.png)
4 months ago
5
There’s a story—possibly apocryphal, possibly perfect—about Bret Weinstein being asked by his brother Eric why, given his deep grasp of evolutionary biology, he didn’t just have a dozen kids. His answer?
“If you understand the game, why would you want to play it?”
It’s a response that stops you mid-stride. Because what he’s pointing to—what anyone who’s studied evolutionary signaling will recognize—is that most of life is performance, and performance is costly.
Which brings us to the Handicap Principle: nature’s bizarre logic that says the least efficient thing you can do might be the most honest signal of fitness.
You know—like growing a tail so large it doubles as a death wish. Or expending energy to sing love songs when you’re starving. Or spending thirty years of your life acquiring social prestige by writing academic papers seven people will read.
In the wild, these handicaps work because they’re costly. A peacock tail is a peacock's way of saying: “If I can afford to carry this thing and still survive predators, imagine what else I’m packing genetically.”
But if you're smart enough to recognize the signaling game for what it is, the next question becomes obvious:
Is there a way not to play?
The first move toward transcending the Handicap Principle is the one Weinstein hints at: recognition without submission. Most creatures don't know they're sending signals—they're locked in evolutionary autopilot. But humans, blessed and burdened with meta-awareness, can reflect on the costs of the games we’re playing.
We ask:
Why am I pursuing this career, this title, this car?
Is it truly useful—or just a peacock tail shaped like a LinkedIn profile?
The moment we ask these questions, we’ve begun to opt out of blind participation. We’ve bought the backstage pass to our own evolutionary theater.
Of course, you can’t simply stop signaling. Not entirely. We still live in social systems. But you can choose your signals strategically. You can lean into signals that are:
Low-cost but high-trust
Multipurpose rather than single-purpose
Aligned with personal values, rather than social scripts
In other words, you don’t have to grow the tail—you can hack the optics.
Think:
Authenticity as signal: Not the kind of performative “authenticity” curated on platforms, but the kind that shows integrity across time, like long-term projects, consistency, or principled refusal.
Mastery over showmanship: True capability, maintained quietly and revealed when needed, often trumps loud, continuous self-promotion.
Community building instead of dominance games: Cooperation as a signal of confidence, rather than control.
This is what philosopher-scientists, sub-cultural rebels, and high-agency misfits do: they pick their inefficiencies carefully.
When you transcend the signaling game, something remarkable happens:
You stop broadcasting for random approval and start tuning your signal for resonance—for the few who actually matter, or for ideas that are more than simply fashionable.
And in doing so, you flip the dynamic. The peacock’s tail becomes irrelevant—not because you’ve out-competed it, but because you’ve built a different game. One where energy flows toward substance, rather than spectacle.
This is what the greats do: they live the long game.
They don’t reject the game because they’re weak.
They reject the game because they’re among the few who truly understand what it costs.
Think of it this way: if you accept that most conventional signals are inefficient, then the mates, allies, and accolades you attract by sending those signals may be the kind drawn to noise—not signal. They may not have woken up to the game yet.
But if you choose instead to signal authenticity, mastery, community, and—above all—a deep and proper reverence for the instrument of your humanity… who shows up then?
My bet is this: whatever follows from that kind of signaling is worth the effort.
Just as it’s worth the effort to overcome your biology in a thousand other ways.
You wouldn't sniff every stranger you meet just because your ancestors found it useful.
You wouldn’t bare your teeth at a rival every time you felt insecure.
You wouldn’t hoard food in your cheeks, or mark your territory with your scent, or mate indiscriminately just because biology nudges you in that direction.
Or maybe you would. But if you’ve ever paused—really paused—before acting on instinct, then you’ve already proven the point.
You are not a slave.
You are the first species to study the game while playing it—and to wonder whether winning is the right goal at all.
