The Four Faces of Narcissus: A New Map of a Very Old Personality Problem

Monday, May 5, 2025.

Narcissists, it turns out, come in four flavors—none of them vanilla.

A sweeping new study published in the Journal of Research in Personality took on the Herculean task of poking the self-important beehive that is narcissism.

The researchers—Skyler T. Maples, Craig S. Neumann, and Scott Barry Kaufman—did what psychologists rarely do.

They asked: What if we stopped pretending everyone with narcissistic traits fits into two neat bins (Grandiose or Vulnerable), and instead actually just looked at people as… well, people?

Rather than just correlating traits like self-esteem and aggression (which is kind of like shaking up a snow globe and measuring the flakes), they ran both variable-centered and person-centered analyses.

In other words, they didn’t just ask, “How are traits related?” They asked, “Who the hell are these people?”

And they found them. Four narcissistic archetypes.

The Non-Narcissist (aka: the rare bird?)

Low on admiration. Low on rivalry. These folks are psychologically unarmed.

No charm offensive, no defensiveness. No secret quest to dominate the PTA bake sale.

In a culture that worships branding, they don’t even own a domain name. They’re not trying to win. They’re just... present. Calm.

Possibly boring. But in therapy? Sometimes the most solid clients you’ll ever meet.

The Subclinical Vulnerable Narcissist (aka: the shadow dweller)

These folks score low on charm (admiration) but high on hostility (rivalry). Think of them as emotionally armed introverts.

Their social armor is passive aggression. They're often anxious, self-protective, and interpret neutral feedback as personal betrayal.

Unlike grandiose narcissists who seek applause, these clients live in dread of public shame—but still want recognition.

Therapy often reveals an aching longing beneath their irritability. They desperately want to be known, but fear that being known will mean being rejected.

The Grandiose Narcissist (aka: the smiling steamroller)

They’re all admiration, low rivalry. They glide into therapy with perfect posture and killer stories. They’re usually not there because they want to be—someone sent them. A partner, a boss, the mirror cracking slightly.

They’re charming, persuasive, occasionally profound, and often genuinely competent.

These are the folks Scott Barry Kaufman describes as “agentic”—driven, self-promoting, and relatively well-adjusted.

In therapy, they’ll thrive with strength-based approaches. But suggest a flaw? Brace for the radiant smile to fade into blankness.

The Grandiose-Vulnerable Narcissist (aka: the powder keg in pearls)

High admiration. High rivalry.

Here lies the heart of contradiction: swagger over a sinkhole.

These clients can dazzle you one moment and detonate the next.

One missed appointment or clumsy comment can rupture the alliance. They're emotionally volatile, yet surprisingly insightful in moments.

Therapy is often a war between the part that needs to be seen and the part that can’t risk it. They may flip between tears and contempt within a single session.

This is the subtype most associated with aggression, unstable self-esteem, and emotional dysregulation.

They also report low openness to experience—meaning feedback, even gently delivered, often lands like a slap. Younger men are overrepresented here, suggesting a developmental arc to this blend of brittle ego and brash persona.

Behind the Curtain: The NARQ

The study used the Narcissism Admiration and Rivalry Questionnaire (NARQ), which splits narcissistic traits into:

  • Admiration: “I deserve applause.” Traits include charisma, confidence, and charm.

  • Rivalry: “I’ll destroy your applause.” Traits include hostility, devaluation of others, and reactive defensiveness.

Researchers found that admiration aligned with higher self-esteem and extroversion, while rivalry correlated with neuroticism, aggression, and low self-worth (Back et al., 2013). And crucially, many souls showed both—a finding that undermines older models that treated grandiosity and vulnerability as mutually exclusive.

Contrasting Views in the Field

Not everyone is ready to rehabilitate grandiose narcissists into likable overachievers.

Other scholars argue that even seemingly “benign” narcissists cause long-term interpersonal damage (Miller, Hyatt, & Campbell, 2017), especially in romantic or leadership roles.

Vulnerable narcissists, meanwhile, show strong associations with depressive symptoms and interpersonal dysfunction (Kealy & Ogrodniczuk, 2014). So while the four types offer a richer diagnostic map, none of the roads are exactly scenic.

Cultural Differences and Demographic Trends

Interestingly, the four subtypes showed up across racial, ethnic, and national contexts, but the proportions varied. In one diverse U.S. sample, grandiose types dominated—possibly a byproduct of our culture’s admiration for self-branding.

Women were more likely to land in the non-narcissistic subtype. Men clustered toward the grandiose-vulnerable corner of the chart, flexing confidence while hiding insecurity like a high schooler hiding weed in a Bible.

Therapist’s Guide: Working With the Four Narcissistic Types

Use of psychoeducation, boundary-setting, and mindfulness tools is particularly effective in revealing the protective function of narcissistic traits. For the grandiose-vulnerable subtype, help them name the oscillation between superiority and shame. These swings are not failure—they're the heartbeat of their inner world.

In therapy, narcissism wears many faces—and each subtype brings its own emotional tempo, blind spots, and potential for growth. While the diagnostic labels are tidy, real people are not. Here’s how each type tends to show up in the room.

Non-Narcissists are perhaps the easiest to overlook.

Because they’re low in both admiration and rivalry, they rarely demand attention or push back. In fact, they may seem under-expressive, drifting through sessions without obvious conflict or grandiosity. But that doesn’t mean they’re emotionally inert—just less reactive.

Therapy with these clients often involves helping them access deeper emotional states, assert themselves more clearly, and own their needs without guilt. With steady encouragement and gentle challenge, they’re highly responsive to insight and change.

Vulnerable Narcissists, by contrast, often arrive with a quietly simmering pain. They might not boast or seek spotlight, but their sensitivity to criticism is razor sharp. They interpret minor slights as deep wounds and can spiral into shame when given even mild feedback.

These clients benefit from a therapy style that is patient and attuned. Building trust is essential. They thrive when their pain is validated, but they also need help stepping out of a chronic self-protective crouch.

Therapists must pace slowly, offer lots of relational repair, and be mindful that too much insight too soon can trigger defensive withdrawal.

Grandiose Narcissists present a different challenge: they’re engaging, socially adept, and full of fast-talking insight. They may charm their therapist as easily as they charm boardrooms and barrooms.

But look closer. Beneath the polish, these clients often struggle to tolerate vulnerability.

They tend to reframe emotional issues as strategic puzzles to be solved. Therapy works best when you meet them where they are—goal-directed, competitive, and performance-oriented—and slowly introduce the idea that emotional depth isn’t weakness.

Motivational interviewing and strengths-based approaches can open the door, but sustaining the work requires a skilled balance of affirmation and gentle confrontation. Beware: if they feel criticized, they may leave therapy without warning.

Grandiose-vulnerable narcissists are, in many ways, the most complex. They arrive with charisma and confidence, but it doesn’t take long for emotional volatility to surface. These clients can be warm and self-aware in one session, then cutting and reactive in the next.

They struggle not just with others’ feedback, but with the shifting tides of their own internal self-evaluation.

For therapists, the work is delicate. It requires staying emotionally grounded, recognizing the function of both the grandiosity and the fragility, and reflecting those patterns back without provoking collapse or rage.

Trauma-informed care is essential here—these folks often carry histories of inconsistent attachment or emotional neglect, and their narcissism serves as both armor and adhesive. Growth is possible, but the path is unstable and often nonlinear.

In sum, the four narcissistic profiles are less about neat categories and more about relational patterns—ways people learn to manage the ache of self-worth in a world that rewards spectacle but punishes softness. As clinicians, our job isn’t to flatten these identities into pathology but to understand what purpose they serve—and what pain they may be concealing.

The Bigger Question: Why Narcissism Now?

In a world increasingly shaped by social media, hustle culture, and digital comparison, can it be that narcissism may be less about pathology more about a cultural survival strategy?

But the danger lies in rigidity. When admiration hardens into entitlement, or when vulnerability calcifies into cruelty, we lose what therapy aims to restore: the ability to sit with ourselves, honestly and with care.

How to Work With Narcissists (Without Losing Your Mind)

For therapists, working with narcissism can feel like walking into a hall of mirrors.

Some clients shine brightly until you get too close—then turn cold. Others arrive already bristling, convinced you’ll misunderstand them.

And some? They sit quietly, saying very little, but you sense a storm just beneath the surface.

What this new study offers isn’t just clinical insight—it’s emotional choreography. Here's how each of the four narcissistic subtypes tends to move in the therapeutic space.

Non-Narcissistic Clients—those rare souls low in both admiration and rivalry—often show up with quiet courage. They aren’t here to impress you, and they’re not waiting for you to fawn over their pain.

They’re curious. Sometimes confused. Occasionally flat. These clients may not flood the room with stories or charm, but they’re listening.

And when invited into deeper emotional work, they tend to respond with openness and surprising insight. The risk with these clients is underestimating them—mistaking low emotional volume for low emotional intelligence.

In truth, their lack of narcissistic armor often allows for steady, meaningful progress. You don’t have to cut through defensiveness or theatricality—you just have to sit with them. Which, in our rush-to-fix culture, might be the bravest act of all.

Then there’s the Vulnerable Narcissist—the quietly armored. These clients often come into therapy not because they want to, but because they’ve hit some kind of wall. They may appear anxious, irritable, or emotionally raw.

Their wounds aren’t always obvious, but their defense mechanisms are. They are quick to interpret neutral comments as slights, slow to trust, and often locked in cycles of self-protection and self-loathing.

They want recognition, but they fear exposure. This type often grew up learning that being special was dangerous—so they strive to be invisible and significant at the same time. Therapy with them is slow, sometimes halting, but potentially transformative.

It requires the clinician to walk softly and carry a big reservoir of compassion. Validate their pain. Normalize their defenses. But don’t rush insight—it has to come on their terms. The good news? When trust is built, they bloom.

In sharp contrast are the Grandiose Narcissists—the stars of their own show. They tend to enter therapy as if entering a boardroom: with poise, confidence, and a résumé of past successes. They’re not necessarily in pain.

They’re often in trouble. A partner gave them an ultimatum. A boss noticed the team hates them. A mirror, once friendly, began to crack. In therapy, they may talk more than they listen. They’ll say they want feedback, but what they want is praise that sounds like feedback.

Still, they’re not hopeless—not even close. These clients respond well to goal-focused work. They love clear structure, actionable tasks, and a sense of forward motion. The deeper emotional work is harder, but possible—especially when framed as a form of mastery.

Help them see emotional fluency as a leadership skill. Reframe vulnerability as strategy.

But be prepared: the moment they feel criticized or misunderstood, they may vanish. Grandiosity is a mask, but it’s also a parachute—and they’ll pull the cord the second they sense the ground.

Then there’s the final, most complex group: the Grandiose-Vulnerable Narcissists—the clients who are both the lead actor and the wounded understudy. They are, frankly, exhausting.

But also, if you can reach them, astonishing.

They often arrive radiating charm, intellect, and high-voltage charisma. And then—often in the second or third session—something fractures. A small challenge triggers disproportionate rage.

A moment of silence becomes unbearable. They accuse you of being cold, or stupid, or just like everyone else. They spiral into contempt, then collapse into shame.

This is the heartbreak of the grandiose-vulnerable type: they long to be known, but fear that being truly seen will annihilate them.

Their admiration isn’t stable—it spikes and crashes. Their rivalry is ever-present, even toward themselves. You’ll notice the splits: one week you’re a genius, the next you’re a fraud. And if you aren’t prepared, the whiplash will burn you out.

But here’s the thing: these clients often carry deep trauma, usually the developmental kind—attachment wounds, emotional neglect, betrayal in formative relationships. Their narcissism is less personality disorder than survival strategy.

Therapy with them demands exquisite attunement. You can’t be too soft (they’ll see you as weak), but you can’t be too firm (they’ll see you as cruel). You must hold the line, but hold it gently. And when they lash out—because they will—you must reflect, not react.

If you can help them name the inner contradiction (“You want closeness, but you fear what it will cost you”), something beautiful can emerge.

Slowly. Fitfully. But truly. These clients don’t just need your skill. They need your steadiness.

Final thoughts

Therapists often ask: “Can narcissists really change?” This research doesn’t offer a single answer—but it does suggest a better question: Which kind are we talking about?

Because narcissism isn’t one thing.

It’s a spectrum, a dance, a survival play performed on the stage of self-worth. Some narcissists are emotionally frozen. Some are hot with rage. Some are just trying to look okay long enough to get through the week.

If we stop lumping them all together, we might start seeing them more clearly—not as villains, but as people stuck in old, brilliant, painful strategies. And maybe then, we can help a few of them write new ones.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.

REFERENCES:

Back, M. D., Küfner, A. C. P., Dufner, M., Gerlach, T. M., Rauthmann, J. F., & Denissen, J. J. A. (2013). Narcissistic admiration and rivalry: Disentangling the bright and dark sides of narcissism. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 105(6), 1013–1037. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0034431

Kealy, D., & Ogrodniczuk, J. S. (2014). Pathological narcissism and depressive symptoms in psychiatric outpatients: An examination of the mediating role of shame. International Journal of Mental Health and Addiction, 12(6), 734–744. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11469-014-9499-6

Maples, S. T., Neumann, C. S., & Kaufman, S. B. (2024). Profiling narcissism: Evidence for grandiose-vulnerable and other subtypes. Journal of Research in Personality, 107, 104112. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jrp.2024.104112

Miller, J. D., Hyatt, C. S., & Campbell, W. K. (2017). Narcissism and the use of personal pronouns revisited. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 114(6), 935–940. https://doi.org/10.1037/pspp0000104

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