To paraphrase Groucho Marx, I would never want to be part of any Jungian collective unconscious that would accept me as an archetype.
If you ask me, being part of the collective unconscious is the psychic equivalent of receiving free membership in vacation cottage time-share scheme that's actually a derelict construction site in the middle of the Arizona desert. It is a shadowy world of mental real estate deals gone wrong.
And what about the archetypes of this Jungian collective unconscious? Well, just take a look for yourself: the warrior, the trickster, the wise woman and the rebel, amongst other fairy-tale self-delusions. These are stereotypes more likely to encountered at the dreariest of Renaissance Fayres than in the day-to-day grind of actual life.
More accurate archetypes would be the colossal bore, the scold, the alcoholic, the eternal teenager and the kind of douche bags who claim to be in a "Kolleltiv". But I suppose such unromantic characters would never appeal to a Jungian sense of medieval Tarot card tomfoolery.
At any rate, preserve me from the collective unconscious. I'd prefer to be a lonely brain, rolling off-course and lost in the rough like a shanked golf ball.