They laugh at your jokes but hate your success: 8 signs of a fake friend

The text came while I was still in the conference room, my phone buzzing against the table as my boss wrapped up the announcement. "Congrats on the promotion! Drinks tonight to celebrate?" My friend Emma's message glowed on the screen, complete with champagne emojis and exclamation points. Three hours later, sitting across from her at our usual bar, I watched something fascinating unfold. As I shared details about the new role, her smile tightened incrementally, like someone slowly turning a screw. By the time I mentioned the salary increase, she was already scrolling through her phone, murmuring something about her own "big news" that she'd been "dying to share."

That night, I learned that Emma had gotten a new houseplant. It was, apparently, very rare.

This peculiar arithmetic of modern friendship—where your struggles are currency but your successes are theft—has become unnervingly common. We've all encountered them: friends who perform enthusiasm like trained actors, who collect your vulnerabilities like trading cards, but who seem personally wounded by your wins. They're not exactly enemies, which would at least be straightforward. Instead, they exist in what psychologist Bert Uchino identified as the toxic middle ground of "ambivalent relationships"—connections that drain more energy than overtly negative ones because we can never quite pin down what's wrong.

In our hyperconnected age, where friendship has become both a LinkedIn connection and an Instagram story view, these relationships multiply. Social media has given us front-row seats to everyone's highlight reels, transforming envy from a private shame into a public performance. The friend who once might have quietly nursed their jealousy now has a thousand ways to subtly undermine your joy while maintaining plausible deniability. They're fluent in therapy-speak about "boundaries" and "support" but allergic to actually practicing either.

1. Your success stories trigger their autobiography

Share good news with a fake friend and watch them transform into a memoirist. You mention your promotion; they launch into their career origin story. You share that you're running a marathon; they immediately need to tell you about their transformative Peloton journey.

This isn't normal conversational give-and-take. Research on envy dynamics shows that those who feel threatened by others' accomplishments often cope by redirecting every conversation back to themselves. They can't simply celebrate you because your success feels like their failure. The psychology is clear: when someone with narcissistic tendencies hears about your achievement, their brain literally interprets it as a personal attack on their self-worth.

I once told Emma I'd gotten a piece published in a literary magazine. Before I could finish the sentence, she was already telling me about her college roommate who "actually works at The New Yorker." The friend who should have said "congratulations" instead offered a masterclass in competitive storytelling. Later, I saw her Instagram story—a quote about "staying humble when everyone around you is bragging." The subliminal was about as subtle as a neon sign.

2. They're historians of your failures but amnesiacs about your achievements

A fake friend maintains a comprehensive archive of every time you've stumbled but develops selective memory loss around your successes. They'll remember, with Wikipedia-level detail, that presentation you bombed three years ago, but somehow forget you just won an industry award.

This selective memory isn't accidental. People who struggle with envy often engage in what psychologists call "downward social comparison"—they feel better about themselves by focusing on others' failures. Your mistakes become their comfort food, evidence that you're not really ahead of them after all.

During a dinner party, a mutual friend asked Emma about my new book deal. "What book deal?" she responded, despite my having told her about it multiple times, posted about it, and literally sent her the announcement link. Yet she could recall, in vivid detail, the literary agent who rejected me two years prior. "Remember when that agent said your writing was 'almost there'?" she offered helpfully. "Growth mindset, right?"

3. They vanish during victories but materialize for your misfortunes

Track these friends' availability against your life events and you'll notice a pattern: they're booked solid during your highs but miraculously free during your lows. Job interview went well? They're "so swamped right now." Relationship falling apart? Suddenly they're offering to bring wine and tissues.

This isn't coincidence—it's strategy. When you're struggling, they get to play the role of the wise counselor, the together friend, the one graciously offering advice from their superior position. Your success offers them nothing but reminders of what they haven't achieved.

When I was laid off, Emma became my most devoted friend, checking in daily, sending job listings, crafting elaborate pep talks. She even made a whole Instagram post about "showing up for your people." Six months later, when I landed a position at a dream company, she was suddenly "going through a really busy period" and couldn't meet for weeks. Her Instagram stories, however, showed plenty of brunches—just not with me.

4. Their compliments come with built-in expiration dates

These friends have mastered the art of the compliment that isn't. "You look great—stress must be agreeing with you!" "Your apartment is so cute—I could never live somewhere so... cozy!" "Love that you're so confident wearing that!"

Even their genuine-sounding praise includes qualifiers that subtly undermine: "You're killing it right now," with emphasis on the temporary "right now." Or "You must be so proud," delivered in a tone that implies they certainly aren't. It's giving "bless your heart" energy but make it millennial.

Emma once told me, "It's so inspiring how you just put yourself out there without worrying what people think." Which sounds nice until you realize she's basically calling me delusional. These aren't compliments; they're tiny psychological paper cuts designed to make you second-guess yourself.

5. They perform vulnerability but never reciprocate emotional labor

Watch how these friends handle emotional exchange. They'll demand your full attention for their crises—real or manufactured—but suddenly develop emotional unavailability when you need support. They've watched enough therapy TikToks to perform vulnerability convincingly, but genuine reciprocity? That's not in their skill set.

Emma once called me at midnight, sobbing about a minor work conflict, keeping me on the phone for two hours while I helped her draft response emails. A week later, when I texted her about my father's cancer diagnosis, she responded with a single sad-face emoji and "Thinking of you! 💕" followed immediately by a request for my Netflix password.

The math never adds up: they'll send you 47 voice messages about their situationship but can only muster a heart reaction to your major life updates. They treat you like a free therapist but charge emotional overdraft fees when you need support.

6. They treat your boundaries like suggestions

Set a boundary with a fake friend and watch them treat it like a challenge. Tell them you need space, and they'll text more frequently "just to check in." Mention you're keeping something private, and they'll launch a full investigation under the guise of concern.

After I asked Emma for some space to focus on a big project, she showed up at my apartment with coffee "because she was worried." When I maintained the boundary, she accused me of "trauma dumping and then abandoning her" (I had done neither). Then came the Instagram story about "people who use boundaries as weapons."

She'd absorbed just enough therapy speak to weaponize it—a phenomenon so common there's probably a TikTok therapist with a viral video about it. These friends see your boundaries not as reasonable requests but as personal attacks on their main character status in your life.

7. They're archaeologists of your insecurities

Mention once that you felt underdressed at an event, and they'll bring it up every time you go anywhere together. Confide about imposter syndrome, and they'll find ways to casually remind you that you're "still learning." They don't just remember your insecurities—they curate them like a toxic Pinterest board.

Emma had this practiced look of concern she'd deploy whenever I was feeling confident. "Are you sure about that outfit? I just want you to feel your best!" Or my personal favorite: "It's so brave how you don't care if people think you're qualified!" She delivered these observations with the precision of someone who'd studied exactly where to apply pressure.

8. They're fluent in the language of gaslighting

When you finally confront them about their behavior, they respond with wounded confusion. You're being "too sensitive." You're "projecting." They were "just being honest." They'll reference their own therapy journey, throw around terms like "triggered" and "boundaries," and somehow make you feel like you're the toxic one for noticing their toxicity.

The last time I tried to talk to Emma about our friendship dynamics, she turned it into a TED talk about how my "anxious attachment style" was making me "create problems where there weren't any." By the end of the conversation, I was apologizing to her. She posted a story that night about "protecting your peace from negative people." The cognitive dissonance was Olympic-level.

Final words

The tragedy of performative friendships isn't just that they exist—it's that we often mistake them for the real thing. In a culture that treats friendship as social capital and measures connection in likes and story views, we've become skilled at recognizing the performance but terrible at demanding authenticity.

These friends aren't necessarily evil. Many are trapped in their own cycles of comparison and insecurity, performing friendship the only way they know how—through a lens of competition and scarcity. But understanding doesn't obligate us to participate in the show.

Ambivalent relationships—those that make us constantly question where we stand—are more psychologically damaging than overtly negative ones. At least with enemies, you know the deal. With fake friends, you're forever trying to solve an equation where your pain is their gain but your gain is somehow also their pain.

Real friends don't compete with your joy—they multiply it. They show up for your victories with the same energy they bring to your struggles. They can hold space for your success without making it about them. Most importantly, they don't need you to shrink for them to feel big.

As for Emma? Our friendship didn't end with a dramatic confrontation or mutual blocking. It simply faded under the weight of its own performance. The last time we spoke, she was still cataloging her achievements while waiting for me to share something struggle-worthy. But this time, I recognized the script. And I chose not to play my part.

Sometimes the most radical act is refusing to perform—choosing relationships where you can exist without apology, succeed without guilt, and fail without becoming someone else's comfort content. Because real friendship, unlike its performance, doesn't require an audience. It just requires showing up, genuinely, for each other's full story—not just the parts that make us feel better about our own.