Anticynical #19: Status Games

Is it possible to escape them?

I. Introduction

I used to think I was above it all—above the petty politics of corporate life. Fresh-faced and brimming with confidence, I landed my first job at Big Tech. I told myself, "I refuse to play these petty status games.”

I watched how senior colleagues jockeyed for visibility, how subtle power plays determined who got praised and who was sidelined. It disgusted me. I felt like an outsider in an environment filled with strange, unspoken rules about who was "winning."

Around that same time, I stumbled on Naval Ravikant’s ideas about status games. His words resonated so deeply that I practically devoured them. Here’s an excerpt:

“The problem is that to win at a status game, you have to put somebody else down. That’s why you should avoid status games in your life because they make you into an angry combative person. You’re always fighting to put other people down, to put yourself and the people you like up.”

“Hell yeah!” I thought. “Go, Naval!”

But my initial excitement soon gave way to a quiet hesitation. Could I really opt out of status games altogether? At first, I believed I could—I just had to keep my head down and excel at my work.

Yet the more I insisted on this path, the more friction I felt. Each time I told myself, “I refuse to play these stupid games,” I realized, ironically, that I was playing my own virtue status game. By labeling myself morally superior for not competing, I was still seeking recognition—just in subtler ways, playing a “corporate discontents” status game. Instead of escaping the game entirely, I’d entangled myself in a new version of it.

One morning at standup (a morning meeting, for the non-tech folks), as usual, my manager at the time profusely praised everyone even for the most banal and basic work. “Ugh, here’s the daily dose of flattery again,” I thought to myself. But then it hit me: in silently condemning him for “playing the game,” I was boosting my own ego. I was telling myself, “At least I’m above that nonsense,” which was just another, more private form of status-striving.

Eventually, I had an epiphany: status games are inescapable. You exit one only to find yourself in another. They’re so deeply wired into us, so fundamental a drive, that it’s impossible to eliminate them. Even Naval was playing a status game, where the high-status move was to claim not to play status games at all.

But where did that leave me? I was a naive idealist, someone who loved the Camus-esque idea of “revolting” against impossible foes like death and existential meaninglessness. I wasn’t about to embrace corporate status games solely because they were inescapable.

There had to be a way, I needed a resolution. This led to three years of searching. Sometimes I’d think about it in passing; other times, I’d reflect more intentionally—especially while figuring out my future career and writing this essay.

To even stand a chance to arrive at a resolution, I needed to be clear about what I was trying to resolve. Being a philosopher at heart, there was no way I was going to tackle something as tricky and loaded as status games without defining basic terms. So that's where I started.

II. What is status? What is a game?

At its core, a game is any activity with objectives and rules. It can be competitive (UFC) or cooperative (Minecraft), or a mix of both (Soccer). It might be a one-time event (the Prisoner’s Dilemma) or iterative (long-term foreign relations). Some games are finite (sports), while others are continuous (your career). Their objectives and rules may be crystal clear (official leagues) or hazy (relationships). Participation can be voluntary (chess) or involuntary (office politics), and the setting public (televised wrestling) or private (the score in your head).

Next, what is status? Status arises from how others perceive and value an individual, shaping interactions and the allocation of resources and responsibilities.

Sometimes, status is crystal clear—like when a CEO outranks a junior engineer in a corporate hierarchy. But it can also be highly context-dependent. Outside the office, that same CEO might have “lower” status than the junior engineer in their local soccer league, especially if the engineer happens to be the star striker. In other situations, status shifts moment by moment, dictated by whoever naturally steps into a leadership role. Think of a house party: one friend pairs their phone with the speaker and suddenly becomes the unofficial DJ. No vote is taken, yet everyone else simply accepts them as the evening’s arbiter of music. In each case, status isn’t just about titles; it’s about who we, as a group, collectively decide to follow—even if only for the night.

Status is a mechanism to reduce conflict and foster cooperation in groups. Instead of continually fighting over resources, established hierarchies allowed communities to function more efficiently. Yet in our modern world—especially with AI and social media—status dynamics have become more volatile, and their impact on our lives can be profound and unpredictable.

My fascination with status grew as I noticed it everywhere. Across all cultures and even remote tribes, evolution has hardwired the pursuit of status into our DNA. In The Status Game, Will Storr calls it an “ultimate” drive—a deep evolutionary motivation behind many of our beliefs and behaviors. We’re driven by myriad desires—sex, power, wealth, altruism—and status, as Storr notes, is “the golden key that unlocks other dreams.” Achieving higher status often paves the way for fulfilling these other desires. This underlying drive shapes countless aspects of our lives, usually without our conscious awareness.

III. What are status games?

Status games are social activities or interactions where people compete or collaborate to gain or maintain social standing within a group. These games have objectives and rules—sometimes explicit, sometimes implicit—and one’s standing depends on how well they navigate them. Status games determine perception, respect, influence, and the distribution of resources and responsibilities.

IV. Why exactly are status games inescapable?

Everything we do triggers approval or disapproval, admiration or contempt. Even when we’re alone, we imagine how others might judge us, adjusting our self-image accordingly. This reflex is embedded in our psychology, making status-seeking inevitable.

What did I do when I didn’t like the corporate status game (where rank often hinged on tenure and “visibility”)? I jumped into the “corporate discontents” status game. I told everyone about my plans to start a business and soaked up the admiration that came with that. Just like Naval, who played the “I’m rejecting status” status game, I found I couldn’t actually rid myself of status-seeking. I was just shifting its shape.

V. Now what?

So there I was: fully aware of status games yet determined to avoid the corporate variety. It felt like a paradox. If status was inescapable, was I doomed to wander from one game to another, forever chasing or rejecting social approval? This is where my story became a search—a quest—for a better way to live and work without feeling trapped in somebody else’s rules.

I started confiding in friends and mentors who shared my frustration with office politics. Their experiences painted a vivid picture, with cautionary tales of burnout and unfulfilled promises in Big Tech. As I listened, I noticed three common strategies for navigating status games:

1. Play the game: Some embraced the system, insisting, “It’s just how the world works. Accept it and climb the ladder.” Talking to them often felt like staring into the abyss. Was I overcomplicating a natural social instinct? Or, were they so deeply entrenched in their own status games that they couldn’t see beyond them?

2. Rebel against it: My self-proclaimed “anti-status” friends prided themselves on rejecting competition altogether. They openly mocked corporate jargon like “visibility” and “circle back,” yet their disdain often felt performative—a competition to prove who could avoid status games the most.

3. Opt out: Then there were the “IDGAF” types, who just wanted to do their work, get paid, and go home. They dismissed my concerns as overthinking, but their apathy seemed to mask a resignation that status games were inescapable.

None of these approaches felt right. Each conversation, however, revealed an underlying truth: everyone was grappling with status, whether they admitted it or not.

However, within these discussions, I noticed a pattern. People who thrived in corporate settings often designed their own sub-games. They carved out niches—becoming the go-to person for a particular skill or type of advice—and gained status on their own terms. They didn’t reject the system outright, nor did they fully surrender to it. Instead, they created a space where they could succeed without sacrificing their principles.

VI. My “sub-game” at Apple

So I decided to give it a shot. I joined a company hackathon, aiming to build something cool—an internal product everyone at the company could use. Long story short, I succeeded. I teamed up with like-minded folks, and we won first place in multiple categories. Many of us wanted to continue our hackathon project and develop it into an official internal tool—which we did.

Fast forward eight months, we presented our product at a company-wide summit and launched it successfully. I also became the “go-to guy” for AI and LLM (large language models) in my team. Four months after that, I was promoted, thanks largely to the product I’d built.¹

I should have been on top of the world, but I wasn’t. I had just “conquered” the status game problem. I should have felt satisfied, but I didn’t.

VII. Resolutions

I had built the internal product mostly on my own time, on my own terms. I’d tasted the autonomy of entrepreneurship, and there was no going back. My regular tasks felt incredibly dull in comparison. I tried to persuade my managerial chain to champion the product I’d built—after all, I believed it was good for the company. But guess what got in the way? Politics, of course. Sigh.²

Finally, I arrived at a resolution: first, I realized that escaping status games wasn’t just impossible—it was undesirable.

Let’s run a quick thought experiment: What if we could architect a world without status games? Imagine a society where no rank is ever assigned—everyone is perfectly equal, and you get the same social recognition whether you work 2, 5, or 50 hours a week. Actors, Olympic athletes, Nobel laureates are treated no differently than anyone else.

Except for the few who are motivated purely by intrinsic drive, what would push us to excel? “You ran 100 meters in 15 seconds? Great job. Ten seconds? Great job.” Would you really want to live in that world? I wouldn’t.

I’m not saying the status games we have today are perfect; history has shown how dark and brutal they can become. Yet these games have also fueled our greatest achievements.

My second realization—my resolution—can be boiled down to one word: agency. As simple as it sounds, the key isn’t eradicating these games; it’s about having more say in which games we play and how we play them.

VIII. Choosing which status games to play

So, how do we decide which games to play? In short, we pick games whose objectives and rules—stated or unstated—align with our values and long-term goals.

But identifying which games align with our values requires a deep understanding of what those values and goals truly are. I realized that autonomy (ability to craft my own vision), freedom (no one imposes restrictions), and independence (self-sufficiency) are very important to me. In contrast, Big Tech offered limited autonomy, especially during my early career. I wanted to play in realms where independence and personal decision-making are core features. That’s why I’m now drawn to entrepreneurship and indie software development.

You should consider whether you want to spend time with the other players of the game. If you dislike them or don’t wish to become like them, maybe it’s not the right choice. Though things have improved over time, certain sectors like entertainment and finance can still be notoriously toxic. In Big Tech, “visibility”—making sure your work is seen by the right higher-ups—is crucial for climbing the ladder. Sometimes this fixation leads people to act selfishly, undermining others.

One senior engineer on my team played a dominance game—often using her position, rather than rational discussion, to dictate what the team would focus on. This borderline bullying got her the visibility she needed, and she was even promoted. It left an awful taste in my mouth and was just one of many unpleasant political situations I encountered.³

Of course, it isn’t all bad, but I’d rather opt for a career path with incentives better suited to my values.

Finally, consider the ambition-sacrifice tradeoff. Ask yourself how much status you truly want and whether you’re willing to pay the price. Building a successful startup, for instance, will likely yield a high level of status—if you succeed—but demands enormous sacrifice. Becoming a competitive salsa dancer is also ambitious and requires a different type of sacrifice. I’m willing to invest in the former, not in the latter. I’m content being “good enough” at salsa.

IX. How to play

Besides choosing which games to play, you can also decide how to play them. Apply overarching strategies that turn status games into engines for personal and collective flourishing.

First, we must keep them from destroying us. Enter Rule One: Always remember that status games are illusions, and never let them take over your entire reality.⁴

Some of history’s worst atrocities occurred when entire groups were consumed by a status narrative. Think of Nazi Germany, certain communist regimes’ famines, terrorist suicide bombings, and cult disasters like Heaven’s Gate. In each instance, people became wholly caught up in the story of their chosen game—often leading to horrific outcomes.

On a personal level, I’ve sometimes let a single aspect of life—like academia or career—consume most of my self-esteem. The job I now can’t wait to leave was once my dream, and any failure there felt deeply personal. Eventually, I realized that basing my identity on one role was like putting all my eggs in a rickety basket. I’ve since learned to guard against that “monism,” the trap of focusing too narrowly on one game.

Avoiding over-investment in any single game brings us to Rule Two: play a hierarchy of games across various parts of your life.⁵ A plurality of games provides balance and keeps any single one from hijacking your entire mind. A hierarchy clarifies the priority each game holds in your life.

Right now, my career game is at the top, and other areas have lower immediate priority. That doesn’t mean they’re less important; I remain deeply committed to family, friends, health, and personal passions. (If you’re reading this, Mom, Dad, bro, friends: I love you.) I also carve out time for writing, working out, dancing, and martial arts—all of which enrich my life. Meanwhile, I’ve realized I’ve been single for far too long; it’s time to invest energy in building meaningful relationships (cue “Hide the Pain Harold” meme).

As you choose which games to play and prioritize them, it’s crucial to aim for a “positive-sum” approach—where success doesn’t come at others’ expense. Thus, Rule Three: avoid dominance, play fairly, and practice competence.⁶

Dominance might work in the short run, but it often creates resentment and hostility, damaging trust and cooperation. Eventually, it can backfire, leaving you isolated. Dominance isn’t the same as leadership: a true leader voluntarily shares status and welcomes feedback, while a dominator suppresses it.

No one likes a rigged game; fair play fosters collaboration. By respecting shared rules and treating people well, you build strong relationships and a positive environment that motivates everyone. Practicing competence means developing real skills and bringing genuine value to the table. Respect earned through merit outlasts coerced compliance and elevates not just you, but the entire group. The more each player grows, the more the game itself becomes a generator of collective value—a truly positive-sum scenario.

Lastly, balance your focus on collective good with personal meaning. Rule Four: express yourself. “Be authentic to escape competition” (another Naval-ism?) may sound cliché, but like most clichés, it’s true. Doing so can help you create your own games. Writing (in public) is a great example.

As my writing improves, I gain recognition. Yet it’s not just about technical skill or following Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style to the letter. It’s about injecting my personality and unique worldview into the work. Great writers aren’t typically revered for flawless grammar; they’re known for their distinctive voices. The same applies to artists, musicians, and other creatives.

Additionally, similar to status, self-expression seems like a fundamental human need—and also happens to be at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.⁷ There is something intrinsically joyful about using creative acts to project our internal worlds onto the external realm. By blending status pursuits with self-expression, you can satisfy both the drive for validation and the need to share who you truly are.

Epilogue: A world where most play “good” status games

A younger, more idealistic me vowed never to get involved with status games again after witnessing the darker side of corporate culture. But I’ve come to realize there’s no need to throw out the baby with the bathwater. Status games are unavoidable, and trying to escape them entirely might even be counterproductive.

I don’t see myself lingering much longer in my current Big Tech job. Instead, I’m gravitating toward building businesses, startups, and products that provide genuine value. I may fail—somewhat or spectacularly—but I refuse to keep playing a game I no longer believe in. I’d rather invest my energy in games I truly care about, played on my own terms.

I also find myself dreaming of a world where most people choose healthy, meaningful games—where we minimize dominance and foster spaces that reward real effort, moral courage, and creativity. Call me an idealist, but I think it’s possible. If enough of us consciously decide to share status instead of hoard it, we might inch closer to an “anti-tyrannical” future.

Ironically, that future looks a lot like what Naval hinted at: “Be free, think critically, create your own path.” Perhaps he and I aren’t so different after all. In the end, we’re both playing a game—hoping more people will choose better ones.

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Many thanks to those who helped shape this essay:

• Andrey Lepekhin for early discussions on status games.

• Chris Coffman
  or feedback on the outline and emphasizing the “moral drama.”

• Becky Isjwara
  for reading the first (shitty) draft—sorry and thanks!

• Akshat Naik for challenging the thesis.

• Gairik Sachdeva
  for helping me cut the fluff.

• Matt Cyr
  for the final review and the confidence to hit publish.

1. I work at Apple, so I’m not sure I can say much else about it.

2. I’m obviously oversimplifying, there were many competing priorities and incentives involved, but it is what it is.

3. We have since come to much better terms, but the point still stands.

4. A nod to Will Storr’s Rule Seven in The Status Game, Chapter 29.

5. Similar to Will Storr’s Rule Three, The Status Game, Chapter 29.

6. Akin to Will Storr’s Rule One, The Status Game, Chapter 29.

7. It’s actually self-actualization, but close enough.