I cannot diagnose myself with imposter syndrome, because, in doing so, I would admit that I have, in fact, reach the criteria even if I can’t shift the sneaky sensation that I’ve misunderstood the vary nature of what we’re doing here. The reality is that if I say ‘that’s me, I have that thing where I feel like I’m faking it, but I’m not’, I would be doubly duplicitous, both by the presumption of competence and by giving a name to the hollowed-out sickness of my sham. You have to be good enough to earn a syndrome and its accompanying absolution.