Narcissism is a meadow where the most interesting flowers bloom. I discovered a vivid example of this a few days ago when Amazon founder Jeff Bezos was photographed with his new wife for a magazine. In the truck. He’s behind the wheel in a cowboy hat. Lauren Sánchez nestled close to him with a copulatory look in her eyes. Like Barbie and Ken from a parallel world of auto parts suppliers.
The eye-catcher in this picture is the impressively pumped up biceps of the man in his late fifties. For a moment you almost think that this is where Vin Diesel’s stronger brother is sitting in rehearsal for the next part of “Fast
What happened to the billionaires? Why are they all suddenly so fit? Mark Zuckerberg steels himself with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Richard Branson wakeboards from private island to private island. And Elon Musk is first trying weight loss injections to get himself in shape so that he doesn’t immediately die against Zuckerberg in the media-streamed cage fight. The fact that two multi-billionaires seriously think it’s a good idea to hit each other in the face in public only confirms the theory: Men in particular never leave the schoolyard in their lives.
Nerds like Bezos or Zuckerberg are currently overcoming their former, chronically sleepless self and sculpting a new identity for themselves. As if you could bend the past like iron in the gym. After completing the wealth comes the bodybuilding: “I pump, therefore I am.”
My name is Micky Beisenherz. In Castrop-Rauxel I am a world star. Elsewhere I have to pay for everything myself. I am a multimedia (single) general store. Author (Extra3, Jungle Camp), presenter (ZDF, NDR, ProSieben, ntv), podcast host (“Apocalypse and Filter Coffee”), occasional cartoonist. There are things that stand out to me. Sometimes even upset me. And since their impulse control is constantly stuck, they probably have to get out. My religious symbol is the crosshairs. The razor blade is my dance floor. And my feet are itching again.
For a long time, Bezos was destined to eke out an existence as a wreath of hair wearing short-sleeved shirts, true to his nature. Like when he started his package caliphate in a garage in Seattle. Then, around 50, the transformation began. The Dow Jones is no longer checked first in the morning, but rather the fitness tracker. Even Bill Gates probably already looks like Wolverine; We just haven’t noticed it yet.
What we observe at the top of the monkey rock also takes place on other levels: top managers get up at 4:30 a.m. for their morning run, train for the marathon or move their BMI into Hulk-like classes with the personal trainer. If you walk through your glass office with the muscle tone of a panther, the question of your performance doesn’t arise. This is about toughness, the ability to endure, and perseverance. Values that should distinguish the manager. Isn’t a shirt button stretched over the pectoral muscle much more meaningful than a flabby business card? Everyone is their own Clark Kent underneath the suit.
The looming US presidential election campaign seems like a grotesque antithesis: Those who are running for the top management of the free world are not wiry, dynamic people, but an obese cheeseburger sponge in his late 70s and an 81-year-old parchment grandfather who is apparently so haphazard the area runs like an out-of-control robot vacuum cleaner. Biden may be doing a much better job than many of his fit predecessors, but who cares in the meme-o-cracy?
But isn’t it comforting for normal employees to know that when I have to get up at six o’clock, the boss has already been up for an hour and a half, tormenting himself and cursing his life. That doesn’t make the salary higher, but it puts your own lack of freedom into perspective.
Yes, everyone has their own burden to bear. However, only those for whom thousands of others do it become rich.
