The Value of Being Worthless

To be nobody, in a world that rewards disguises

I don't know when it started, but at some point we stopped looking at the stars and started counting followers. We stopped asking ourselves who we are and became obsessed with how many likes validate us. We traded contemplation for comparison, and since then, something essential has been lost.

A few days ago, I saw a man photographing his watch next to a glass of champagne he wasn't drinking from. He spent fifteen minutes adjusting the napkin, the angle, his smile. When he finally took the picture, he stood up and left. The waiter removed the glass, untouched, still bubbly. It was all staged. The toast, the luxury, even the joy. It was a soulless scene, an empty echo of what was once the human desire to share.

It's happened to me, I confess. At some point, I fell into the trap too. I found myself glancing at other people's shoes, the logo embroidered on their chests, their vacation destinations. As if my worth depended on that silent comparison. As if beating someone in a pointless tournament were some kind of victory.

But some defeats shine brighter than any medal. I lost many times in the status game, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. Because every time I didn't have the latest model, the label, the credentials, every time I was ignored for not being "up to par," something inside me grew stronger in the shadows. I learned to listen to other music. To measure value in laughter, in loyalty, in the unconditional tenderness of an old dog. I'm grateful for every exclusion, because they gave me back something greater: the possibility of not having to put on an act.

Some people spend their lives becoming walking advertisements for success. They smile at the right parties, eat at the most sought-after restaurants, and use words like "networking" or "personal branding" as if they were repeating a spell they don't understand. They live in terror of being ordinary. But that's not what's truly terrifying. What's terrifying is living a life where your soul becomes an accessory.

Years ago, I heard a story about a banker who wore linen suits to fake a vacation in Italy. He would go to his office in shorts and loafers without socks, just so people would believe he'd returned from Tuscany. He'd never even left his neighborhood. But he desperately needed them to believe he was happy.

Useless status is not only absurd; it is profoundly immoral. Because it diverts talent, time, and tenderness toward a career that leads nowhere. It robs us of the ability to admire without envy. It steals our humility. And most seriously: it turns others into distorted mirrors, into imaginary enemies against whom we must shine, even if it means extinguishing their light.

Life isn't a catwalk. We didn't come here to win. We came to remember. To touch. To build things that last beyond applause. Those who bake bread every morning, those who clean hospitals, those who silently care for their sick mothers… they hold up the world while others compete for a seat in a room that doesn't matter.

There's something brutally beautiful about losing all the status games. About not fitting in. About being invisible to the algorithms. About being too busy loving to create content. Because when you fall to the bottom of that artificial ladder, you discover something extraordinary: that flowers grow on the ground. That you don't need more square footage, more followers, or more awards. That the only medal worth anything is the one your soul pins on you when you know you're useful, even if no one is watching.

So don't worry if you're not invited to the party. The real celebration is elsewhere. It's in the unfiltered conversations after meals, in the hands that hold without judgment, in the laughter that needs no witnesses.

Because in the end, cardboard idols get wet with the first rain. And you, you came to be fire.