Chronic Arthritis
Like many, I've spent years standing before crowns. Small ones. The kind worn by bloated managers who confuse titles with real authority. Each time, the same ritual: nod along, laugh at bad jokes, ignore incompetence. Kiss the ring.
Each time, I refused.
Don't mistake this for heroism. I wouldn't recommend it. Refusing to play the game comes at a cost—promotions, opportunities, being ostracised.
But if you ever find yourself at the crossroads of strapping on kneepads, know this: that choice sets the metrics for your boundaries and self-respect.
The Blueprint
All petty tyrants follow a similar pattern. The workplace becomes their kingdom. Compliance is their drug.
Their tools? Fear, ever-moving goal posts, and mind games.
They believe manipulation is leadership. They pit workers against each other, using people's fear of financial instability to curry favour. Compulsive liars with a talent for playing aggressor or victim.
They lure the gullible by faking friendship—confiding just enough to stock personal details as ammunition.
The Ones with No Names
Scratch the surface and you find desperation. An insatiable hunger to matter.
When the world's validation means more than your own, it becomes death by a thousand cuts—a drip torture of self-loathing.
Their minds are never at peace; every waking moment is spent paranoid about how others see them. But it's all wasted energy, because nobody sees them.
No one sees them as threats. No one sees them as potential mates.
The forever middle child in an empty orphanage. Titles become lifelines because without them, they're invisible.
The Physical Truth
Nine out of ten petty tyrants look like shit.
How you treat your body reflects how you treat everything else. Self-discipline in one area often translates to discipline elsewhere. When someone can't maintain basic standards for themselves, it raises questions about their capacity for any kind of standards.
It's not about aesthetics—it's about the habits that reveal character.
Why would you respect anyone who clearly doesn't respect themselves? Why be led by someone who can't even control what they shovel into their mouth?
False power hides deep inadequacies.
The Intellectual Void
"The less talent they have, the more pride, vanity and arrogance they have. All these fools, however, find other fools who applaud them." — Erasmus
A common misconception is mistaking cunning and conniving for intelligence.
True intelligence—especially in leadership—focuses on long-term goals, recognising that human capital and organisational trust are the real assets.
When your skillset is too narrow, manipulation becomes a crutch. But if you can always twist your way out of problems, you never genuinely learn to solve them.
These tin crown wearers mistake immediate, visible results from their mind games as actual metrics of success. It's like mistaking a sugar high for genuine nutrition.
It's sophisticated self-destruction with a good PR department.
No Sympathy
What led them here? Victims of bullying? Products of toxic environments? Learnt behaviours?
I have zero sympathy for them.
The moment they use power to hurt, exploit vulnerability, and punch down, they forfeit any claim to compassion.
Whatever led them here, at some point, they either cross the bridge or live under it, collecting tolls.
The world is filled with those who carry trauma but never become bullies. Many are insecure but lift others up. These tyrants chose to become what they hate.
The Crown
At some point in life, everyone faces these soul goblins. And when you do, you'll have a choice: kneel or stand.
Most kneel. Financial desperation, learned helplessness, eroded confidence, or just fear. I understand—each to their own.
If you choose to stand, you'll get no medals, no recognition. No one will remember, and no one will care. You'll be forgotten the moment you walk out the door. It's a hill that doesn't offer much of a view.
Me? I'll stand six days a week and twice on Sunday. Not because I'm fearless. Not to make a statement. But because I have chronic arthritis of the soul.
The pain and self-disgust I'd feel bowing to lesser men leaves scars money can't heal. I'd lose more sleep kneeling for small men than I ever would over unpaid bills.
The next time you're before these tin crowns, remember:
Their power is borrowed. Their authority is hollow.
Their kingdom exists only because you let it.
You don't have to kiss the ring.
You never did.
