There’s a potent line on Pet Sounds, in Brian Wilson’s “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times”:

“Where can I turn when my fair-weather friends cop out? What’s it all about?”

It’s brutal. Vulnerable. You can imagine what it must have felt like for Wilson — famous, surrounded by people who were there when times were good, but nowhere to be found in the storms.

And it got me thinking: so many of the friends we meet in life are fair-weather friends.

Not always out of malice. Sometimes it’s circumstance. Sometimes it’s capacity. And sure, sometimes it is lack of character. But rather than focus on blame, I find myself curious about the dynamic itself.

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the socialite scene

In certain environments — cities like San Francisco, Chicago, New York — there’s a kind of socialite culture. You’re known, you know a lot of people, you’re interesting or important, and that draws attention. Affection. Effusion.

Big hugs, big love, proclamations of affinity.
“I love you, you’re so amazing!”

But what happens when you’re inconvenient? When you’re no longer valuable to the circle?

My suspicion is that much of that “love” evaporates. Quickly. Because it was never about your core. It was about the social advantage of being around you.

And I catch myself, when someone says “I love you” too fast, thinking: Do you? Will you love me when I have nothing to offer? When I’m unpopular, difficult, or broken?

That’s the test. That’s when love matters. Everything else is effusion.

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cranking the hypothetical

Let’s crank the hypothetical to the extreme.
What if everyone around you is superficial? What if they’re all sycophants?

Not just ready to leave you when you have nothing left to give — but actively seeking you out only because you have something to give.

And here’s the twist: what if there’s never an event that reveals this? No crisis to unmask the truth.

Instead, you live your whole life surrounded by people who seem to love you. Who act affectionate. Who proclaim devotion. You believe it. You feel it. You drink the Kool-Aid.

And you die thinking you were deeply loved.

Does it matter that it was all a lie?
If the experience felt real — is that enough?

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hard truths vs. sweet lies

Maybe this is the principle underneath:

Would you rather live in a hard truth,
or enjoy a sweet lie?

That’s the tension I feel when I think about fair-weather friends.
And maybe it’s a question we each have to answer for ourselves.