The keyword is “wariness.” There’s preparation, yes—attention to detail while setting up some kind of exit strategy. After that, though, is when we stay wary.
Cover stories, smokescreens of fake information, are just as much for the folks who have transitioned into new names and personas as they are for folks like Ron, with his vague fears confusing all his coworkers.
Once you have established a new persona, new papers, new residence, the cold, hard fact of life is you will never be able to completely avoid human interaction. Even the full-on “hermit in the woods” approach isn’t foolproof.
That’s why the post-switch cover story is even more meaningful than the pre-absconding tale.
I’m not going to dictate case studies on this one because when it comes to the cover story you bring to the table after you’ve left everything else behind, it’s a thing you’ll need to tailor to your situation.
That means that this tissue of lies should follow a few principles, but it has to be shaped to who you are, your abilities, your appearance, et cetera.
A real spy has help in developing and supporting their cover story.
Let’s assume then that the document-support part of the festivities, one of the many things a spy agency would handle for a covert operative, is something you’ve already taken care of.
Now what?
Appearance. This again, I know! Depending on your natural mien, it might be surprising how little you have to adjust to look like a different person. Ask yourself what your most prominent features are, and find ways to de-emphasize those. Red hair? Shave it or get regular dye jobs, regardless of gender. Only 2 percent of the Earth’s population has red hair, so you guys tend to stand out. If you wore glasses, try to get contacts—or at the very least, switch to a totally different style. You might look sharp in some cat-eye frames!
Whatever you do to change your appearance, it needs to be something that’s not too hard to maintain. New facial hair for men, new hairstyle for women—and if you were a habitually snappy dresser, try dialing it way down. Expand your wardrobe; maybe get a little more bohemian.
In a sense this is all about perfecting your performance. If you’ve come this far, you know you’ve got to commit to the bit. When it comes to altering your appearance as part of your new life reboot, keep that commitment front and center in your mind. Even if you haven’t cut your hair since you were nine years old and it’s currently tickling the back of your knees—grab some scissors and chop it into a short and sassy bob.
Or, say you’re a guy who’s always looked in the mirror and thought, “Man, I’m really not a mustache kind of guy.” Step all over that self-conscious voice, buddy, and grow that flavor-savor out to ’70s porn star proportions. That’s the kind of commitment I’m talking about. This game doesn’t stop with the ’stache, though.
Stick to your script. This isn’t a repeat of the whole bit commitment thing, no. A new life requires a new set of background facts. This is your script.
I’m going to go with the simple brass tacks first. Memorize the following: new birthday, street address, job, and whatever education or training you needed to do said job, your age (which can be different from your real age by a few years in either direction depending on the info you co-opted), and your fictional past family details.
Pretty simple stuff there, might take a few days of repetition to get it down. Then go further. Commit your new social security card to memory. I know my own and the one I use now and I’m proud to say that I haven’t mixed them up yet.
Deeper details, more personal, even beyond numbers and dates—they are vital to making your story stick, to not ringing any suspicious bells. First date? First job? Location of your spring break trip senior year of college? The new you is a living, breathing individual with all sorts of memories and preferences that won’t necessarily sync up with your old ones.
You liked that sad, pale beer in the past? Become a fan of the dark lagers, and have a couple that are in your top ten list to pull out when any Stein Snob starts interrogating you across the dinner table. You went to prom with a boy named Sue? Nope, now you went with a fish called Wanda, and the two of you had a grand old time gliding around the dance floor.
Be a spy like them. I’m talking about what actual covert agents have to do when moving under the radar in a hostile nation. Blend in. Know the language—be fluent in your sleep, if possible. And if you’re keeping it domestic, the “language” here will be more of a general familiarity with the local flavor.
If you’ve moved from Southern California, for example, to Down East Maine—that might as well be relocation to Scotland. The accent is radically different, so are the speech patterns. The slang is different. If any New Englander asks if you want “a mess of jimmies on your frappe,” are you going to gasp with disgust or say, “Absolutely, that sounds wicked delicious?”
Answers to questions like that seem petty right now, but once you’ve begun moving along in your new groove, they slowly become very important, because isn’t all of this about finding and embracing our inner chameleons?
Tell the lies you know. This requires a little unraveling: even though I’m encouraging you to become unusually gifted at deception, blending in, and various other spy-like stuff, I also have to admit that it’s unwise to throw out everything you know.
As they say: the best lies contain a grain of truth.
So in manufacturing a new persona and whatever history you might need to go along with it, don’t ignore everything that ever happened to you before: just shift it slightly.
If the embedded lies that come with living like this make you squirm and feel like you’ve lost touch with yourself, this should help.
For instance—if you were born in the South, there’s always a chance a little bit of your homegrown accent is still buried in the words you say. In your new life, don’t even bother trying to deny you’ve ever lived in the South. That will stick out to anyone who hears it when you say “heel” and “hill” and they sound like the same word. But if you’re from Alabama, maybe claim to be a Mississippian (iffin’ you know enough about the history and geography of Mississippi to pass as a card-carrying member of the Hospitality State). Keep your story just a little left of center.
Look, if you were a pretty decent pick-up musician, a homegrown fiend on the acoustic guitar, the keyboard, or the slide whistle, don’t steer clear of that stuff forever. If you were a world-renowned trumpeter, try taking up the oboe—you’ll get all that musical catharsis without the fear of someone noting your skill and seeing your photo in an old copy of Brassy Illustrated.
Anytime it’s possible to embed some truth in the things you say, it’s going to add a layer of authenticity when interacting with others. It’s up to you to pick and choose as you go, figure out what will work for you and not lead to a raised eyebrow or unwanted questions.
It’s worth reminding you at this point, too: even if a ton of this is spy-like stuff, one of the things you want to avoid is giving the impression you may actually be a spy. Because what’s the most natural reaction to that? Extreme interest at your expense.
Here we are again. We’re not at an end, no, not even close to done, at least in spirit. This subject could fill an illicit library or two. There are plenty of resources online, and maybe even some other books out there that come at it from a slightly different angle. But buyer beware, especially of online libraries intended for survivalists and antigovernment types: many of their documents describing methods for dropping out of society’s grasp were totally relevant right up to the year 2000 or so.