The Four Personalities: Melancholy

This is the third post in a series, the topic of which is The Four Personalities. If you have not read the first and second posts, I encourage you to do so before continuing. Again, while I am perhaps putting a unique spin on how I present The Four Personalities, I can claim none of the substance of these posts to be my own creation: The best and most accessible book I can recommend on the subject is Personality Plus by Florence Littauer.


Return to the perspective of a fly on the wall. Given the flash and pomp of the Sanguine, it's hard to notice anyone else. Eventually you try, and as luck would have it, you succeed. Perhaps you would have noticed her sooner had your gaze not been repeatedly interrupted by the shrieks of the Saguine: the Melancholy.

Notice your attention was not prompted to her by the auditory (as with the Sanguine), but was purely visual. She presents herself impeccably. Every aspect of her appearance; her attire, hair, makeup, accessories—everything—plays a specific role, and fulfills a specific function (some of which may be artistic in nature), in her presentation, which probably consumed hours of deliberation and frustration on her part. You barely noticed what the Sanguine looked like, or what she was wearing (her personality was so much at the fore of everything about her), but a quick glance back at her reveals perhaps a good solid five minutes of preparation. By contrast, the Melancholy has clearly dedicated hours to the affair of getting ready, and was probably stressing herself out for days beforehand.

You notice that she doesn't say much, if anything. And will rarely speak unless first spoken to. She doesn't care to discuss trifling things, and if you wish to do so you had better find someone else. She seems to carry herself well, is polite and gracious, and shows little emotion or enthusiasm. Gone is the childlike innocence and gaiety, the smiles and laughter, the colorful stories and experiences of the Sanguine. You are looking at a very different kind of person, whose chief activities seem to consist in being serious, listening and observing, and as you will soon find out: critiquing. Aside from her visual appearance, brief locutions, and glances, there is outwardly very little else to notice about her.

But here, dear reader, is where the true fun begins. For it isn't necessarily what you see that truly defines the Melancholy, it's what you don't see. Suppose you are somehow, for this one evening, granted access to the thought life of the Melancholy. What would you find if you could break through the adamantine gates which guard the dark and shadowy underworld that is the mind of the Melancholy?

To start with, you would find a pessimist. As impressed as you may be with her appearance, you would probably be shocked to find that she thinks your opinion of her appearance is worthless. Indeed, you know nothing about how well she looks. In fact, she looks terrible. NOTHING(!) went well with her attire, hair, makeup, accessories, etc., today. Getting ready was a DISASTER(!), and if you happen to think she looks good tonight then that just shows how utterly CLUELESS(!) you are.

As her thoughts turn to the guests, you notice they don't fair much better. None of them look good. At least she doesn't look as bad as they do—not that that's much of a surprise. General appearances, hairstyles, makeup, clothes, and so on—all bad, pathetic even. Well maybe not all, this or that person has some potential, but they clearly don't know what they're doing. Still, it's probably just a coincidence that they even look like they have some hope. The Melancholy's standards are impossibly high, and even she doesn't measure up to them.

She didn't even want to come to the party, in fact, and only did so for two reasons: one was due to, perhaps in her mind, some misplaced sense of “duty” to the host or hostess, the other was because she had written it down in her planner and cannot even comprehend not doing things that have been “planned.” Rather than listening to the party-going troglodytes banter on about less-than-nothing, she would have preferred to be somewhere else doing something useful with her time. She can't understand doing things for their own sake: everything must be done for a reason and must serve a purpose. Whatever doesn't meet such criteria ought not be done or engaged in.

Next you are surprised to find that, though no one has actually said anything to her beyond cordial greetings, she thinks she's been slighted and insulted seven times and counting! Not to mention that flappidy-yappidy Sanguine over there didn't even say hello to her! Before long you notice a long chain of deductive reasoning occurring in her thought process as she carefully considers the possible motives behind each apprehended insult and slighting. In general she makes a point to avoid guests whom she feels have wronged her in the past (indeed, no small number). Eventually she is timidly-approached by a good looking single male who proceeds to compliment her on the fine tasting dish she brought. “Probably not sincere,” she thinks. “He's just saying that to be nice.” After she leaves she'll probably get depressed that no one liked her dish.

As you can see the Melancholy is an emotional wrecking ball, just like the Sanguine, but in a different sort of internalized way. She tends to create problems in her mind, which don't really exist, and then gets depressed about them. If only everyone at the party were exactly like her. “The world would be so much better off if everyone could just think like I do!” It's true she's hyper-critical of others, and at times even more critical of herself, but she still thinks she's basically superior to everyone else. She has a good bead on things, you see. She knows she's right, and that's all there is to it.

The polar opposite of the Sanguine, to be sure, yet just as emotional (though not outwardly).

If I had to pick some music to represent the Melancholy, I would go with this:

Up next: Choleric (!)