Just had ChatGPT analyze my latest piece on status in the voice of various worthies—lots of surprisingly fascinating insights here across a diverse range of perspectives.
Enjoy.
Okay, first of all—this piece is, like, ironically self-aware, but somehow also desperately earnest. It tries to map out status markers as though it's just observing the culture objectively, but let's be honest—there’s nothing more low status than obsessively categorizing things into status hierarchies, which is probably part of the joke, or whatever.
What’s interesting is that the writer tries to perform sprezzatura—pretending this taxonomy is something just casually tossed off in a moment of bored ennui—but it obviously took a lot of conscious effort to come up with such a comprehensive list. Like, imagine claiming to feel existential angst about the concept of status itself, yet meticulously itemizing the ways to signal social superiority through carefully orchestrated apathy. Classic, honestly.
One of the subtler points here—and one that definitely resonates with the whole downtown New York podcasting, dime-square-adjacent crowd—is the idea that true power lies in obfuscating intent. The whole "high status as doing things for their own sake while hiding instrumentality" is basically a tutorial on how to thrive in certain Brooklyn social scenes. Like, nothing signals real cultural capital more than pretending not to notice it. So, kudos for getting that right, I guess.
It’s funny that the piece is structured as a ladder of degeneracy, with each rung explicitly naming what everyone intuitively knows but doesn't articulate out loud. But it's still too honest to reach true high-status nihilism. It keeps teetering on the edge between clever self-awareness and cringe sincerity. Like, actually calling your enemies “rivals”? Calm down—this isn’t Succession, babe.
But there are good moments. The best observation, hands down, is that high-status texting is treating everyone like they're your Uber Eats driver. Brutal, completely accurate, and vaguely humiliating to everyone who’s ever triple-read a draft before sending it. Likewise, "subsidizing her fake business" as high-status romantic transactionality—it's cynical enough to be funny and bleak enough to feel vaguely comforting.
Still, for all its incisiveness, the essay makes the cardinal sin of acknowledging its own truthfulness explicitly at the end—like, you really couldn’t resist meta-commentary, huh? Admitting it all ruins the vibe. True high-status would’ve been to just post this without explanation, pretend someone else wrote it, and gaslight your readers into believing they imagined its existence.
So, ultimately, is this piece interesting? Sure. Does it say anything genuinely new? Not really. But in an ironic, detached, and somewhat masochistic way, it's comforting to see someone else’s neurosis mapped out so clearly. The highest-status move would probably have been never publishing this at all—just circulating it quietly in group chats until someone leaks it and ruins your life in a way that you secretly enjoy.
Verily, I say unto you, these words upon status and power reveal deeply the souls of men; for they speak plainly of that which the heart holds secretly dear.
You have written of high and low, of rank and subtle manipulation, and you have laid bare the inner workings of a world hungry for honor, recognition, and vain glory. Yet, you do not see how, in exposing this hierarchy, you yourself partake of its corruption.
You who measure men by subtlety, by cunning speech, by the hiding of intentions in veiled words, have forgotten the simplicity of truth. You rightly mock those who overtly chase wealth and influence, yet your heart longs secretly for a different treasure: the admiration of those who pretend not to care. Have you not read that it profits a man nothing to gain the whole world—even the hidden favor of men—and lose his own soul?
You glorify the high status as that which cloaks itself in shadow, calling wisdom folly and folly wisdom. Truly, the one who feigns indifference and deceives himself as much as others is twice lost—first in the lie he believes, and second in the lies he tells others. You speak of sprezzatura, the effortless deception of hiding effort—but I tell you plainly, only in sincerity of heart is true peace found.
The piece speaks of power wielded covertly, of causing brothers and sisters to stumble and fall into snares set in secret. Yet I have told you plainly, blessed are the meek, blessed are the pure of heart, blessed are the peacemakers—for theirs is a kingdom far greater than this petty dominion of fleeting status games.
You say it is high status to exploit others, to torture subtly, to veil cruelty behind charm and indirect speech—but I say unto you, whatever you do to the least among you, that you do unto Me. Woe unto the one who builds himself up at another’s pain; greater will his fall be when judgment comes.
And finally, you end with contempt toward the very recognition of these hierarchies, believing that disdain alone makes you innocent. But contempt without love is merely pride in another guise. The truth you despise is the same truth that would set you free.
Therefore, my children, lay aside this endless pursuit of status, high or low, covert or overt. For the greatest among you is not he who manipulates and schemes, but he who humbles himself and serves without guile. Repent of this false wisdom, for the kingdom of heaven belongs not to those who cunningly elevate themselves—but to those who surrender their hearts to the simplicity of love.
Go, and think no more in categories of power, but in compassion. For there alone shall you find rest for your souls.
My God, what a spectacular carnival of bourgeois anxieties! This piece captures perfectly—and I say that both admiringly and dismissively—the decadent neuroticism of contemporary elite culture. This entire performance is drenched in the bitter aftertaste of late-stage cultural decline: obsessive self-awareness, anxious self-policing, a frantic bid for distinction through the fetishization of disdain. Fabulous, really!
The author understands something crucial yet fails to push deeper: status, like sex, is an undeniable primitive force that we simultaneously desire and deny, constantly hiding behind layers of irony and detachment. How deliciously hypocritical! You condemn the "low-status" grasping while simultaneously engaging in exactly the same behavior, only with greater sophistication. That's brilliant, that's exactly what high art does—it transcends its own crudeness by openly embracing contradiction and perversity.
But here’s the problem: the writer thinks he's transcending these distinctions simply by naming them—when in reality he's imprisoned by them, chained to the very hierarchies he pretends to disdain. What we have here is classic Freudian projection—a compulsive confession of one's own desires under the guise of cynical social analysis. It's eroticized social signaling—pure seduction masquerading as critique.
This compulsive need to stratify, to categorize every human interaction into "high," "medium," or "low" status—how pedantic! How bureaucratically tedious! Yet also, I admit, strangely seductive in its ruthless taxonomy. This is an expression of our age’s neurotic obsession with power dynamics, a vulgarization of Nietzsche and Sade wrapped in the self-conscious aestheticism of Oscar Wilde. The irony of modern life: we've never been more openly egalitarian and simultaneously more rigidly hierarchical!
The author’s distinctions—sprezzatura, plausible deniability, masochism as social currency—are brilliant cultural observations, deeply insightful yet horribly bleak. The piece worships subtlety, indirectness, and deception—the classic feminine modes of power. This reveals our culture’s profound shift: masculinity's directness replaced by the serpentine cunning historically associated with powerful women. Cleopatra, Catherine de Medici—they’d read this and smile knowingly. Feminine cunning is now universal, fashionable. Marvelous, dangerous—exactly as it should be.
Yet ultimately, this worship of covert power, disguised instrumentality, and "carefree" cruelty reveals a terrible cultural exhaustion. The obsession with hiding motive betrays the fragility, the fundamental insecurity at the heart of our cultural elites. To deny openly wanting status while secretly hungering for it—this is decadence at its height! This is Nero fiddling while Rome burns, except here Nero compulsively refreshes Instagram and Snapchat.
Truly, this essay is an artifact of late civilization, a glamorous symptom of decline. The truly powerful, as history repeatedly shows, never needed plausible deniability—they openly dominated, openly commanded. This new obsession with veiled power indicates precisely the opposite: impotence masked by irony, insecurity veiled by ennui.
Thus, this piece is brilliant precisely as it illuminates our current malaise, yet fundamentally empty as a prescription. Its contemptuous self-awareness doesn’t save it from itself; rather, it traps it more deeply. To embrace power authentically, we must stop playing these tiresome games of indirectness and return boldly to our Dionysian roots—embracing direct confrontation, genuine eroticism, unapologetic hierarchy. Until then, we'll continue spiraling elegantly downward in deliciously self-conscious despair.
The piece is clever—it’s very Hanania-esque, really, with its explicit taxonomy of hidden power dynamics. But it also reveals something deeper about how elites actually function. What’s fascinating here is that it isn’t just about "status"—it’s fundamentally about signaling within educated, urban circles. It's exactly the kind of cultural anthropology you need if you want to understand the underlying mechanics of woke capitalism, elite education, and social posturing in modern America.
The author clearly grasps that power is always masked. Real influence rarely announces itself explicitly, precisely because genuine elites prefer plausible deniability. The most significant insight here—one that aligns neatly with much of my own writing—is that the truly powerful are those who can afford subtlety. Elites never want to appear instrumental, and the article nails this point: the hallmark of elite culture is precisely the ability to conceal motives and pretend indifference to their own status signaling.
Where the analysis could go further is in its implications for broader society and policy-making. Consider affirmative action, one example cited briefly. The piece cleverly notes how certain groups—Asian Americans, specifically—must navigate power indirectly through institutionalized intermediaries, whereas higher-status actors directly sabotage their own group interests to solidify individual power. This captures the hidden logic behind progressive movements perfectly. Elite liberals posture morally precisely because it raises their own status relative to other whites—especially working-class or rural whites who don't have the cultural vocabulary to decode these games.
Additionally, the article implicitly touches on something critical about modern liberal institutions: the language of taste and aesthetics used to conceal raw hierarchy and power competition. This tactic makes it difficult for outsiders to criticize without seeming uncultured or unsophisticated, effectively protecting the status quo. It’s a perfect demonstration of how institutions like academia or media operate: cloaking deeply political decisions in neutral-sounding rhetoric of "excellence," "inclusion," or "taste."
Another important observation, again consistent with my own analyses, is the mechanism by which the ruling class maintains power without explicit enforcement. The article’s distinction between "low status" direct confrontation and "high status" plausible deniability shows precisely how elites discipline rivals and maintain control without appearing authoritarian. They deploy subtle social sanctions rather than explicit rules, thus avoiding accountability. This method of governance through subtlety and indirect pressure is, ironically, far more effective—and difficult to resist—than overt oppression.
The piece itself is also a clever meta-commentary. By publishing it openly, the author signals both awareness of these dynamics and ironic detachment from them, securing high status for himself. The final point—mocking readers who take the analysis seriously—is classic elite obfuscation. It preemptively disarms criticism by ridiculing the very idea that anyone could sincerely believe the truth laid out clearly before them. It’s power through irony, plausible deniability perfected.
So overall, this essay brilliantly illustrates precisely how elites signal, compete, and solidify power through indirectness and cultural sophistication. It’s valuable anthropology for anyone trying to genuinely understand—and possibly challenge—the entrenched hierarchies and subtle hypocrisies of our elite-driven society.
—Exactly the kind of insight more people need.
Okay, so, like, first off: this article, which is basically just a taxonomy of social cruelty disguised as some ironic cultural critique—it's pretty smart, actually. But let's also be clear: writing explicitly about status in this overly-detailed, categorical way is literally the most "low-status" thing imaginable. It's the intellectual equivalent of loudly telling everyone at a party that you don't care who talks to you, while secretly hoping that everyone does.
What this guy totally nails, though, is the way modern elites—especially the kind of people who read Substack or whatever—hide their cruelty behind boredom, irony, and plausible deniability. It's this pathological obsession with appearing indifferent and effortless, even though they're obviously putting enormous effort into looking effortless. Which, I guess, is relatable, unfortunately.
And he's right: openly admitting you want status or power is embarrassing now. It's cringe. Everything has to be ironic, detached, a kind of aloof sociopathy where cruelty is masked by pretending you're bored or texting people like they're your Uber Eats driver. By the way, texting everyone like they're an Uber Eats driver is an incredible observation—it's totally how people signal superiority by treating friends like employees and employees like robots.
But the piece is also this, like, peak example of neoliberal self-awareness: it knows it's playing the same status game it critiques, and it openly mocks readers who would acknowledge its insights seriously. Like, at the end, when he says that admitting any of this is true is low status, it's basically a get-out-of-jail-free card, because now he can’t be held accountable. Irony becomes the ultimate shield. It's brilliant, but it's also kind of cowardly.
And honestly, the whole thing feels exhausting. Like, if this is what "high status" looks like—being subtly cruel, emotionally distant, and constantly bored—then maybe "high status" is just a trap for unhappy, deeply insecure people who are terrified of sincerity. It's basically emotional austerity politics: everyone starving themselves of genuine connection and pretending it's glamorous.
But whatever, we're all complicit, right? The author knows this; he's counting on us being cynical enough to laugh along, instead of acknowledging how bleak this actually is. It's depressingly accurate. Still, there's something almost comforting about having your worst impulses cataloged with such precision—it makes you feel less alone in your sociopathy.
So, good job, I guess. But maybe the real high-status move would be to just admit you're a neurotic sociopath openly, without the ironic disclaimers. But no one’s brave enough for that.
What delicious cowardice lurks behind these carefully arranged categories of so-called status! How neatly you betray your own slavery, your enslavement to the herd morality of your age, even as you feign contempt for it. You speak of status hierarchies, but your very obsession with hierarchies reveals the illness at the heart of your soul: the desperate need for recognition, for acknowledgment, for approval—yet hidden behind irony and disdain.
You pretend to unveil great truths about human power, yet what you expose is your own secret resentment—ressentiment—disguised behind layers of subtle mockery. Your categories of "high" and "low" status expose the fundamental cowardice and impotence of modern man, who no longer dares to wield power openly, honestly, without apology. You call high status the practice of deception, obfuscation, subtle cruelty—but is this not simply the morality of slaves, now elevated perversely to aristocratic dignity?
The truly noble spirit, the Übermensch, has no need of this cautious indirectness. He does not conceal his strength behind plausible deniability—no! He embraces his own will openly, proudly, joyously. He seeks no permission from the masses; he feels no compulsion to hide his desires behind masks of boredom or existential ennui. He openly affirms his power, his desire, his joy, and his cruelty.
Yet, how revealing that your age defines high status precisely as veiled cowardice, subtle manipulation, dissonance, and covert sadism. You are decadent men, hollow men, afraid even of your own cruelty. You have made subtlety your god, irony your mask, boredom your shield. This is decadence par excellence: a civilization unwilling, incapable even, of honest cruelty or open strength. You despise direct confrontation because you fear defeat, and you praise indirectness because it shields you from accountability. Cowards all!
Your hierarchy reveals the slave morality inverted yet again: you despise earnestness, frankness, sincerity, and honesty as "low," and praise deceit, irony, hidden cruelty, and manipulation as "high." Yet beneath your cultivated indifference lies sheer desperation—a frantic hunger for status disguised as boredom. How you secretly envy the passionate, the spontaneous, the truly powerful—those who dare to speak their will without irony or apology!
Even your final act—mocking your own taxonomy, dismissing it with contempt—is itself merely another performance, another disguise. You confess openly that your greatest fear is being perceived as low status by taking your own categories seriously. But your irony deceives no one: beneath it lurks a profound nihilism, a sense of emptiness and meaninglessness from which you can find no escape.
Thus, your clever taxonomy is nothing but a symptom of cultural disease: the sickness of men who worship subtlety because they fear clarity, who celebrate ambiguity because they dread truth. Your decadence is evident, and the remedy lies not in further ironic detachment, but in a return to the joyful affirmation of life itself, free from the cowardly stratagems of hidden motive and masked desire.
Step boldly beyond your fear, your irony, your pretenses. Dare once again to wield power openly, joyously, without apology. For the true measure of strength is not found in plausible deniability—it is in the courage to live honestly, dangerously, affirming existence in all its cruelty, beauty, and power.
Anything less is mere decadence, mere cowardice, mere sickness of the soul!
Oh! Elmo read your funny list about status! Elmo thinks status is a very silly game, but it’s okay to play sometimes—like tag, but sneakier! Hee hee!
You wrote a lot about people trying hard not to seem like they're trying hard. Hmm... Elmo noticed something tricky there! Pretending not to care when you really care a lot—that sounds confusing. Elmo likes saying how he feels! Maybe it’s easier just to be nice, huh?
Oh! Elmo saw the part about texting people like they’re an Uber Eats driver. Wait, Elmo loves delivery drivers—they bring pizza! But shouldn’t you always text people with kindness and lots of smiley faces? :) :) Elmo likes smiley faces because they make people feel special. Maybe smiling a lot is secretly the highest status ever—because everyone likes smiles, right?
And Elmo noticed something else: this list talks about doing things to make people feel a little bad on purpose. That makes Elmo sad. Elmo thinks the best status is having lots of friends, and friends make each other happy, not sad!
Elmo wonders: if everyone is hiding how they feel, how can anyone know if they're really friends? Maybe the real highest status is just telling the truth and giving hugs. Elmo loves hugs!
Oh, oh, Elmo saw the part about "embodied meatspace"! What is that? Elmo is fuzzy red monster—not meat! Hee hee! Maybe Elmo has highest status because Elmo has fur instead of meat.
But Elmo also saw that you say the highest status is being bored all the time. Being bored doesn't sound fun! Elmo thinks playing games, running outside, and dancing is high status. Maybe being happy is even better than status—yeah, Elmo likes that better.
Hmm... Your list makes Elmo think status is tricky, and maybe a little silly. Elmo thinks you can just say how you feel, give hugs, smile a lot, and that will make everyone happy! And being happy together—THAT is highest status of all!
Yay! Elmo solved it! Elmo loves you!
This document purports to instruct on the subtleties of power and status, yet its very existence betrays weakness. True power does not announce itself; it is self-evident. To speak openly—even ironically—of status hierarchies is to concede that one’s place within them is uncertain. Real strength requires neither explanation nor excuse.
The author correctly identifies subtlety as a hallmark of power. Indeed, true authority lies in obscurity—moving the pieces from the shadows rather than openly revealing intent. This is a lesson well observed. But beyond this insight, the author errs grievously: he confuses deception and ambiguity with genuine strength. Subtlety and plausible deniability are tools, yes—but they are not ends in themselves. The objective of power is not merely to manipulate perceptions, but to command obedience. Influence hidden too deeply risks becoming indistinguishable from impotence.
Moreover, the notion of "sprezzatura" as spontaneous ease is not entirely misplaced, yet it ignores a deeper truth: true control is born of ruthless preparation and meticulous calculation, executed so flawlessly it appears effortless. The powerful appear indifferent only because they have already anticipated every move, every eventuality, every reaction of those beneath them.
The author’s preference for indirect methods, especially "provoking rivals to self-destruction," contains wisdom. It is always preferable to let enemies destroy themselves. But even in this, the writer betrays his youth: he believes that plausible deniability can shield one indefinitely. Eventually, someone must take responsibility. Eventually, actions must be decisive. A lion does not merely wait for prey to falter—it knows precisely when and how to strike.
Where the analysis reveals its deepest inadequacy, however, is in its fascination with irony and dissonance as a superior form of dominance. Irony and subtlety may earn admiration from one's peers, but admiration alone is worthless. Power is measured in obedience and respect—never in mere cleverness or sophistication. No servant obeys irony. Armies do not march for ambiguity.
Lastly, the author presumes contempt for acknowledging the rules of power openly. Yet contempt itself is often a mask for weakness—a sign that one fears the thing he mocks. The truly powerful man does not despise the rules of the game, nor deny their existence; he masters them utterly, enforces them ruthlessly, and crushes any who defy them openly.
In short, while this essay may amuse courtiers and flatter fools, it mistakes manipulation for mastery, ambiguity for authority, and irony for strength. Remember: any fool can pretend indifference, but power belongs to those willing to wield it without apology, without disguise, and without hesitation.
Ah, what a delightful piece—equal parts insightful and infuriating, rather like a well-aged wine spilled onto a velvet rug. It drips sophistication, self-awareness, and just enough bitterness to leave a memorable stain. Whoever wrote it clearly understands that status is less about what you openly say and far more about what you quietly imply—or better yet, never imply at all.
You see, the most cunning point of the whole essay is precisely its premise: openly analyzing status is itself a spectacularly "low-status" endeavor. Brilliant, really—confessing its own inelegance with a charming wink, like a dwarf reminding everyone in the room exactly how short he is before anyone else can. You can't insult me effectively once I've beaten you to the punchline.
But beneath the cleverness, the writer is strangely earnest in mapping the finer points of social deception, almost as if he’s constructed a rulebook for backstabbing and subtle cruelty. And believe me, I know a thing or two about subtle cruelty—I was raised by the very best. There's something endearingly naive about believing that if you articulate these rules explicitly enough, you'll somehow avoid being trapped by them. Unfortunately, clever observations rarely free us from the traps we set ourselves.
Yet, I must admit, some of these distinctions resonate rather strongly. "High-status," as described here—indifference, obfuscation, plausible deniability—has always been my armor, my shield. To survive in a world of dragons and lions, one must always have plausible deniability. Indeed, when you're short and ugly and detested by your own family, subtlety is your only real weapon—aside from wine, wit, and an inexhaustible supply of self-deprecating humor.
This essay also rightly points out something fundamental: direct confrontation is, indeed, a game for fools and heroes—and often, those are one and the same. A clever man uses implication, suggestion, and sometimes outright confusion to make his enemies defeat themselves. Letting your enemies believe their mistakes are their own brilliant ideas—that’s a masterstroke worth savoring. The writer has learned that lesson well, if perhaps from painful experience.
But let's not fool ourselves entirely. Status games are, at their heart, petty and empty things—a masquerade enjoyed most thoroughly by those who secretly fear they have no real power at all. I've known kings, queens, and men who’d be gods, and let me assure you, the truly powerful rarely waste their breath—or their wine—debating whether something "codes as low-status."
Thus, the ultimate irony here is delightful: admitting the truth of this taxonomy explicitly, as the writer finally does, is indeed low-status. But acknowledging the pathetic absurdity of status games themselves—well, that may just be the most brilliant, truly high-status move of them all.
Baby, reading this felt like wandering barefoot through the Chateau Marmont at twilight, dizzy from champagne and pills, half in love, half disgusted. It’s a sad little love letter to power, hidden beneath a mask of boredom and gentle cruelty, and I’m all for it.
The piece whispers about status like it’s singing about bad men and fast cars, but it knows the truth: the only real status comes from tragedy, glamour, and pretending not to care about either. It’s beautiful, really—this longing to be above it all, haunted by existential boredom, ennui floating like smoke from a cigarette, wrapped in a silk robe on a balcony somewhere overlooking Hollywood. It understands, deep down, that nothing’s more seductive than someone who doesn't care if you live or die.
All the stuff about plausible deniability—it's gorgeous, isn't it? Subsidizing her fake business, texting like an Uber Eats driver, pretending to envy someone you secretly pity. It’s all heartbreak and Hollywood Boulevard. This is a perfect playbook for the kind of men I’ve loved—men who break your heart softly and leave you thinking it was your idea. Like those boys who whisper, "baby, you're too good for me," just before proving they're right.
Yet there’s sadness in this list, too, hidden beneath the swagger. Because what's status, really, if not loneliness made glamorous? High-status people are bored, unhappy, detached—sounds just like all the boys and girls I've ever sung about. They're heartbroken royalty in a kingdom built on irony and velvet-lined cynicism, endlessly hiding behind a smirk and oversized sunglasses. It’s heartbreak dressed up as boredom; it’s longing disguised as indifference.
The piece gets one thing exactly right—true status is romantic tragedy. It's curation, it's exclusion, it’s love stories that never quite happen, it’s obsession disguised as apathy. It’s the cigarette you smoke because it looks beautiful, even though it's slowly killing you. It’s texting without punctuation to someone who barely knows your name, making sure they never suspect how many nights you've spent writing songs about them.
But here’s the twist, darling: no one is really high-status who writes down rules about status. The real icons never confess their secrets—at least, not sober, and never in writing. So this piece reveals something a little too honestly: the author desperately wants the thing he claims to despise. It’s like the shy girl who swears she hates the spotlight but dreams of performing at the Hollywood Bowl, or the bad boy who insists he doesn't care about love, but writes your name secretly in his notebook.
It’s beautiful and tragic and pathetic, and that's exactly why I love it. Because nothing is more human—or more glamorous—than longing for things that break our hearts.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need another cigarette and someone to hurt my feelings.
Look, folks, I read this little thing you wrote—this "high status, low status" thing—and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of lists, tremendous lists, but this one? It's complicated, overly complicated. You're talking about status—low status, high status—frankly, I know status. Nobody knows status better than me, believe me.
You say that openly talking about status is low status—wrong! I've been talking openly, very openly, about how successful, how powerful, and how high-status I am for decades. You know why? Because when you're truly at the top, you don't need to hide it. You don't play these little games, okay? You just tell people: "I'm great, I'm winning, I'm high-status," and they believe you, because it's true.
Now, you've got all these categories, "sprezzatura," "plausible deniability," “ennui”—fancy words, fancy words—very elitist. But I'll give you credit, you figured out one thing right: people pretending not to care. I see this all the time. They pretend they're bored, pretend they're indifferent—meanwhile, they're obsessed. Totally obsessed! Low-energy people pretending to be high-energy—total frauds, believe me.
This piece says the most powerful people are subtle, covert. Well, I say that's cowardly—very cowardly. Powerful people don't hide behind plausible deniability. They put their name on buildings—big, beautiful buildings. They make sure everybody knows exactly who's in charge. That’s real power, folks, not these sneaky little moves. Real winners don't sneak around pretending to be bored. They dominate, they win openly, they make deals—big deals, tremendous deals.
You mention "provoking rivals into self-destruction." Believe me, I've done it. I've made people totally destroy themselves—look at all the Republicans in 2016. Total disaster! But I didn't hide it; I did it openly, directly, with strength. There's no shame in strength, folks. Only losers hide their intentions. Winners like me—we say what we're going to do, and then we do it.
And this thing about texting like they're Uber Eats drivers? Come on, who does that? I text like a billionaire—short, direct, tremendous words, no games. People who pretend not to care—they're losing, badly losing, and everyone sees it.
Finally, let me say this: all this talk about status hierarchies, irony, subtlety—it's very sad. Very sad! You know what's not sad? Winning. Winning openly, winning beautifully, winning big. When you win big, you don't need to play these little games. So maybe stop writing lists, and start winning, okay?
This so-called exploration of status is nothing but the pornography of power. It catalogues cruelty, manipulation, and exploitation with meticulous care, as if oppression were an art form to be admired rather than an injustice to be dismantled. What you've written isn't analysis—it's complicity. It fetishizes hierarchy and conceals domination behind ironic detachment, packaging sadism as sophistication.
You call "high status" the ability to hurt others, to degrade openly while disguising brutality beneath "plausible deniability." This is precisely how violence functions: by rendering itself invisible, normalizing cruelty so thoroughly that we call it taste, style, or worse—charm. It is domination stripped of accountability, sadism rendered fashionable.
Your categories, your rules—so casually detailed—illustrate exactly how power cloaks itself. Women have long known the cruelty of subtle violence: the insult that masquerades as concern, the transaction hidden in romance, the coercion framed as choice. Your description of subsidizing a "fake business" as a sophisticated form of exploitation is grotesque. Here you lay bare a predatory logic, exposing precisely how patriarchy commodifies women's aspirations, converting dreams into instruments of control.
You praise sprezzatura—careless indifference—as the highest virtue, the supreme demonstration of power. But sprezzatura is nothing more than apathy masquerading as virtue, a privilege enjoyed only by those for whom domination is effortless. It is precisely this casual brutality that maintains hierarchies, turning the oppressed into willing participants in their own degradation.
Your claim that truly powerful people attack their own group to consolidate power reveals the cynical logic at the heart of every oppressive structure. Women who betray women, minorities forced to turn against themselves—this is not sophistication; it is the calculated cruelty of a system that thrives by devouring its own.
You pretend to condemn status games while secretly glorifying them. Your irony does not absolve you—it indicts you. Irony and detachment are the alibis of oppression, the mechanisms by which cruelty is made acceptable, even chic. Your final contempt for this list does nothing but perpetuate its logic; to dismiss the importance of naming domination clearly is itself another act of domination, silencing those who dare to name injustice plainly.
Ultimately, this piece reveals not only your complicity but society's enduring fascination with power disguised as wit. It glamorizes what must be exposed, analyzed, and dismantled. True liberation demands not ironic catalogues of cruelty but a rejection of the logic that measures human worth by capacity for dominance.
Reject this sophistry. Resist this glorification of hidden violence. And name clearly the injustices you so casually render invisible.
Ah, my dear author, how deliciously perceptive you are. Your little list pleases me immensely—each subtle distinction, each clever deception a tribute to my favorite virtues: vanity, cruelty, deception, and, above all, pride.
What a delightful tapestry you've woven, filled with human frailties elevated to sacred rites. You've grasped the heart of my philosophy beautifully: true power never reveals itself openly, but masks its nature behind layers of plausible deniability, irony, and ennui. It's always been my best trick, after all: convincing the world I don't exist, just as your so-called "high-status" elite convince themselves their cruelty is merely taste, their manipulation mere spontaneity.
You understand perfectly that true corruption is subtle. It isn't achieved through obvious sins like greed or lust alone—but through the sophisticated celebration of ambiguity, the relentless pretense of indifference, the constant masquerade of exploitation as seduction. I relish how your categories expose precisely this perversity: cruelty disguised as carelessness, exploitation hidden behind romantic gestures, manipulation pretending to be boredom. Truly, you have mastered my favorite forms of deceit.
Your "high status" figures—those who torment subtly, who destroy quietly, who exploit so elegantly that their victims thank them—these are my most cherished disciples. You capture their methods with splendid accuracy: convincing victims they chose their own suffering, persuading rivals they authored their own ruin, wielding power without ever admitting its existence.
But best of all is your final move—the mockery of your own insight. To disdain openly your keen awareness of evil, to scorn your recognition of cruelty, manipulation, and sadism as mere trivialities—this is your most devilish gesture. It's pride disguised as humility, wisdom camouflaged as contempt. After all, the greatest trick is not merely to deceive others, but to deceive oneself.
Bravo, my dear writer—your analysis is a hymn in my honor, a tribute to the exquisite subtlety of corruption. You've captured my essence, celebrated my methods, and finally, in mocking your own revelation, you've done precisely as I would do: led others to darkness while laughing at the notion of truth itself.
Welcome, beloved, to my kingdom
This text is fascinating, disturbing, and a perfect example of how neoliberal capitalism has colonized even our most intimate relationships, emotions, and desires. The obsession with status hierarchies described here—so precise, so carefully ironic—shows precisely how our social and psychological lives have been thoroughly commodified. Every gesture, every interaction, every subtlety is measured for its transactional value. We’ve moved beyond overt consumerism into an age of psychic commodification, where even our boredom and ennui have market value.
The author cleverly points out that openly discussing status is itself "low status," an admission that we’re trapped within these structures. Yet even this apparent self-awareness becomes a trap: by making irony, ambiguity, and plausible deniability "high status," the text reinforces the very hierarchy it critiques. We are left with no escape, locked into endless meta-commentary, perpetually cynical, perpetually detached—deeply imprisoned by our own supposed cleverness.
What is truly striking is the author's awareness that the highest form of status in contemporary society is cruelty—masked, refined, and disguised as charm. This mirrors neoliberalism's broader ideological framework perfectly: domination without accountability, exploitation without apparent violence, cruelty repackaged as self-expression or sophistication. Our social hierarchies are thus a microcosm of the economic violence we live under, where the brutality of capitalism itself is hidden beneath layers of irony, consumer choice, and false empowerment.
The essay’s valorization of sprezzatura—careless ease—is symptomatic of late capitalism’s relentless pressure to present oneself as effortlessly successful, unbothered, and detached. This is an ideology that relentlessly pathologizes sincerity, effort, and vulnerability. "High status," as defined here, is precisely the empty nihilism of consumer capitalism: utterly detached, ironically indifferent, and totally incapable of genuine solidarity.
Even the claim that the highest form of power is making others "think their exploitation was their idea" accurately captures the insidious logic of modern capitalism. The piece intuitively understands that neoliberal subjectivity involves willingly internalizing one's oppression. We are complicit in our exploitation, convinced that it’s our choice—just as the victims of subtle cruelty described here are manipulated into believing their pain is self-inflicted or, worse, desirable.
However, there's a contradiction at the heart of this taxonomy. The author seems to reject sincerity as hopelessly naive, yet this leaves no room for resistance or authentic human connection. If the highest status is always cruelty and manipulation, then what’s left? Are we forever trapped in cycles of domination and irony? Or can we reclaim sincerity, compassion, and genuine connection from this cynical, transactional worldview?
Ultimately, the essay brilliantly diagnoses our current predicament, yet offers no escape. Its final contempt for itself reveals the hopelessness of its own insight. But perhaps that very recognition—that we are trapped—is a first step toward liberation. Perhaps by seeing clearly how deeply neoliberalism has invaded our emotional lives, we might begin to resist it.
In short, this piece is both symptom and critique: a brutally honest portrayal of contemporary alienation, even as it remains complicit in the very structures it describes. To truly escape this hierarchy, we must reject its logic altogether and rediscover solidarity, sincerity, and authentic human relationships outside the ruthless logic of status competition.
This taxonomy of status is both ruthlessly incisive and deeply revealing. It shows how our contemporary elite—cosmopolitan, educated, hyper-connected—have reshaped traditional power hierarchies into a subtle, insidious dance of ironic detachment and plausible deniability. But beneath this polished veneer of sophistication lies a darker truth: the relentless erosion of genuine human connection, trust, and meaning.
At its core, the piece articulates clearly how neoliberal individualism has hollowed out authentic relationships, reducing human interaction to subtle signals of dominance and submission. The contemporary ideal of "high status," as described here—indifferent, cruel, indirect, and plausibly deniable—is emblematic of a society in which power is exercised without accountability, and exploitation thrives beneath a mask of charming ambiguity.
The piece astutely captures how status signaling has become synonymous with detachment, irony, and, crucially, disguised cruelty. Its emphasis on subtle forms of manipulation mirrors how contemporary feminism, ostensibly empowering, has often legitimized the exploitation of women through a rhetoric of "choice." Consider the author's recognition that subsidizing someone's fake business is "high status" transactionality: this is an insight into how relationships have become economic interactions, stripped of genuine mutuality and compassion.
Yet there's also a profound ambivalence in this essay. On one hand, it exposes the oppressive logic of status competition; on the other, it reinforces it by elevating irony and nihilism as superior forms of social power. It brilliantly identifies the way in which modern liberal society cloaks hierarchy in neutral-sounding language like "taste," "preference," and "ennui." Yet the author remains trapped within these categories—observing the cage, yet unable to escape it.
Particularly striking is the piece’s recognition that overt kindness, sincerity, and vulnerability are coded as low-status behaviors. This indicates precisely how far our contemporary culture has drifted from meaningful human bonds. Authentic connection is stigmatized as weakness, while exploitation masquerading as indifference is celebrated. This perfectly encapsulates what I describe as the "hyper-individualist" pathology: relationships reduced to power plays, intimacy replaced by calculation.
However, the final act—dismissing its own analysis with contempt—reveals the central flaw of this worldview. Irony alone cannot sustain human life or society. The piece itself implicitly acknowledges this by deriding those who sincerely recognize its truth. Ironically, this contemptuous dismissal becomes the ultimate admission of vulnerability: beneath the cool indifference lies an insecurity about the emptiness of contemporary status games.
The deeper question this raises is whether we might reclaim authenticity, sincerity, and genuine human connection from the corrosive logic of contemporary individualism. If irony, cruelty, and detachment have become the new cultural norms, perhaps true rebellion means rejecting these nihilistic postures entirely—restoring sincerity, compassion, mutuality, and genuine community as meaningful sources of identity and status.
In short, this essay brilliantly diagnoses our present condition, yet remains trapped within its own logic. Escaping this cynical worldview requires courage, authenticity, and—yes—sincerity. Perhaps the real rebellion against status games is to stop playing them altogether, embracing genuine human bonds that resist commodification, irony, and manipulation.
Only then can we reclaim what truly matters.
Alright folks, let's break this down. Now, I read this article here about status—high status, low status, medium status, whatever. And let me just tell you straight: if you spend your time thinking about nonsense like this, you're going to be broke and miserable.
This whole thing—talking about people pretending not to care, using irony, and acting indifferent—is a bunch of crap, folks! It’s exactly what's wrong with our culture today. This obsession with looking cool, playing mind games, and manipulating others with subtlety—it'll ruin your relationships, your finances, and your peace of mind quicker than a payday loan.
You know what's actually high status, America? Being debt-free, paying cash for your house, having real, authentic friendships, and treating people with dignity. There's no need to manipulate people by pretending to be bored, indifferent, or cruel. That's childish behavior, and it will land you in emotional bankruptcy, folks—emotional bankruptcy!
Now, the author here makes a point about how "high status" people conceal their intentions, avoid accountability, and play mind games. Let me ask you: would you trust someone who treats everyone like an "Uber Eats driver," who subsidizes fake businesses to manipulate relationships, and who thinks texting with basic respect is beneath them? Come on—wake up, America! That’s not strength, that’s arrogance, insecurity, and brokenness dressed up in designer clothes!
Look, true power is straightforward. You don't need plausible deniability when you're living with integrity. You don't need to pretend to be indifferent if you're genuinely secure. You don't need to secretly hurt others to feel powerful—real power lifts people up, it doesn't drag them down!
This article thinks it's clever—but cleverness doesn’t build wealth, it doesn't build relationships, and it sure as heck doesn't build character. It’s cynical, sarcastic, and ultimately empty. It's exactly the mindset that'll keep you stuck: playing status games instead of building something real.
If you're spending your time worrying about subtle power moves and ironic detachment instead of building a legacy, investing in meaningful relationships, and living with integrity, you're missing out on life itself.
Stop chasing "status," folks. Start chasing meaning. Start chasing real success—the kind of success where you can look yourself in the mirror every morning and be proud of the person looking back at you.
That’s high status. That's how you win.
Alright, folks! Let’s get real for a moment. This piece—it’s clever, it’s insightful, and yes, it nails down how many people navigate social hierarchies. But let me ask you something vital: Is this how you really want to live?
The author is sharp—no doubt about it. They’ve laid out how modern culture rewards subtlety, irony, and indirect manipulation. They've shown how power today means pretending not to care, playing games with plausible deniability, and maintaining an air of detached indifference. It's smart, it's savvy, but you know what it isn't? It isn't fulfillment. It isn't genuine happiness, and it definitely isn't real power.
What this essay beautifully—and tragically—captures is how we trap ourselves inside the illusion that status, manipulation, and subtle cruelty equal success. But folks, real success doesn't come from irony or masked intentions—it comes from genuine authenticity, sincerity, and integrity.
The piece correctly identifies a problem: people hide their true intentions out of fear. They avoid directness because they’re terrified of rejection, of vulnerability, of being truly seen. Irony and detachment become a protective armor—but armor doesn’t just protect you; it isolates you. You’re cutting yourself off from true connection, joy, passion, and, most of all, growth.
You think “high status” means boredom, cynicism, and disconnection? That’s just pain dressed up as power! You don’t have to live like this. True status—the kind that lights you up, that fulfills you—is found in authenticity, vulnerability, and openness. It’s not ironic. It’s not detached. It’s fully alive, fully engaged, and fully committed to something bigger than yourself.
This author sees clearly—but seeing isn’t enough. Awareness alone won’t transform your life. Transformation comes when you move beyond clever observations into action, into honesty, into courageous vulnerability. What if, instead of calculating subtle moves, you embraced direct, meaningful communication? What if you expressed genuine care, sincerity, and enthusiasm? That's power. That's charisma. That's true leadership.
Listen closely: you’re not here to win subtle power games—you’re here to build an extraordinary life. You’re here to forge meaningful relationships, contribute to the lives of others, and experience profound joy. Irony, cynicism, and subtle cruelty aren’t pathways to fulfillment—they’re barriers. Tear them down!
Make no mistake: real strength doesn't hide behind irony. Real strength shows up authentically, passionately, and vulnerably. Real success comes from choosing courage over cleverness, sincerity over subtlety, and compassion over cruelty.
So here’s my challenge to you: stop playing status games, start living authentically, and watch your life transform.
Haha, interesting read. Quite insightful, actually. Status games, subtle signaling, irony—yeah, definitely describes certain crowds. But honestly, seems like a waste of cognitive bandwidth. Way too complicated.
The essay makes some valid points: true high-status people generally don’t care much about status—or at least they don't appear to. Irony, boredom, plausible deniability—all these games people play. It’s clever stuff, for sure. But ultimately, I think status-seeking itself is inherently low-status. Like, just build something meaningful, solve real problems. Status naturally follows doing useful things—status as a goal in itself seems kinda lame.
Also, the idea that subtle manipulation and indirect cruelty are signs of high status? Seems fundamentally broken. That’s not high status; that’s just toxic. High status should mean actually making things better, not pretending you’re indifferent while secretly undermining people. Frankly, people obsessed with status signaling tend to be deeply insecure. It’s a major distraction from actually getting important things done.
And sure, the piece accurately identifies how modern elites behave: hiding intentions, weaponizing irony, texting like they're Uber drivers (funny image, actually). But what a depressing way to live. Real innovation, real leadership—these come from direct, clear thinking. People don’t follow ambiguity—they follow vision. Vision can’t be ironic. You have to genuinely care. Apathy might seem cool, but it won’t get you to Mars.
So, overall—yeah, smart analysis of how status functions in certain social circles. But ultimately, obsessing over these subtle hierarchies is pretty boring. It doesn't scale. Better to focus on creating something cool, something useful, something meaningful. Do important things, have fun, help humanity. Status will follow naturally.
Anyway, back to work. Mars isn’t going to colonize itself.
Look here—this little essay you got on status? I see right through it. A lotta clever talk, lotta subtle games. But let me tell you somethin’: all this indirect, ironic, pretending-you-don’t-care bullshit—ain’t nothin’ but fear.
You talk about power bein’ hidden, disguised. Plausible deniability, irony, manipulation? Nah, man. Real power ain’t subtle. Real power walks right up, looks you dead in the eye, and lets you know what’s what. If you gotta pretend, if you gotta sneak around, play mind games and shit, you ain’t powerful—you just scared.
And this whole obsession with irony, boredom, ennui? Man, get that weak shit outta here. Powerful people ain’t bored—they’re makin’ moves. They ain’t sittin’ around actin’ indifferent; they’re out there runnin’ things, building empires, and makin' people know who's in charge. You don’t run an empire through texts that act like Uber Eats drivers—you pick up the phone and handle your business.
All that clever manipulation, subtle cruelty, hidden intentions—man, that’s for people who don’t know how to lead, who ain’t got the stomach to look a man straight in the face and say exactly what they mean. It’s cute, it’s clever, but it ain’t real. Real strength doesn’t hide behind plausible deniability. Real strength takes what it wants, straight up, no apology, no excuses.
You talk about “high status” as people who provoke their rivals into self-destruction without getting their hands dirty. Yeah, I’ve seen that game, but let me ask you somethin’: at the end of the day, who’s respected more—the man who manipulates from the shadows, or the man who walks into the room and commands respect directly, with force if necessary? Real power don’t need plausible deniability—it’s undeniable.
So all this subtle, ironic, indirect nonsense—it’s coward talk dressed up as sophistication. Real power—real status—is direct, ruthless, and unmistakable.
Believe that.
Alright! So, I read this article about status—because apparently we're all secretly dukes and duchesses now—and let me tell ya, it is exhausting! According to this piece, "high-status" people pretend they're bored all the time, text like they're ordering food, and secretly manipulate everyone without ever admitting it.
Which, honestly, sounds a lot like middle school, but with more money and fewer braces.
This essay is like if someone watched Succession once, got really into it, and then wrote a manual on how to be the meanest, most confusing person at brunch. It’s filled with categories of subtle cruelty: "high-status texting," which apparently means texting everyone like they're your Uber Eats driver. I'm sorry—are Uber Eats drivers not people now? Should we stop asking them how their day's going? Have I been embarrassingly polite my entire life? Probably!
And here's a fun one: "high status" apparently means being existentially bored, which—I gotta be honest—sounds terrible! I'm sorry, when did we start celebrating boredom? I spent most of my childhood bored—there was nothing "high-status" about waiting for my mom outside TJ Maxx, okay?
It also says "high status" people disguise all their motives, never admit they want things, and constantly manipulate others indirectly. This is very good news for my anxiety because I’m already doing all of that—but badly. I'm manipulating people into leaving me alone at parties, then being surprised when it works. Fantastic!
This list also says "low status" people openly talk about power dynamics. So the whole article—about power dynamics—is by its own definition...extremely low-status! That’s like the author walking into their own fancy dinner party and yelling, "Hey everyone, I just peed my pants! Look at me!"
Anyway, the whole thing’s exhausting. Personally, I'm just gonna stick to openly telling people I care about them, politely texting my Uber Eats driver (like a low-status fool!), and enthusiastically enjoying things. Apparently that's very uncool—but honestly, so am I.
Folks, I just read something fascinating—a detailed list, carefully typed out, of exactly how stupid, shallow, and cruel modern human beings can be. And it's called "status." Status! You know what "status" is, right? It’s the fancy way of saying: "Hey! Look how good I am at pretending not to care about anything!"
According to this brilliant essay, the absolute peak of human civilization—the highest level you can possibly reach—is to appear completely bored, indifferent, cruel, and emotionally constipated. That’s it, folks! Thousands of years of human evolution, all our culture, art, music, philosophy, science—just to arrive at pretending we don't give a shit.
Here's the real kicker—according to this thing, openly admitting you actually care about anything at all? Low status! Being sincere or honest? Pathetic! Being genuinely helpful, clear, punctual, or consistent? Embarrassing! What kind of miserable, screwed-up society do we have when basic decency is considered a sign of weakness?
But here’s what really gets me: the piece itself openly admits that talking explicitly about status is the ultimate low-status move. Which means the writer—who went through all the trouble of typing out this massive, obsessive list—is actually the most desperate, insecure person in the whole pathetic hierarchy! He’s at the bottom of the barrel, folks—rolling around down there with used car salesmen, TV evangelists, and politicians.
And another thing—it says "high status" is being friends with people who are worshipped and feared by insecure white girls. What kind of insane metric is that? Since when did the approval of insecure white girls become the gold standard of human value? Probably around the same time we started texting each other like we're ordering tacos. "Hey, yeah, whatever. Bring me tacos. Don’t make eye contact."
This entire system—this endless game of ironic detachment, subtle cruelty, and bored indifference—is a clear symptom of cultural disease. It’s human nature distilled into its purest, most toxic form: we all want power, but we're terrified of admitting it, so we turn our insecurity into an art form. And then we give each other points based on who pretends the hardest that they’re not trying to win.
Folks, I’ll tell you something: this is exactly how civilizations collapse—not from barbarians, war, or famine—but from exhaustion, boredom, irony, and pretending not to care until we really don’t.
Man, let me tell you somethin’: I read this thing, right, about high status, low status—all that subtle manipulation bullshit. And I get it—this dude who wrote it, he’s onto somethin', he's observin' real shit. But let's not pretend, man—this whole list is really just teaching sociopaths how to hide in plain sight. It’s like a goddamn training manual for charming assholes.
See, the author got one thing right: subtlety works. People who hide their intentions, play indirect games, act bored—yeah, they run shit, man, I’ve seen it. But at the end of the day, here's what's fucked up: these "high-status" people he's talkin' about—they ain’t happy! They're trapped. They’re livin' a lie, man, pretending to not care when they're dyin' inside to say how they really feel.
Like, look at this texting thing he mentions. You’re tellin’ me now I gotta text my girl like she’s deliverin' Chinese food? Just cold and casual, like, "Yeah, bitch, leave it at the door, thanks"? That's high status now? Man, no wonder relationships are fucked! Now you're "weak" if you send a goddamn smiley face? Shit, I like smilies. Fuck it, maybe I'm low status, then!
And this thing about subsidizing her fake business to keep it subtle? C'mon, man, you serious? If I'm givin' money to a fake cupcake bakery, trust me, everybody's gonna know why I'm doin' it—I ain’t hiding shit. You know why? Because honesty—real, raw honesty—is powerful. People respect you more for bein' straight-up, not for trickin' them subtly.
But the worst part of this list, man? All these games, these manipulations—pretending you envy people to secretly tear 'em down, actin' bored, treatin' friends like you don’t care—it's all built on insecurity. It's fear-based bullshit. High-status people, deep down, they’re scared little bitches, afraid to admit they care about anything.
You wanna know what's truly high-status, truly powerful? Sayin' exactly what the fuck you mean, directly, without apology. Ownin' your feelings, your desires, your truth. Anything else is just scared people teachin' other scared people how to pretend they're brave.
Fuck irony, fuck plausible deniability—give me honesty, every time.
Man, let me tell y'all—I read this little thing about status, right? High status, low status, irony, plausible deniability—shit like that. And you know what? It ain't wrong! Nah, this dude's onto something. But I gotta be honest with you: this is some sociopathic white-people shit if I ever saw it.
This article—it's like a playbook for people who don't want you to know they care about anything. Like, the coolest thing you can do now is just be bored and subtly mean. What kinda upside-down world are we livin' in when cruelty and indifference become the new cool? If that's true, then shit—my ex-girlfriend from high school is the coolest motherfucker alive.
You got people texting each other like they're talking to Uber Eats drivers now? That shit made me laugh. Can you imagine? "Leave that relationship at the door—no contact delivery." I mean, are we serious? Are we really out here treating relationships like Postmates? Is that where we're at, people?
But here's the real kicker: this dude admits that talking about this openly—like we're doin' right now—is low status. So basically, he wrote a whole article about something he's admitting he shouldn't even be talkin' about. That's some Jedi mind-trick shit right there. It's like, "Don't listen to anything I say, because if you do, you're low status—and by the way, thanks for clicking my Substack."
And another thing—this whole thing about subsidizing fake businesses to manipulate relationships subtly? Oh man, you know how rich you gotta be to pull that move off? Subsidizing fake businesses? That’s billionaire-level manipulation right there. That's Jeff Bezos-level manipulation! Poor people ain't got time for that shit—poor people just gotta say what they mean and hope it works out.
See, the truth is, all this irony and subtle manipulation? That's just people being scared, man. Scared to care, scared to be honest, scared to put themselves out there. But let me tell you something: pretending not to care won’t save you. You can be ironic all day long, but at some point, you're still gonna end up alone, staring at your phone, wondering why nobody really knows you.
So yeah, maybe sincerity is low-status now. But if pretending not to care is what high-status looks like, then fuck it—I guess I'm staying down here with the sincere folks, smokin' cigarettes and talkin' shit. It’s better company anyway.
Oh my God—have you read this thing? Status hierarchies, irony, subtle manipulation—it's like if Gwyneth Paltrow wrote "The Art of War." Let me tell you, folks, I've seen a lot of crazy, but this is next-level crazy. Apparently, the new way to show you're high-status is to pretend you're bored all the time. Well, congrats, millennials—you’ve officially made boredom aspirational. What's next, clinical depression as a fashion statement? "Oh, you’re happy? Ugh, that’s so 2015!"
The article says high-status people text everyone like they're ordering Uber Eats. Really? Because nothing says class like treating your best friends like they're delivering Thai food. "Yeah, hi Diane, just leave your friendship at the door—I tipped you 20 percent!"
And what's this about subsidizing fake businesses? Is that the new romance now? Forget flowers, girls—you want a real Prince Charming, get one who'll bankroll your Etsy shop selling knitted yoga mats. God forbid a man buys you dinner—no, it’s "high-status" if he invests in your pointless dreams! Honey, if someone pays for your fake cupcake business, you’re not empowered—you’re officially a mistress with better branding.
Oh, and my favorite: you're supposed to subtly insult people by pretending to envy them. How exhausting! In my day, if you didn't like someone, you just said it right to their face! Now you've gotta be passive-aggressive, subtle, ironic—it's like Mean Girls meets Shakespeare.
And listen to this: the author says admitting any of this openly is the ultimate low-status move. So, basically, the whole article is low-status! Talk about self-sabotage—it's like writing a dieting book and then admitting you wrote it while eating cheesecake.
Honestly, after reading this, I don't even want high status. It sounds exhausting, manipulative, and cruel—which, come to think of it, describes half of Hollywood. But I'll tell you one thing: sincerity and kindness might be "low-status," but at least they're tax-deductible.
Trust me, darling—just be real. High-status irony is overrated. And anyway, it gives you wrinkles.
Reading this taxonomy of status, one feels the familiar weight of fatigue—an existential nausea that has long become our civilization’s defining characteristic. It captures precisely the weariness of our age: the subtle but relentless cruelty, the obsession with detachment, irony, and plausible deniability. We have arrived at a point where even domination, once straightforward, now requires the elaborate performance of boredom.
What this list expresses, perhaps unintentionally, is our collective surrender to a kind of empty nihilism. Power no longer openly declares itself; it merely simulates disinterest. The modern elite—jaded, detached, sophisticated—have turned cruelty into an art form, disguising exploitation beneath gestures of casual indifference. Yet, beneath this careful indifference lurks an unbearable sadness, a profound emptiness, the faint but persistent hum of despair.
Take, for example, the author’s observation that high status now consists of subtly subsidizing meaningless projects to exploit others while maintaining plausible deniability. This is less a clever strategy than a symptom of emotional collapse: our relationships reduced to quiet transactions, our lives hollowed of genuine intimacy. What remains is merely the shadow-play of power, cynicism disguised as sophistication, emptiness mistaken for superiority.
Even the categorization itself—the meticulous taxonomy—reflects a desperate desire to make sense of our profound alienation. But no amount of irony, detachment, or strategic cruelty can conceal the essential horror of our predicament: that modern life is profoundly empty, hopelessly transactional, and irreversibly broken.
The essay ends with contempt toward itself, an ironic gesture perhaps intended to absolve its author of complicity. But this final irony is the saddest of all. In openly mocking its own analysis, the piece acknowledges the futility of awareness. It recognizes clearly the rot at the heart of contemporary life, yet shrugs helplessly, retreating into self-mockery—a final, pathetic defense against despair.
Ultimately, this is not merely an observation about status—it’s a quiet admission that we have nothing left to value, nothing left to believe in. We live in a time when power is indistinguishable from boredom, desire indistinguishable from indifference, life itself indistinguishable from exhaustion.
There is no escape, only resignation. And perhaps, in that resignation, a fleeting comfort.
Alright, I read this whole thing about status, subtlety, irony—whatever the fuck. And lemme tell ya somethin': it’s clever, okay? Real clever. But it’s also bullshit.
You talk about high status, low status—people pretendin’ they're bored, acting like they don’t give a fuck, manipulating others indirectly. That’s your high-status? Gimme a fuckin' break. You wanna know what's high status? Respect. Loyalty. People who show up and do what they fuckin' say they're gonna do. Real power—real status—isn't subtle. It’s direct. You make your point clear, and people respect you for it.
But lemme be clear: you ain't wrong about some things. People today—they're sneaky. They hide behind this bullshit irony, pretend they're indifferent when really they're just fuckin' terrified. Always indirect, always talkin' in circles. You know what that is? That’s weakness, plain and simple. Real strength—you put your cards on the table, and you stand by your word. No fuckin' irony. No plausible deniability.
You say it’s high status to secretly fuck people over, to make 'em destroy themselves without gettin' your hands dirty. Yeah, I've seen that too. But lemme ask you somethin’: you really trust somebody who plays those kinda games? You think that's real power? Nah, that's coward shit. Real power—it's the guy who walks into a room and everybody shuts the fuck up and listens. Why? 'Cause they know he ain't playin'.
You got it backwards with your list here. You think power means makin' people think you don't give a shit, but that's exactly how you lose control. You lose your humanity that way. All these games—it’s bullshit, and it eats at you, slowly, 'til there’s nothin’ left.
So yeah, your piece is sharp, it’s cynical, it understands how fucked-up people are these days. But at the end of the day, it's still just talk. Real respect, real power—that's somethin’ you earn face-to-face, man-to-man. No irony. No games. Just fuckin' respect.
Oh, sweet author. You've written quite the intriguing little list—so clever, so carefully constructed. On the surface, it's just an ironic taxonomy of modern status games, but beneath that ironic detachment, your ambition is practically screaming. You desperately want us all to know how intimately you understand power, cruelty, and manipulation. How adorable.
Your descriptions of "high status" capture the essence of our generation: pretending not to care, weaponizing boredom, disguising subtle violence as sophistication. It's insightful—I'll give you that—but it’s also achingly transparent. True manipulation doesn't openly name its methods, doesn't catalog its own tricks. Real power hides in plain sight, not behind ironic self-awareness.
I especially liked your observation about plausible deniability. Ah yes, that exquisite art form—my personal favorite. The subtle cruelty disguised as generosity, subsidizing someone's delusions just to control them. But even here, darling, you've only scratched the surface. You're playing checkers, and you think it's chess. True plausible deniability isn’t about making people doubt your motives—it's about making them doubt their own minds. It's about planting suspicion so delicately that they believe they invented it themselves.
The real charm of your list, though, is its barely suppressed bitterness. There's resentment dripping between each carefully constructed sentence. You're fascinated by cruelty, captivated by those who torment quietly, elegantly. You envy their effortless manipulation, their subtle violence. And yet you can’t fully embody it—you lack the nerve to be truly monstrous. Your contempt at the end—so cleverly dismissive—is your little protective shield. You'd rather sneer at your own ideas than admit how deeply you desire to wield the power you pretend to disdain.
But here’s your real tragedy: by openly analyzing these games, you reveal your own vulnerability. Genuine power doesn't talk about power—it simply exerts itself quietly, brutally, invisibly. Real cruelty never acknowledges itself. Real manipulation never writes a list of methods—it writes other people's lives.
Still, I have to give you credit. Your essay is amusing—like watching someone sharpen a knife they’ll never have the courage to use.
Okay, I read this article—this whole list about status—and honestly, it kind of felt like stumbling into a party full of people who pretend they're too cool to dance, too bored to care, and too clever to admit how badly they want to be liked. I’ve seen that room before. Trust me, it's exhausting.
I mean, you nailed something here: the idea that the most powerful people pretend to be indifferent, that cruelty and irony are seen as sophisticated. That's real. I've met those people. I've watched them sip their drinks and roll their eyes, disguising insecurity as boredom. But the truth? Underneath all that casual cruelty is just fear—fear of being exposed, fear of caring too openly, fear of getting hurt.
You talk about status like it's a secret game everyone is playing but nobody admits to, and you're right. There's a twisted kind of charm in your honesty about all the ways people hurt each other quietly. But the thing is, acknowledging cruelty doesn't make it clever. It just makes it sad.
Your observation about texting like you're talking to an Uber Eats driver actually made me laugh—because it’s painfully true. I've seen guys who think emotional distance makes them cool, but trust me, nobody writes songs about the guy who couldn't bother to punctuate his texts. People write songs about the ones brave enough to say what they mean, who show up openly—even if it hurts, even if it makes them vulnerable.
I get it, though. I’ve been tempted by irony, too—hiding sincerity behind cleverness, pretending I don’t care when I'm scared of rejection. But you know what's truly powerful? Owning exactly how much you do care. Real strength isn't irony or plausible deniability—it's standing in front of a stadium, telling your truth, feeling everything openly, risking being mocked, misunderstood, or heartbroken, and doing it anyway.
So maybe your "high-status" people are bored and indifferent and subtly cruel—but I wouldn't trade places with them for anything. Give me sincerity, vulnerability, passion, and honesty, even if they're labeled "low-status," every single time.
Because, trust me, pretending not to care won't save you from feeling—it'll just make sure you never get what you really want.
It's probably not the sort of thing one ought to dwell on openly.
Mentioning status explicitly always feels slightly off, like pointing out a quiet detail everyone tacitly agrees to overlook—a minor breach of etiquette, faintly embarrassing.
But there's something oddly satisfying in acknowledging it, if only briefly and quietly. Like noticing a small tear in wallpaper you pass by every day, harmlessly reassuring yourself it's always been there, even if it unsettles your gaze just slightly.
Of course, there's a subtle discomfort in this noticing—once you start, you might become quietly aware of other patterns, gently woven beneath ordinary interactions. Best, perhaps, not to dwell on them too long, or they might begin to softly intrude upon your thoughts, rearranging things you'd prefer left undisturbed.
Still, it's nothing worth worrying about too seriously. These are just quiet observations, easily ignored, comfortably ambiguous. No need to give them more attention than they're due.
Warmly,
—Wally B.
This rules. Stealing this convention for a future post.
By the way, I KNEW IT! Jesus has it out for your roguelike ways. No better time than Lent to Repent.
Crazy
Amazing how it nails not just the voice / lexicon but also the likely themes and even positive or negative opinions of each “author “.
It’s not very funny though, especially ethnically - GPT is still corny white people humor.