Freddie deBoer cuts through the polite fiction of modern cultural success to expose a raw, uncomfortable contradiction: the very people who claim to despise the meritocratic ladder are the ones most frantically climbing it. In a piece that reads less like an essay and more like a psychological autopsy of the liberal elite, deBoer argues that our disdain for status is merely a performance designed to make the acquisition of status feel morally palatable. This is not a story about a specific newsletter list, but a diagnosis of a class that has lost its way, trapped between the desire for wealth and the need to pretend it doesn't matter.
The Currency of Envy
The piece begins by dismantling the idea that we can opt out of the systems we claim to hate. DeBoer observes that while readers often scoff at the accomplishments of high-achieving elites, the reality is that "the simple reality is that many many people would like to be successful in the way of that list, and that ultimately is the only real currency of success, the envy of other people." This is a brutal but necessary correction to the self-congratulatory narrative of the left-leaning intellectual. DeBoer suggests that pretending these markers of success are irrelevant is a form of denial, noting that "disdaining the things that elites care about does not make those things inconsequential."
The argument gains traction by pointing out the hypocrisy of those who claim to be above the fray. DeBoer writes, "They theatrically say things like 'I can't imagine living a life where this stuff matters!' because a part of themselves very much does think it matters, and they are uncomfortable with what that says about their own place in our complicated sociocultural sorting systems." This framing is effective because it shifts the blame from the system to the individual's internal conflict. It forces the reader to confront the anxiety of social ascension, a feeling that persists regardless of how much one ironizes the process. Critics might argue that this view is overly cynical, ignoring the genuine intellectual contributions of these figures, but deBoer's point is that the motivation for their success is often rooted in the very status games they claim to reject.
The foibles of America's overeducated elite annoy me, therefore I insist that they don't matter is just distorted and motivated reasoning.
The Paradox of the Lefty Meritocrat
DeBoer then pivots to the central tension of the piece: the coexistence of anti-capitalist rhetoric with capitalist success. He asks, "How are we supposed to feel about being impressive, if we're willing to rudely assume a particular kind of politics onto the members of that list?" The answer, he suggests, is that we shouldn't feel good about it. The author highlights the dissonance of a group that is "presumably critics of the process through which elites become elites... and yet they are also clearly busy strivers who would never forego climbing themselves." This contradiction is not just a personal failing but a structural feature of modern liberal culture.
The piece draws a sharp distinction between the financial ladder and the cultural ladder, noting that while the cultural ladder might be "shorter and ricketier," it is still a ladder. DeBoer writes, "It remains a ladder all the same, and it still carries that familiar anxiety of social ascension - the sense that there is some ultimate door you're trying to be waved through, even if no one seems able to describe what's on the other side." This observation is particularly poignant when considering the historical context of the literary left. Much like Gore Vidal, who navigated the treacherous waters of celebrity and critique with a similar blend of irony and ambition, today's cultural producers are caught in a similar bind. They are expected to be both the critics of the system and its most successful products.
The author also touches on the financial reality that underpins this cultural scene. "For many, simple financial considerations foreclose on the possibility of being an intern at a beloved literary journal famous for launching people into careers at more financially remunerative places," deBoer notes. This is a crucial point that is often overlooked in discussions of meritocracy. The ability to take on unpaid or underpaid work is a privilege, one that is often funded by family wealth. DeBoer is clear: "I can promise you that, if any of the people on that list have any money at all, most have it because their parents gave it to them." This reframes the narrative of success from one of individual grit to one of inherited advantage, a theme that resonates deeply in an era of widening inequality.
The Performance of Ambivalence
The most striking part of deBoer's analysis is his description of the "defining grammar of cultural success in the lefty meritocracy." He argues that success is no longer just about winning; it's about how you win. "It's not that you win the prize. It's that you win it while expressing, in exquisitely modulated prose, how uncomfortable you are to have been chosen." This performance of ambivalence is a survival mechanism, a way to maintain moral high ground while enjoying the benefits of the system. DeBoer calls this a "sincere and unresolved psychological predicament," suggesting that the people involved are genuinely torn between their values and their desires.
This tension is not new, but it has become more acute in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. DeBoer writes, "In a deep sense, the 'literary scene' of my broad generation remains defined by a very Millennial folk radicalism that grew in response to the 2008 financial crisis and subsequent recession." The crisis created a cohort of young people who were able to critique capitalism from a position of relative safety, a safety they often disavowed. As deBoer puts it, "those who could afford to say capitalism wasn't working were, by and large, the ones for whom it had always worked." This historical context adds depth to the argument, showing how the current state of affairs is a direct result of specific economic and social conditions.
The people who hate ambition most are those who are compelled to chase it. That's the trick, that's the joke.
DeBoer's conclusion is both bleak and insightful. He suggests that the question is no longer whether ambition is good or bad, but whether there is enough consequence left for the distinction to matter. In an industry where prestige and financial reward are collapsing, the pursuit of status feels increasingly futile. Yet, people keep trying. "Perhaps only out of muscle memory from days of high school striving past, perhaps out of a misguided belief that these laurels really will one day confer financial stability, perhaps simply because there's nothing else to do." This final observation is a powerful indictment of a culture that has lost its way, where the pursuit of success has become an end in itself, devoid of meaning.
Bottom Line
Freddie deBoer's piece is a masterful dissection of the contradictions at the heart of the modern liberal elite, exposing the uncomfortable truth that our disdain for meritocracy is often just a mask for our desire to succeed within it. The strongest part of the argument is its refusal to let the reader off the hook, forcing us to confront the hypocrisy of our own ambitions. The biggest vulnerability is its potential to alienate readers who see their own struggles reflected in the very system deBoer critiques, but this is a risk worth taking. The piece serves as a necessary mirror, reflecting a culture that is struggling to reconcile its values with its realities, and it challenges us to ask whether we are truly building a better world or just climbing a ladder that leads nowhere.