moved, rewritten, or cut altogether in a future one. But if I write about something painful or hard to think about, and I feel the urge to go back and pepper it with humor, I resist. Humor loses its luster when it’s forced, especially in an effort to mask or conceal. The absence of humor only strengthens its presence.

Mania: Jesus, save it for your TED Talk.

Greg: Bitch, you literally asked. How do you feel about still being labelled an internet persona?

Mania: I think it’s a misnomer now. I still love wreaking havoc on the web, but I feel called to occupy more of a space beyond it.

Greg: I think that’s because you’re not a character I perform as anymore. Also, social media has changed so much. It’s not fun anymore. Remember the Twitter of yore?

Mania: I MISS IT EVERYDAY.

Greg: Same. Take me back to the days of So Sad Today, Rob Delaney, Megan Amram.

Mania: The good ol’ days!

Greg: Now it’s all just a giant toilet. I mean, I still use social media. I’ll go on X (ugh), or Threads, or whatever the platform du jour is to post, but I don’t linger; I don’t scroll. I have to actively find my friends because the algorithms are so fucked. It’s become so cumbersome. I’ll post a joke once in a while, but I have to consciously make a decision to post it; it’s no longer a Pavlovian response. Nowadays I’d rather save the joke for an essay, book, or a script—the things that actually feed me.

Mania: If you say you’re focused on being “more present,” I’m going to kill us.

Greg: What’s so bad about that, though? I mean, besides the bastardization of that word. It’s kind of like how every other person on the internet claims they’re an empath. Bitch, you were a former pleasure to have in class who is now queer and has ADHD.

Mania: I guess. Maybe the stagnation of social media is a good thing. I mean, you used to treat it like a stage. Is this why you’ve been seeking out a live audience more often?

Greg: For sure. The last year or so has been a stark reminder of how much I love the stage. I feel that urge coming back; it’s the same one that led me to go-go dance at a burlesque bar in the Lower East Side twelve years ago. The same one that turned every night out with my friends into a performance. I have that itch again.

Mania: And I love scratching it. I’ve also noticed that you don’t feel the pressure to be “on” all the time. You used to be so worried about not living up to the version of yourself that you thought people had conjured in their heads. You were on the second you left the house; you walked into a room like a curtain was rising. Now, you can leave me on stage and just chill in a corner when you get off, which works for me. I love being up there, and I never want to leave!

Greg: That’s why we’re a perfect pair, and I think establishing those boundaries is why we move in unison so well. I know when to take a step forward, and you know when to take a step back—and vice versa.

Mania: I fear that if I even utter the word “boundaries” my eyes will roll so far back and stay there permanently. Please don’t tell me you’ve subscribed to astrology, too.

Greg: Don’t worry, I still don’t know what my moon sign is, nor do I know what it means when your tenth house is in Pluto praxis or whatever.

Mania: Thank fuck. OK, can we wrap this up? This is getting weird—even for me.

Greg: Wait! What’s next for you?

Mania: I don’t fully know yet, but I’m sure we’ll find out together.

SOS (Save Our Serotonin)

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