We’ve all met them — the kind of people who walk into a room as if gravity itself bends to their presence. They speak softly, smile politely, perhaps even use the right words — empathy, inclusion, collaboration, care. Yet beneath that polished surface lies a script carefully rehearsed for self-promotion.
Their concern for others is often a performance — not an act of generosity but a mirror tilted toward themselves. They thrive on visibility, on the applause that confirms their imagined centrality. And in the neoliberal world of optics and self-branding, such performances are easily mistaken for depth.
These are the people who speak lofty ideals but practice quiet manipulation. Their kindness comes with conditions; their alliances, with expiry dates. They will praise when it serves them, discard when it doesn’t. And when someone around them begins to shine a little brighter, the charm turns to caution — because admiration has its limits when it threatens the ego.
Their world is a small theatre where they play every role — the visionary, the victim, the saviour. They surround themselves with echoes: people who flatter, agree, and amplify. In this echo chamber, mediocrity flourishes, because excellence poses danger. The less capable the company, the safer the throne.
They can contradict themselves within a breath — praising what they dismissed yesterday, dismissing what they praised today. It isn’t forgetfulness; it’s convenience. Memory becomes fluid when self-interest is the only truth.
And yet, for all their plotting, their drama, their ceaseless need to prove their worth, one truth remains constant — no one is indispensable. Systems endure, institutions adapt, life moves on. The show goes on, with or without its self-appointed stars.
Ego may build a temporary empire, but time has a way of reclaiming every stage. Eventually, the applause fades, the masks slip, and what’s left is the silence of self-importance staring into its own reflection.
No comments:
Post a Comment