Persuasion and Influence

 The Real Me Doesn’t Belong Here: Code-Switching as Identity Negotiation

Humans are a social species, and since each of us is unique, it’s natural that we both belong to, and move between, different social groups. Over time, we learn that how present ourselves often depends on who we’re interacting with, like our friends, family, or total strangers. Take me for example. At work, I’ll use casual slang with colleagues, switch to a serious but warm tone with customers, and suddenly go quiet when the general manager walks by. Yet in nearly every interaction, one question loops in the back of my mind: Can I say that here?

            This behaviour is often referred to as code-switching – the act of adjusting language, tone, or behaviour across social contexts (Nilep, 2006). Revisit that work scenario: I might greet a coworker with a “What’s good?” but answer the phone with, “Thank you for calling, how may I help you today?” People code-switch for many reasons: sometimes to express emotion (Auer, 1998), and other times to clarify complex ideas (Flyman-Mattsson & Burenhult, 1999). But it cannot be this simple – viewing code-switching purely as a linguistic shift is too limited.

            What if code-switching is more than just how we speak? What if it’s the result of invisible, moment-to-moment micro-negotiations – an internal process where we assess risk, weigh trade-offs, and calculate the safest version of ourselves to present?

            In this blog, I’ll argue that code-switching mirrors the structure of a classic negotiation – complete with risk analysis, strategic concessions, and unspoken BATNAs (Best Alternatives to a Negotiated Agreement). Only here, the “deal” isn’t about salary or contracts – it’s about identity: who we choose to be, and who we’re allowed to be, in any given space.

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Section I: Deals in Disguise

Every time we enter a new space, we ask ourselves: Will the real me fit in here? If the answer feels like “no”, we adapt. We soften accents, recalibrate tone, and alter behaviour, often unconsciously, in an effort to belong. But these adjustments follow a structure, just like any negotiation.

            Lax and Sebenius (2006) describe negotiation as a three-stage process: setup, deal design, and tactics. Now picture this: you’re in a seminar for your weakest module. You’ve got something to say, something worthwhile, but before you speak you assess the space (setup). You scan the room: Who’s speaking? How confident do they seem? How safe does it feel to speak up? Internally, you weigh your options: Should I say this out loud? Will I sound unprepared?

            Next, you begin designing the deal. You decide to contribute, but carefully. You construct a version of yourself that appears engaged and competent while protecting your vulnerabilities. Finally, you apply your tactics: a softened tone, hedged statements like “I might be wrong, but….” What’s the point of this? These micro-adjustments allow you to participate whilst minimising risk. In that moment, you haven’t just spoken – you’ve negotiated with yourself. You’ve weighed costs and benefits, and struck a quiet, internal deal about how much of your identity you’re willing to reveal. But there’s another question: What if the real me doesn’t fit into the deal?

            This is where negotiation theory reveals its emotional weight. BATNA (Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement; Fisher, Ury, & Patton, 1991)), represents your fallback if no deal can be reached. In identity terms, your BATNA in the seminar might be silence. If the risk of speaking feels too high – if you fear sounding foolish, emotional, or “not meant” for the space – then silence protects you.

            But what if I don’t want silence? If this is the case, then we begin searching for a Zone of Possible Agreement (ZOPA) – not with someone else, but within ourselves. Our aspiration point might be to contribute authentically and be heard with respect. Our reservation point, however, is shaped by fear: “I’ll speak, but only if I sound smart.” If the environment seems like it can accept this version of us, then a ZOPA exists, and code-switching becomes the tool to reach it. But if there is no version of us which feels both genuine and acceptable, i.e., there’s no ZOPA, then there’s no deal. We go silent, or worse, we show up superficially, disconnected from our true selves.

            There’s a deeper risk too: repeated concessions to fit in can push us below our own reservation point. We get to speak – but at the cost of authenticity. Read and Hills (2021), in their reading of Middlemarch, argue that some of the most intense negotiations aren’t about leverage, but legitimacy. Likewise, in the seminar room, code-switching becomes our opening offer – a quiet deal struck in real time: I’ll trade parts of me, if that’s what it takes to belong.

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Section II: The Silent Rules Behind Identity Performance

The negotiation of identity isn’t just internal – it’s shaped by external forces. We’re constantly assessing which version of ourselves feels safe to reveal. But this raises a deeper question: who decides what “fitting in” looks like?

            While these negotiations may happen privately, they’re governed by social scripts, unspoken rules about how to behave in a given setting. These scripts guide our speech, body language, and tone. They shape our understanding of what’s appropriate, credible, or “normal”. Let’s move beyond the seminar room and consider a job interview. In that setting, we perform our most polished, professional selves. We speak more carefully, soften our accents, sit up straighter, and adopt attentive mannerisms. We unconsciously align ourselves with what we believe the interviewer expects (Giles, 2008). And if we break from these expectations, for example, speak too casually, slouch, or hesitate, we’re subtly penalised – not through over rejection, but through awkwardness, disconnection, or lack of credibility.

            In negotiation theory, credibility is a powerful form of leverage. When we interact in social spaces, such as seminars, interviews, or meetings, we’re not just expressing ourselves; we’re performing legitimacy. For some, credibility is automatically granted, based on factors like accent, vocabulary, dress, or body language. But for others, it must be earned. This mirrors Lax and Sebenius’s (2006) notion of imbalanced social capital: some individuals enter negotiations with more persuasive power than others. In this light, code-switching becomes a credibility strategy – a way to gain influence by mimicking the traits of those already accepted.

            Negotiation scholars also emphasise the importance of framing – the process of shaping a message to match the values and expectations of the listener (Thompson, 2015). Viewed this way, code-switching is a kind of identity framing – we learn, through trial and error, which version of ourselves will be best received. Whether it’s using academic language in seminars or softening our accents in interviews, we’re not just adapting, but influencing. We’re crafting a self that we hope lands within the listener’s ZOPA. This isn’t about authenticity – it’s about acceptability.

            Negotiation isn’t just about offers and counteroffers – it’s about risk assessment. When we decide how much of our true selves to reveal, we’re making micro-calculations: “Will I sound unprepared? Too emotional? Too different?” Just as negotiators risk rejection by pushing for self-interested terms, we risk rejection by showing too much of who we are. In these moments, we’re not negotiating with others – we’re negotiating with ourselves.

            But here’s the core problem: the entire negotiation often happens on someone else’s terms. When credibility depends on sounding or acting in a certain way, the process is already rigged. The cost of being “real” now becomes the risk of being excluded.

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Section III: The Mask Cracks

According to negotiation theory, every concession should move both parties closer to a mutually beneficial agreement. But when we’re negotiating our identity with an environment that demands conformity, the logic begins to warp. Repeated micro-concessions, such as toning ourselves down or hiding aspects of who we are, aren’t acts of diplomacy. These are unreciprocated sacrifices, made simply to retain access to the room. There’s no added value, just ongoing cost.

            And that cost accumulates. Over time, these silent compromises can lead to a form of identity depletion – a slow erosion of the self. In traditional negotiation, if the deal drops below your reservation point, the advice is simple: walk away. But when the thing being negotiated is you, and the cost is exclusion or invisibility, walking away isn’t always a real option. So, we stay, out of necessity, ambition, or fear, and over-perform to maintain our place.

            From the outside, this may look like composure. But inside it’s labour – constant self-monitoring, emotional buffering, and performance management. The similarity effect (Burger et al., 2004) shows that people tend to grant credibility to those who mirror their own traits. So those who appear different, through accent, behaviour, or cultural reference points, often find themselves working twice as hard to gain half as much influence.

            Eventually, though, the ZOPA disappears. There’s no longer any overlap be the version of you that feels authentic and the version your environment will accept. At that point, the negotiation fails. And theory is clear: when there’s no deal, you walk away.

            But what happens when the thing on the table is you – your background, your voice, your sense of self? Walking away isn’t always possible – we stay because we need the job, the grade, the opportunity. We stay because we’ve been taught that adaptation is survival. And so, instead of walking away, we keep bargaining – trading more of ourselves in spaces that were never built with us in mind. This brings us to the real question: should the terms of belonging be negotiable at all?

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Section IV: Choosing the Terms of Belonging

Code-switching may appear on the surface as a practical or even polite adjustment – an everyday strategy for navigating different social settings. But when viewed through the lens of negotiation theory, it reveals something much deeper: a constant, internal bargaining process over identity, legitimacy, and psychological safety.

            We don’t just change how we speak; we negotiate who we’re allowed to be. Every micro-adjustment we make – to sound competent, to seem less “other”, to blend in – carries a cost. Sometimes, these concessions are temporary and strategic. But over time, if we’re always the ones adapting while spaces remain unchanged, we risk negotiating ourselves out of ourselves.

            So perhaps the real challenge isn’t just learning how to code-switch better – it’s questioning the spaces that demand it. Who gets to define what’s credible? Whose identity is the default, and whose is the deviation?

            Negotiation theory tells us that when the deal is unfair, we should walk away. But in identity negotiations, walking away isn’t always feasible. So instead, we might start asking: what would it take to renegotiate the terms entirely? What if the goal wasn’t to shrink ourselves to fit the room – but to expand the room so more selves can belong?