The Counterfeit Fades: Thoughts On Being the Purple
I’ve wanted to write about this for some time — years, even. I’m not sure what this has to do with the outdoors or horses, yet it has shaped my life in profound ways. More often than not, the trail and saddle have been the places where I’ve returned to reflect on it.
Somewhere along the way, I came across a passage from Epictetus in The Discourses (1.2), likely written around AD 108. In it, he introduces the character Agrippinus, a man urged to conform — to keep his head down, not stand out, not draw attention in the age of Nero.
“Why not simply be like everyone else?” Agrippinus is asked. He replies:
“Because you consider yourself to be only one thread of those which are in the tunic….but I wish to be purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest appear graceful and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make myself like the many? And if I do, how shall I still be purple?”
What a beautiful and powerful thought. I wish to be the purple.
That single line has enough weight to change a life. But its meaning deepens when we understand what purple meant in the Roman world.
The purple Epictetus likely references was no ordinary color. Often associated with Tyrian Purple, it was produced from Mediterranean sea snails through a labor-intensive process that made it extraordinarily expensive. In the Roman world, purple carried associations of office, authority, and prestige. Certain garments and purple-striped clothing marked rank, while full imperial purple became closely tied to the emperor. It was also prized for its durability, resisting fading in a way cheaper dyes could not.
Cheaper imitations existed, of course. They mimicked the color for a season, then dulled under sun and time. Much like character. So what kind of person values a single thread of true purple woven into plain linen?
Someone who values quality over quantity.
Someone who understands quiet distinction.
Someone who does not need to shout what they are.
At first glance, their garment looked no different than anyone else’s. But in conversation, in conduct, and in the close dealings of ordinary life, something subtle became visible. There was a thread running through them that could not be counterfeited — and would not be diminished.
The counterfeit fades. The genuine remains. There’s something profound in that.
Real character does not need constant announcement.
Real integrity does not require repeated explanation.
Real depth does not have to campaign for recognition.
It simply remains. And over time, those around it begin to notice:
He is still steady.
She is still kind.
They are still disciplined.
It did not wash out when life became difficult.
It said:
This is who I am.
I know my worth.
I do not need your permission to carry it.
But Epictetus goes even further. He does not say, I wish to wear the purple. He says, I wish to be the purple. Not status worn on the outside, but substance woven through the whole self — not superiority, but contribution; not attention, but beauty. He wished to be that rare thread which made the whole garment more graceful. That idea has guided me for years. What gift, conviction, discipline, or way of being can you weave into the ordinary so that everything around it becomes a little better, a little stronger, a little more beautiful? What in you grows brighter with age, pressure, and exposure?
The world has enough plain cloth.
Be the purple.
If this stirred something in you — if you’re wondering what the purple thread in your own life might be — I’d be honored to help you explore it. I offer coaching for those seeking clarity, growth, and a life lived with greater purpose and authenticity. Feel free to reach out if that conversation would serve you.
I look forward to walking with you,
Darin
