Spectacle matters.
I have fought this notion my entire life. Even into early 2025. In my worldview prior, other things were more important.
Virtue. Merit. Integrity. Work ethic.
Surely these things should hold more weight in the world, right? Especially when it comes to divvying out opportunities. Who gets picked. Who gets trusted. Who gets access.
But over and over again, my experience kept pointing me back to the same unbidden truth.
Spectacle matters.
I didn’t arrive at that amicably.
I think I went through the full cycle of grief. Denial. Frustration. Bargaining. A quiet resentment I didn’t want to admit. My cycle only ended when curiosity finally showed up.
Why does spectacle matter? Why does it get rewarded? And does it have to look the same for everyone?
The insight didn’t come while reading or writing. It came on a quiet Wednesday morning, in the middle of my usual drive to get bread for the house.
I was hunched over the bakery window, waiting for my two loaves to be handed over. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man approach. White Lacoste shirt, most likely from his church. Leather sandals. Simple black trousers.
I don’t remember his face. I don’t remember his voice. He said nothing to me.
He stood next to me and waited patiently for me to finish my transaction.
As I turned to leave, I greeted him.
And something about that greeting felt different.
My tone carried respect.
That surprised me. I didn’t know this man. He hadn’t done anything for me. He hadn’t demonstrated competence or kindness or intelligence. So why did my body respond before my thinking had a chance to catch up?
It could have been many things. But the most obvious answer was also the most uncomfortable one.
It was the way he was dressed.
Growing up, that’s how the grown-ups around me dressed. And those were grown-ups I respected. Without asking for permission, my subconscious reached into memory, found a familiar pattern, and dictated my behaviour.
All of this happened before my values had a chance to intervene.
I’m sure you’re thinking, Eldad, this isn’t spectacle. A spectacle is defined as something dramatic. Excessive. Loud.
Sure. Sometimes.
But like most things, spectacle exists on a spectrum.
At the lowest end is being noticed. Next is being talked about. And the highest form, I think, is being remembered.
What happened in that bakery wasn’t loud spectacle. But it was spectacle nonetheless. Just enough signal to trigger recognition and invite respect.
This should have been obvious to me.
I’ve spent over a decade getting paid to help businesses stand out. Helping them get noticed, talked about, remembered. Yet somehow, I believed that when it came to me, that rule shouldn’t apply.
That people should infer value beyond what they could see.
That’s too much work.
And in a noisy world, no one is volunteering for extra work.
So why does any of this matter?
First, we are visual beings. We are trained to notice patterns and stereotypes because it’s efficient. Getting noticed is the first step to any meaningful connection in life and in business. That simple psychology is why how you look, sound, and present matters.
But still, that alone doesn’t explain spectacle.
So why do spectacles really matter?
Because we live in a noisy world.
While it took me nearly thirty years to accept this in my personal life, many people already know it intuitively and are constantly fighting for attention. Simply being noticed isn’t enough anymore. You want to be remembered. You want to be talked about.
Spectacle compresses complexity.
It allows people to make fast judgments about who you are, what you stand for, and whether you’re worth engaging. Not because they are shallow, but because they are tired.
Here’s the part I missed for a long time.
The world does not reward inner conviction. It cannot see it.
The world does not reward private seriousness, silent discipline, or invisible integrity. Not because these things lack value, but because they are unreadable.
The world rewards commitment it can recognise.
Commitment that leaves traces. Patterns that repeat. Choices that exclude other choices. A seriousness that doesn’t need explaining.
That’s what spectacle really is.
And no, spectacle does not look the same for everyone.
Everything I’ve said so far didn’t need to take this long to say. But this is my blog. Zinsser would disagree. But still. My blog.
The principle is constant. The method varies.
You can jump off a building. Build a billion-dollar business. Ride an electric scooter while playing a guitar. Or set yourself on fire.
Different methods. Same principle.
But the outcomes aren’t the same.
Some spectacles lead to lasting reward. Others create a short wave that forces you to keep performing just to remain visible.
Every spectacle extracts a cost.
Some cost dignity. Some cost peace. Some cost identity.
From that point of view, purpose feels like the ultimate spectacle to me.
Many people argue that purpose isn’t predetermined. That you get to make your own purpose. Safo recently introduced me to Sartre, and existentialists like Heidegger who argue that existence precedes essence, that we are free to choose who to be.
I don’t fully buy it.
Yes, humans have agency. But agency operates within constraint.
At every level of creation, things have an intent of design. The ant. The coconut tree and the wind swaying it outside my office window.
Humans are not exempt just because we can think and choose.
Purpose, as I now see it, isn’t self-invention. It’s discovery.
And when a human being discovers and lives out the intent of their creation fully, something interesting happens.
Their choices simplify. Their trade-offs repeat. Their behaviour stabilises.
People don’t need convincing.
They sense congruence.
That congruence is the most powerful, and most sustainable, form of spectacle I know.
Not loud. Not desperate. Not performative.
Inevitable.
If you live out the intent of your creation fully, you will be noticed. You will be talked about. And you will be remembered by those to whom it matters.
The world will always reward spectacle.
So pursue the spectacular.
Whatever that means for you.
Addendum
To those out there like me, who believe your value doesn’t need dressing up to be accepted or consumed, I’ll tell you what I told my friend Kofi.
The privilege to dress anyhow and still be taken seriously is earned.
And it is rarely earned silently.