The Conversational Narcissist

When people don’t ask about you in conversations

Courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org

We’ve all met people who constantly make everything about themselves, with little regard for others. And whether you’re dating them, friends with them, or they’re a family member, you’ve probably noticed they’re not exactly pleasant to be around.

A few years ago, I met a radio announcer for lunch. He was to interview me about my newly published novel.

At first, he appeared perfect — open, outgoing, and willing to share. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as expected, and soon enough, he launched into lengthy stories about his childhood and an ongoing love affair with a married woman. During the long monologue about himself, he clutched his breast, breathing hard, unaware that tears were falling amidst convulsing gasps.

The intensity of my discomfort didn’t surprise me. I felt trapped. Yet I continued with the right sounds and what I believed were sympathy nods. All the while, I observed his orbicular features — round eyes, round nose, round cheekbones. I even arranged my face to demonstrate his feelings, possibly because he divulged such intimate details.

Looking back, I remember feeling that uncomfortable blurring of edges, the slight disassociation of self from his self-absorption. And to this day, I’m surprised I put up with his emotional outburst.

After all, he was supposed to ask me questions about my novel and get to know me. All that went missing for the one-hour duration spent together. Yet, even as I pretended I was interested in his tales and ridiculous heartaches, I tried to convince myself I was in control.

At some point during his self-pitiful monologue, my understanding of what was happening came in waves. As details aligned and then realigned into patterns like a kaleidoscope turning, I watched him remove his round rimless eyeglasses — bloodshot eyes — spray the lenses with fluid, and wipe them clean with a shiny cloth.

He was unaware of me trying to stifle a yawn.

And when I tried to put him back on track with what my book was all about, he found a way to intercept me and redirect the limelight onto himself again.

“Her husband hates me,” he observed, guiding the glasses back into place, taking a moment to balance them properly on the bridge of his nose.

I wanted to laugh. Was this guy clueless?

“Ah,” I ventured waist-deep into muddy waters. “You think it might be because you want to steal his wife?”

He made a minor adjustment to his tie and gave me a tight, unfriendly smile.

I shrugged and stifled another yawn.

By the end, I just grunted and stopped commenting or asking questions. I didn’t think he cared or noticed.

Over the years, I’ve encountered people who honestly think a conversation and a monologue are interchangeable. How often have I spent hours with people and never been asked anything about me? People who are too self-absorbed to notice — a conversation that is just a string of monologues connected by tenuous links.

They will ramble on about themselves for ages and then glaze over as soon as you try to talk about yourself.

One of my pet hates.

The point of having a conversation is an exchange of views and information, a way of building relationships and developing knowledge and personal skills.

I find it hard to understand what people gain by “monologuing” stuff they already know, barely pausing for breath. I would much rather chat with a nosey person asking probing questions than someone who only spoke about themselves.

It can be confusing and frustrating. You may ask yourself demoralizing questions like: Am I so dull and easy to overlook that no one cares about me?

Or

“Is this person completely self-absorbed and incapable of thinking about someone other than themselves?”

More people than you’d think don’t know it’s a good social practice to take an interest in others. Is having sequestered during COVID, the culprit?

Or maybe they do it not out of self-involvement but because they don’t know better?