The Theatre of Power: When Attire Becomes Allegiance
They say clothes make the man, but sometimes, the lack of them reveals far more. Take a moment to appreciate the grand theatre of geopolitics—where emperors with no clothes pretend to clothe the desperate, where the supposed oppressed and oppressors both play their part in oppression, and where those who kneel, hoping for protection, find themselves left in the cold.
At the centre of this latest spectacle were two world leaders—well, two leading figures—surrounded by a chorus of advisers, officials, and opportunists, each playing their assigned roles in this ongoing saga of power, subjugation, and misplaced trust. Some were there to legitimise, some to pacify, and others simply to nod along, knowing full well that their presence added weight to the unspoken realities in the room.
And then came the question, "Why don't you wear a suit? Do you even own a suit?"
For those watching closely, this wasn’t just about attire. It was a message—a demonstration of where one stands—or kneels—within the hierarchy of power. The man in the suit was not asking a fashion question; he was issuing a reminder. A suit is not just clothing in these circles—it is permission, an entry pass, a declaration of belonging. To not wear it, especially in a room where appearances dictate authority, was to admit a degree of irrelevance.
But that wasn’t even the worst part of the exchange. Because soon after, one of the courtiers—the real clowns of this act—decided that a sartorial critique wasn’t enough. No, why stop at attire when you can bring the whole conversation into the realm of power and life itself?
"We are civilised. Let’s talk and ‘negotiate’."
Ah, yes. Negotiation—that polite word that, in certain rooms, means nothing more than a conversation where only the sword speaks and the neck listens. And yet, even as this was said, the assumption remained that the recipient would smile, nod, and be grateful for the opportunity to sit at the table where such "civilised discussions" take place.
To be fair, there was at least an attempt to soften the blow with humour—perhaps recognising that outright barbarity doesn't sell well in the room where deals are made. But the real question isn't about that moment of levity at all. It's about the ones who said it, the ones who meant it, and the ones who thought they could get away with it.
The Oppressed and the Oppressor: A Perfect Symbiosis
The modern political theatre demands a clear hero and villain, but reality is far less accommodating. The so-called oppressed and the oppressor often participate in the same cycle, trading places in the act of subjugation, justifying their actions in the name of history, survival, or strategy.
Victimhood has its own incentives. And so does power. The real question isn’t who is oppressed and who is the oppressor at any given moment, but who foresaw this coming and who was naive enough to believe they would be the exception? Because none of this is new, none of it is unpredictable.
History has already provided a blueprint. Leaders who stood at the peak of their alliance, once courted, once assured of unwavering support, have later found themselves abandoned, humiliated, or executed. The grand promises of protection and partnership have crumbled before, leaving those who placed their trust in them not just disillusioned but completely powerless.
So, where was the foresight? Where was the wisdom to look at the past and see the writing on the wall? If history teaches anything, it is that an ally with no accountability will eventually turn into a liability.
Yet, instead of independence, we see dependence. Instead of self-sufficiency, we see a reliance on forces that have never had a history of true loyalty. And when that reliance collapses—when the reality of the situation is laid bare—the only ones who are surprised are those who refused to learn from those who came before them.
The One Who Was Meant to Lose—Yet Perhaps Isn’t
Of course, while some are being humiliated, discarded, or forced to beg for continued relevance, there’s another figure in this saga—the one who was meant to be backed into a corner, yet now watches as others stumble over their own miscalculations.
They said isolation would break this one, yet trade deals keep flowing. They said economic collapse was inevitable, yet the industries shutting down aren’t theirs. They said the days in power were numbered, yet it’s their own side cycling through leaders like broken chess pieces.
Strange, isn’t it? The one who was meant to be struggling now sets the terms of engagement. While others react to every move, trying to spin narratives of victory, this one plays the long game—watching, waiting, letting opponents exhaust themselves while steadily consolidating control.
Meanwhile, those who once paraded as righteous crusaders now find themselves scrambling to justify how their grand strategy has turned into a slow-motion self-destruction. Once hailed as unshakable, their alliances reveal cracks as self-interest replaces solidarity. Their plans for swift victory become drawn-out quagmires. Their declarations of dominance begin to sound more like wishful thinking.
And perhaps the biggest irony is? While some kneel and beg for continued support, the one they swore to bring down simply remains unmoved—because there was never any real need to rush. Because in the end, the best way to defeat an opponent isn’t to crush them—it’s to let them unravel, thread by thread, undone by their own miscalculations, misplaced trust, and the slow subversion of their foundations.
The Beards of Thinkers and the Razors of Conformity
Speaking of the unwritten dress codes of power, here’s something just as absurd: the persistent expectation that men should shave their beards to conform to some arbitrary aesthetic standard. Somehow, a naturally occurring feature that grows without effort has become something that must be actively erased to be considered proper, professional, or presentable.
And yet, the real question isn’t why some choose to keep a beard, but rather—why do others go through the trouble of scraping their faces every morning as if nature somehow made a mistake? It grows by itself, after all. The more straightforward explanation would be that this is what happens when a man does nothing.
Curiously, many of history’s greatest thinkers, leaders, and philosophers—those whose minds shaped entire civilisations—wore beards that could house entire ecosystems. Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Darwin and many others had enough facial hair to break modern corporate grooming standards into a nervous sweat. It seems that history had no problem with beards until someone, somewhere, decided that being "clean" meant looking prepubescent.
And where did that idea come from? That’s the interesting part. The philosophers, warriors, and intellectuals of old had no issue with a full beard—and, one assumes, neither did their lovers or intimate partners. If anything, they probably adored them for it—or at least learned to navigate around it. But somewhere along the way, the obsession with a smooth face took hold—ironically, in societies that still idolise bearded thinkers. A strange contradiction, really. On one hand, there’s admiration for history’s greatest minds; on the other, there’s an expectation to shave away any resemblance to them.
But this isn’t just about men and their beards. Women, too, have been subjected to similar arbitrary grooming expectations—except in their case, the burden is even heavier. Where men are expected to remove their beards to appear more "civilised," women are often expected to remove hair everywhere else to fit into an ideal of beauty that someone, somewhere, decided was the standard. Legs, arms, faces—entire industries exist to enforce this expectation, often marketed as "empowerment," while conveniently profiting off insecurity.
To be clear, this isn’t about whether one should or shouldn’t shave—that’s a personal choice, and that’s precisely the point. It is no one’s place to dictate such things to another person. If someone dislikes a particular aesthetic, they’re free to seek out people who match their preferences—but imposing those preferences as universal truths or codes of conduct from a so-called superior culture? That’s where the absurdity begins.
And this is precisely how raw initial insights kick in and superficial prejudices start. First, it’s a beard. Then, it’s hair length. Then, suddenly, entire groups of people—those with this skin colour, this gender, these facial features—are being measured not by their actions, integrity, or intellect, but by arbitrary markers that have no bearing on who they indeed are. And once this thinking takes hold, it doesn’t stop—it descends straight into identity politics, splitting people left and right, chipping away at any sense of shared humanity, leading to social disintegration, all because someone somewhere decided that “proper” meant looking like a mannequin from a department store window.
And now, I’ve completely spiralled from talking about beards to the collapse of civilisation. But you get my point.
Now, before someone jumps in with the devil’s advocate response, let’s address it:
"But doesn’t power work the same way? If you want to play at the highest level, shouldn’t you conform? Shouldn’t you shave the beard, wear the suit, and play the game?"
Fair question. And yes, there’s a logic to it. Power does have a dress code. The gatekeepers of influence expect conformity—whether in appearance, behaviour, or ideology. The world of power is filled with people who have bent to these expectations, who have shaved away parts of themselves—literally and figuratively—in pursuit of belonging.
But here’s the real question: At what point does adapting become erasing?
There’s a fine line between strategic adaptability and losing authenticity. It’s one thing to understand your environment; it’s another to become something you’re not just to fit in. Authenticity—genuine, unshakable authenticity—is not about refusing change but ensuring that change is on your own terms.
This is where we circle back to the original topic. The ones who kneel, the ones who believe their alliances will save them, the ones who bend to external pressures in the hopes of securing their place are never the ones who last. They are tolerated for a time but ultimately discarded when they no longer serve a purpose.
Meanwhile, the one who was meant to lose, yet isn’t? The one who refuses to conform, who dictates the game rather than plays along? That’s the one who outlasts.
So, yes—one could argue that success requires playing by the rules of power. But the counterargument is even stronger: Those who indeed hold power don’t play by someone else’s rules. They set their own.
And if a man can’t even decide for himself whether to keep a beard or wear a suit, how can he ever expect to decide the fate of a nation?
The Illusion of Allies and the Reality of Self-Efficacy
Power, at its highest level, operates in a predictable way: it rewards strength, discards weakness, and never upholds loyalty beyond strategic utility.
This is where sense-making and metacontent come into play. People navigate the world through layers of perception—the narratives they believe, the frameworks they use to interpret events, and the illusions they cling to. The failure here wasn’t just political but ontological—a failure of perception itself.
- You will constantly be blindsided if your sense-making is based on hope rather than reality.
- You will always be replaceable if you rely on external validation rather than internal strength.
- If you do not see that an ally without accountability eventually becomes a liability, you are walking into betrayal with your eyes wide shut.
Being: The Source of Power
This is why Being matters—not as an abstract philosophy, but as an embodied reality. Strength, autonomy, freedom, liberty, resilience, and sovereignty are not theoretical ideals—they must be lived, forged, and upheld. It is not enough to analyse power dynamics or critique cycles of betrayal if one remains trapped in the same patterns of dependence and misplaced trust. Being is the foundation from which all true strength emerges. It is the ability to operate from an unshakable centre—where power is not something borrowed but something cultivated from within.
True power isn’t borrowed. It isn’t given. It is built through self-efficacy—through standing on your own, ensuring that no external force can dictate your fate.
The Being Framework distinguishes between authentic power and dependency. To be sovereign is to see reality as it is, anticipate betrayal, and never place oneself in a position where humiliation is even possible. A truly powerful leader does not lament lost alliances; they design sustainable systems where no external power is the key to survival and growth. Likewise, individuals who cultivate their Being recognise the need for self-sustaining structures—whether within their internal state or external institutions. They identify, initiate, design, implement, and actively participate in systems that function independently, without constant intervention, maintenance, or manual manipulation. True power lies in creating frameworks that endure, adapt, and thrive on their own.
Final Thoughts: The True Measure of Strength
Like so many before, this moment in history is a lesson—not just for those directly involved but for everyone watching and wondering where true strength comes from.
It does not come from an alliance that exists only as long as it is convenient. It does not come from an enemy that suddenly offers help, only to remind you of your place later. And it certainly does not come from appealing to forces whose interests shift with the wind.
Dignity means being in a state where no internal or external force can negatively influence you.
Strength comes from independence, self-efficacy, and the ability to predict, prepare, and position oneself so that no external force—whether a political ally, a business partner, a team leader, or even a personal relationship—can dictate your fate. It applies not just to nations navigating power struggles but to every individual, partnership, family, team, organisation, and institution that seeks to build something lasting. Those who bend too often, rely too much, and fail to recognise the patterns of history—whether in geopolitics, business, leadership, or life itself—will eventually be discarded when their usefulness expires.
If this lesson is not learned now, it will be learned again. And again. And again.
And perhaps, now that the emperor’s clothes have well and truly dropped, others should start paying attention. After watching once-revered allies scramble for footing, witnessing the slow disintegration of borrowed power, and seeing the once-invisible strings exposed for all to see, shouldn’t this be the moment when everyone—whether a nation, a company, a leader, or an individual—reassesses their own position?
For instance, Australia, our beloved country, might want to take a long, hard look at what’s unfolded with Canada and Ukraine—because history has an amusing way of repeating itself. But the same can be said of any business leader who builds their empire on fleeting trends, any individual who relies too much on external validation, or any organisation that anchors itself to unstable foundations. The question is whether one observes, learns, adapts—or waits for the lesson to be delivered the hard way.
Because once the invisible is seen, there’s no going back to ignorance—only the choice to acknowledge or to deceive oneself.