The Cult of the Mediocre Male

When toxic CEOs rebrand as prophets, and we still buy in, and then elect them to the highest office in the land.

So I started watching Trainwreck, the documentary series about American Apparel. A typical American story about the rise and flamboyant face-plant of a brand that once convinced us that overpriced basics and soft-core porn ads were the height of culture. At first, it looked like a fashion miracle: minimalist cotton tees, aggressively woke marketing, and a CEO with just enough unbuttoned shirt to scream “visionary.” But, and no surprise here, turns out the real wreck wasn’t the brand. It was the dude behind it.

See, from the same overcaffeinated brain that birthed a brilliant branding empire also came chaos, narcissism, and ego with a capital “E.” And why? Because when men have one good idea and it actually works, they assume they’re a prophet. Suddenly every idea they have is gospel, and every hissy fit is “leadership.” Until—spoiler alert—they implode. Eventually. Tragically. Predictably.

And yet we keep handing them more keys. More castles. More unchecked power. They crash the economy, they mismanage countries, and we still act like they’re misunderstood geniuses.

Now, imagine a woman CEO pulling a Dov Charney. Screaming at staff, sexually harassing employees, emotionally terrorizing the team, she’d be cancelled faster than a Disney+ flop. But Dov? Just a troubled genius, right? A misunderstood icon. Ghislaine Maxwell is sitting in prison for aiding and abetting… wait, who exactly? Because Epstein’s infamous client list seems to have magically vanished into the Bermuda Triangle of justice. Apparently, “Pedo Island” was just a misunderstood luxury resort. But don’t worry, Maxwell was convicted for helping a guy who, according to the record we’re now supposed to pretend doesn’t exist, committed absolutely no crimes. Makes total sense.

Welcome to the male genius industrial complex. A place where you can build a cult out of plain T-shirts and “The 48 Laws of Power”, which, let’s be real, is basically the fascist starter pack for mediocre men who think Machiavelli is a lifestyle coach. Manipulate, gaslight, dominate. Wash, rinse, IPO.

People fall for it because, deep down, we all just want food, happiness, and someone to tell us what to do. Cue the “leaders.” Religious texts, boardrooms, governments, it’s always the same: men on top, women somewhere below sea level, often labeled as emotional distractions or childbearing accessories.

And we wonder how we got here? Hmm, maybe it’s because we keep rewarding the same type of guy. The one who did one good thing once and now thinks he’s Jesus in a Supreme hoodie. We confuse loud confidence for competence. Sprinkle in a little inherited wealth and suddenly, he’s running the world.

Where is CharNey now? He’s cozied up with Kanye West, because, hey, birds of a delusional, power-drunk feather flock together. When you both play from the same narcissist-fueled, fascist-adjacent playbook (with a dash of controversy and a sprinkle of cult-leader vibes), it’s only natural you’d team up. Throw in a history of ignoring basic human decency, and boom—instant bromance. Until one has to take the knife to the other of course.

So here we are. At the climax of the mediocrity cycle. A president who doesn’t know the national language of our allies, but hey, he knows how to trigger his base. And while innocent people get gulag’d, the “real criminals” get penthouses and government contracts.

Oh, and those poor American Apparel employees? They were literally handed The 48 Laws of Power on day one, like it was an employee handbook. Most didn’t read it. Only after the collapse did they realize they were handed the script for their own psychological manipulation.

And here’s the kicker: we all have the playbook now. We know how this story ends. But what do we do? We vote for the guy handing out free copies.

Again.

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