Chap­ter 23 – A Com­mon Weak­ness explores the deeply embed­ded human urge to feel seen, hon­ored, or ele­vat­ed, regard­less of cul­tur­al or polit­i­cal changes. In Amer­i­ca, where nobil­i­ty was explic­it­ly reject­ed by the found­ing fathers, the need for dis­tinc­tion didn’t disappear—it sim­ply found new cos­tumes. From ear­ly insti­tu­tions like the Order of the Cincin­nati, which tried to invent a kind of hered­i­tary elite, to mod­ern infor­mal title infla­tion, this crav­ing has tak­en count­less forms. Washington’s ide­al of a soci­ety free from such van­i­ty was noble, but ulti­mate­ly out­matched by human nature. The moment tra­di­tion­al titles were abol­ished, Amer­i­cans began invent­ing replacements—symbols that offered the illu­sion of social hier­ar­chy with­out the struc­ture. Even in a democ­ra­cy, peo­ple will find ways to rank them­selves.

This ten­den­cy is most vivid­ly cap­tured in the way small-town fig­ures accu­mu­late hon­orifics, often self-styled and loose­ly earned. Men who’ve nev­er served in bat­tle might be referred to as “Colonel,” while oth­ers are rou­tine­ly called “Judge” long after leav­ing the bench—or even with­out ever sit­ting on it. These names aren’t ques­tioned but are instead embraced, adding a lay­er of rev­er­ence to oth­er­wise unre­mark­able lives. Women, too, eager­ly par­tic­i­pate in this title infla­tion, attach­ing their iden­ti­ties to their hus­bands’ pro­fes­sion­al roles. Hence, a woman might insist on being known as “Mrs. Assis­tant Sur­geon-Gen­er­al” rather than sim­ply “Mrs. Smith.” These affec­ta­tions, though absurd, ful­fill a psy­cho­log­i­cal need to seem impor­tant. They also act as social sig­nals, sub­tly plac­ing one above the com­mon crowd.

Chap­ter 23 – A Com­mon Weak­ness doesn’t just laugh at these pre­ten­sions; it exam­ines them as a reflec­tion of deep­er human inse­cu­ri­ties. In a world where every­one is the­o­ret­i­cal­ly equal, peo­ple often scram­ble for micro-dis­tinc­tions that set them apart. This results in a cul­ture rich in invent­ed statuses—from inflat­ed busi­ness titles like “Chief Vision­ary Offi­cer” to aca­d­e­m­ic cre­den­tials that fill mul­ti­ple lines on a busi­ness card. Even cler­gy and edu­ca­tors aren’t immune, often list­ing every degree and cer­tifi­cate earned, not as indi­ca­tors of exper­tise, but of impor­tance. For­eign­ers wit­ness­ing these behav­iors often express con­fu­sion or amuse­ment, puz­zled by the Amer­i­can obses­sion with cre­at­ing infor­mal ranks. Yet the impulse itself is not unique­ly American—it is uni­ver­sal, sim­ply more the­atri­cal in demo­c­ra­t­ic soci­eties where for­mal aris­toc­ra­cy is absent.

Beyond names and let­ters, this obses­sion with pres­tige man­i­fests in fash­ion, speech, and trav­el. Peo­ple boast of hav­ing been “present at court” or of din­ing at embassies, sub­tly craft­ing a nar­ra­tive of spe­cial access. Dec­o­ra­tive pins and sash­es, some­times mod­eled after real mil­i­tary or noble insignia, are worn dur­ing trav­el or at for­mal events to project author­i­ty or world­li­ness. Some indi­vid­u­als even invent genealo­gies or alter sur­names with hyphens to appear descend­ed from nobil­i­ty. This per­for­ma­tive behav­ior often goes unno­ticed or unchal­lenged, as soci­ety, in many ways, rewards the con­fi­dent dis­play of sta­tus. But beneath the sur­face lies a com­mon emo­tion­al vulnerability—the fear of being aver­age, of blend­ing into the crowd. It is this fear, more than van­i­ty alone, that fuels the spec­ta­cle.

Chap­ter 23 – A Com­mon Weak­ness high­lights that while ambi­tion can lead to growth, sta­tus-seek­ing often leads to pos­tur­ing with­out sub­stance. It invites read­ers to reflect on whether they seek recog­ni­tion for who they are or for what they appear to be. As amus­ing as these social games are, they expose a fun­da­men­tal truth: peo­ple long to be acknowl­edged, even if the recog­ni­tion comes from a title with no real mer­it. This chap­ter doesn’t con­demn that longing—it rec­og­nizes it as part of being human. Still, it encour­ages a crit­i­cal eye toward the lengths we go to in order to sat­is­fy it. When iden­ti­ty becomes per­for­mance, authen­tic­i­ty is often the first casu­al­ty.

Mod­ern par­al­lels make this theme espe­cial­ly rel­e­vant. In the era of social media, sta­tus has become more visu­al and accessible—but also more frag­ile. Influ­encers, job seek­ers, and even ordi­nary users curate their pro­files like dig­i­tal resumes, packed with acco­lades, affil­i­a­tions, and fab­ri­cat­ed exclu­siv­i­ty. Fil­ters, fol­low­ers, and bio descrip­tions are the new hon­orifics, and “ver­i­fied” sym­bols mim­ic mod­ern-day coats of arms. This dig­i­tal ver­sion of title infla­tion shows how lit­tle the need for recog­ni­tion has changed—only the tools have evolved. It reveals that the same weak­ness sat­i­rized in 19th-cen­tu­ry salons now plays out on glob­al plat­forms. What once involved a call­ing card or for­mal dress now requires pix­els and algo­rithms, but the moti­va­tion remains the same.

Ulti­mate­ly, Chap­ter 23 – A Com­mon Weak­ness offers a humor­ous yet hon­est reflec­tion on this uni­ver­sal trait. It sug­gests that the pur­suit of pres­tige, when unteth­ered from gen­uine achieve­ment, becomes self-par­o­dy. How­ev­er, when chan­neled wise­ly, the desire for dis­tinc­tion can also inspire mean­ing­ful con­tri­bu­tion. The chal­lenge lies in know­ing the dif­fer­ence. Through satire and obser­va­tion, the chap­ter doesn’t ask peo­ple to aban­don their aspirations—it sim­ply asks them to exam­ine what those aspi­ra­tions are built upon. Recog­ni­tion, after all, becomes tru­ly valu­able only when it reflects some­thing real. Oth­er­wise, it’s just anoth­er cos­tume worn to a mas­quer­ade.