What colour is my Bugatti?

Dear reader

I was supposed to start writing this, my first letter, months ago.

Andrew Tate was everywhere on social media, specifically my YouTube feed, and he was being lambasted in the media. As an English teacher, and a somewhat experienced cohabitant of an occasionally chaotic learning space, Tate’s sphere of influence was undoubtedly a hot topic, so I decided to write about it. About the phenomenon of Andrew Tate, that is, and then about some other things.

These would be ‘my many letters’, I decided. I had been toying with the idea of penning such missives for some years, and here was the perfect opportunity.

Yet I found myself procrastinating, for a variety of reasons. I had to set up a website. Obviously. Then I found myself fiddling with WordPress themes and plug-ins; and failing to figure out how widgets work; and – alarmingly – having to implement various security measures after it transpired that a number of hackers (or bots?) had tried to attack my little creation within hours of its first heartbeat.

“Are they working for Andrew Tate?”

Just for a moment, late one Sunday evening in late August, I confess that I found myself contemplating this rather disconcerting possibility. Given the army of acolytes that he had amassed around the world, it would hardly come as a surprise if it were true.

Unfortunately, this delay took me on a deeper and ever more unpleasant dive into the world of the Top G (as this man christened himself, I assume). His misogyny has been well-documented and I found it abhorrent, along with so many other people around the world. With ruthless dexterity, Cobra Tate (as he had been baptized at some other point) was shamelessly promoting all things ‘manly’ whilst simultaneously doubling down on the type of brazenly archaic gender discrimination that I honestly did not expect to see proliferate once again in my lifetime.

It soon became apparent that, according to Andrew Tate, a man of my relatively advanced years would routinely be classified as a failure as I had voluntarily chosen to settle down with one woman, and I had elected to become a teacher, with its distinctly unappealing financial rewards.

And thus not a “man of high value.”

Not a man of “high status” who, when pursuing the all-important goal of “getting attention” in order to procure a satisfactory mate, must be (among other things) strong and violent and rich and charismatic, whilst simultaneously being able to take care of a baby, and he must have a nice car and a nice apartment, etc, etc, etc…

Because, of course, he will ultimately be responsible for his woman.

It is not often that I find conscious thought eluding me. It was not a pleasant experience. But Tate’s values are far from palatable.

That small, rational part of my brain was asking: how many of these “high value men” could there possibly be?

But was I triggered? Oh, absolutely.

Was it my ego? Undoubtedly.

After decades of being called “Sir”, I was now faced with the prospect of being unable to measure up to Mr Tate’s notion of what it means to be a “man”, much less one of any “value”.

To be fair, though, it is reasonable to suggest that a whole generation of middle-aged educators would have been left feeling rather discombobulated, at the very least.

Monsieur Tate certainly knows how to push buttons, let us give him that. His pugilistic philosophy quickly muscled its way in and he proceeded to occupy a grimy booth in a dark corner of my brain: bare-chested, sporting those infernal dark glasses, with that cobra wrapped around his arm and yet another cigar sheathed in his maniacal grin, all the while spouting gruff truths on his way to becoming “the most famous man on the planet”.

It was thus inevitable that Herr Tate would lay this gem before me on my journey:

“As a man, you must be battle-ready.”

Then this one:

“The most important skill you need as a man is the ability to manipulate opponents and pick your battles.”

His fangs pierced all the way through to my very own reptilian brain for that is obviously his goal, knowing (as he does) that we are biologically programmed to retreat to that dingy corner of our minds when faced with grave danger or unsurmountable odds.

And so it was that my precious, delicately crafted tendency to procrastinate (read, ruminate, plan, draft, revise, and then think some more) was transmogrified into a profound rapacious quest for knowledge. That is how I came to spend hours of my life watching Senhor Tate video clips. Of the compacted, TikTok generation variety. Hours and hours, I tell you. Like many others, I was horrified by the sheer volume of narrow-mindedness and bitterness dispensed by this fast-talking internet sensation who is, in the eyes of so many young men, a latter-day paragon of masculinity, and whose abrupt martyrdom has served only to entrench the myth of the disenfranchisement of ‘the real man.’

What wound me up even more was that by having watched so many of those videos, I had spent not only my time, but I had also contributed to Sig. Tate’s financial success by clicking on them. In another era, I could have handed over my coins in person. For that is what so many fail to see: Dl. Tate is just the latest in an endless procession of spiritual salesmen who have fostered trust with the downtrodden by telling them that they are useless – they are ‘brokies’, to adopt the parlance of the liberator himself.

He is simply the latest messiah, like Donald Trump (et al) before him. And he wants your money, just like Trump did.

After weeks of this ‘research’, I was truly spent. Not financially, despite אדון. Tate’s edicts, but physically, and spiritually. While it is true that I have not acquired the kind of material wealth which serves as the standard by which Мистер Tate wants us all to measure our lives, I am very grateful to live comfortably in a country ravaged by unemployment and corruption. However, this would not satisfy him. It became clear to me that I would also be classified as a ‘brokie’ because I bestow my time and my energy on less worldly pursuits such as camping, and walking in the mountains, thereby depriving myself of the chance to learn how to invest in stocks and thus flit around the world in my own private jet.

Needless to say, if I hadn’t been triggered already, stumbling across another of श्री। Tate’s bugbears really nailed it:

“Reading is for people who can’t afford or aren’t brave enough to learn lessons for real.”

Even this hallowed intellectual pursuit was being tainted by this bare-chested purveyor of ticky-tack salvation…

Nonetheless, Sensei Tate was making tons of money. Amongst other things, he was imparting dollops of ‘wisdom’ on a daily basis, offering his services as a guffawing guru to innumerable young men who were keen to imbibe of his brew, enamoured as they were by his fast cars and his pecs and his kickboxing exploits. And, of course, the beautiful women in his orbit.

Eventually I found myself homing in on the more insidious threat: many young men seemed to be unable to avoid the noxious conflation of material success with the particular brand of cigar-fuelled masculinity he was selling.

This was all epitomised in one of the man’s most (in)famous questions:

“What colour is your Bugatti?” 

That is, of course, what the “high value man” would be driving.

A Bugatti.

And that is why, months later, I find myself still tinkering with this first epistle.

I have dithered and I have procrastinated. The curse of contemplation in the TikTok era.

It has been difficult to separate the concerns raised by Tate’s fame, or infamy (depending on which way you hold your protein shake). Having said that, it has been truly engrossing to watch this soap opera unfold in real time. It was a masterful lesson in how to use language to get what you want, and that is ultimately what this is all about, in my humble opinion, for it is what made Tate so dangerous: ironically, he knows that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’.

Well, in this case, ‘words’ as opposed to the pen. Apparently he wields them so vivaciously without actually having to bother to read much of the written language. I hate to admit it, but Tate does know how to use our language. Like many other aficionados unhampered by something as pesky as a conscience, he trots out pithy, well-worn slices of advice which may well have been uttered in a variety of less odious guises by a number of less violent male role models. And he delivers them in his patented rapid-fire, stream-of-consciousness flow, which must surely make even Donald Trump envious.

However, we must not sell the man short, for he has other skills as well. Like Iago, Shakespeare’s greatest villain, Tate also knows how to zero in and target a man’s trigger points.

In “Othello”, the lovelorn Rodrigo is exploited by Iago, who determines (much as Tate would, I imagine) that love “… is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.” He goads the poor fool Rodrigo: “Come, be a man!”

Of course he does!

Even further along the Machiavellian scale, Iago revels in the deceit that everything he does is a charade:

“Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,

But seeming so, for my peculiar end:

For when my outward action doth demonstrate

The native act and figure of my heart

In compliment extern, ’tis not long after

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve

For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.”

Centuries later, Andrew Tate’s selfish intentions have been swathed in a comparable veneer of credibility. Those of us who have done some reading would be quick to point out the literary parallels. (As it is all we have, obviously.) While “Othello” provides an intriguing glimpse into the pit of a man’s heart, it is a guilty pleasure as Shakespeare put so much of his skill into such a juicy character. However, I imagine that even if Andrew Tate were able to reduce himself to the level of a bibliophile, such is the ego of the man that he would refuse to concede even a single whit of admiration for Iago: he would have to be classified as just another ‘brokie’ who was defeated, for his plan was foiled – by a woman! And his own wife, to boot!

What kind of high value man would ever allow that to happen?

The irony is not lost on me, a bookworm, that this diatribe has been directed at a man who has unwittingly, and yet so gloriously, channelled one of the greatest villains ever put to paper. Iago would have thrived in the 21^st century with access to the social media tools necessary to further his ends. Imagine Instagram and TikTok in the hands of this master manipulator: he would have buried all of his foes, and Shakespeare would have been able to call the play “Iago”, as he had always wanted to…

Alas, ‘tis true: I digress (he writes, months later), for it is the Right Honourable Andrew Tate on whom we must focus…

As uncomfortable as it may well be for many of us, it has to be acknowledged that Andrew Tate understands men. Or, rather (he types hastily), he has successfully promoted a traditional form of manliness that appeals to a large number of men, and young men in particular.

Crucially, he understands what has left so many men feeling emasculated of late. In his own words, it is the “age-old ways of masculinity” that he defends so staunchly, and it cannot be denied that his immense surge in popularity is evidence – of one sort or another – that many would agree with him.

So, this is where we pause and give Tate his due.

Some, like Donald Trump, have revelled in stoking controversy, claiming to be immune from ‘cancel culture’. For a goodly period of time, Andrew Tate also seemed to be invulnerable. He basked in the glow of the adulation he received for seemingly being able to do and say as he pleased. He uttered a lot of disturbing things but he also enthralled a significantly large group of young men by appealing, among other things, to the universal desire for greatness:

“Discipline is the key to success. Absolutely is. If you cannot force yourself to do something you don’t want to do, how are you ever gonna put yourself through the suffering required for greatness?”

Many young men found succour in this kind of mentorship, and with good reason. Traditional modes of masculinity have struggled to keep pace with 21^st century societal reckonings driven by gender politics, which has left many men unsure of what their role is – and what their role will be in the future. As a result, practical advice about working hard and valuing one’s place in the world will resonate with many people, especially when they (young men, that is) are being bombarded with negative stereotypes and labels such as “toxic masculinity”, #menaretrash and the “manosphere”.

Many young men simply want to be better men, and they are willing to look for answers and role models themselves. Surely that can only be applauded?

Having said all of that, these developments have facilitated the laying of a fertile playing field for people like Cobra Tate. The self-help shelf at the bookstore has been well-stocked for decades, and the success of various online platforms has made personal development more accessible. More importantly, in this particular case it is more profitable. Tate was but the latest wily ‘influencer’ to cotton on to this, but he knew what he was doing: he sharpened his fangs on online training courses, and then a webcam business using models to sell “fake sob stories” to male callers, before he lathered up his patina of brawny business interests to such an oily sheen that he became a multi-millionaire billionaire trillionaire!

What helped propel Tate to such giddy heights was his ability to tap into the psyche of a certain category of man, and then get many of them, particularly young men, to conflate a number of core issues. Crucially, there is a lot of breaking – a lot of violence – because men respond to that. Not all men – but a lot of men. And I’m not saying that women don’t enjoy a spot of ‘ultra-violence’ (he types post-haste)! All comparable examples of women’s propensity for mindless violence and their attraction to bloodsports must also be considered equally, of course.

However, it is clear that a great many men accept and embrace violence as part of life: it is something which must be confronted, and those who wield it expertly must thus be respected, whether it be on the battlefield, or the sports field, or inside the ropes of – in this case – a kickboxing ring. A man who can kick ass deserves respect! This is the one of the core tenets of the “high value man”, about whom Tate gushes so adoringly.

One must bear in mind, however, that these ‘rules’ are drilled into millions of men around the world from their formative years. It is the way in which I was raised, and I must confess that I do get a certain amount of vicarious satisfaction from watching other men hurt one another. Whether it’s on a stretch of grass in a stadium, or in a boxing ring, it’s therapeutic in some twisted, barbaric way…

(I don’t want to waste any more time here, so let’s not dwell on that right now…)

Of course, one hopes that the channelling of a child’s competitive vices is always accompanied by sensible guidelines such as “No, Sihle, we don’t tackle our opponents when they don’t have the ball, even when they say nasty things”; and “No, Cobus, we don’t punch our friends when they ‘borrow’ our sandwiches.”

Even more germane to Tate’s philosophy is the core principle that not only must one accept that one lives in a violent world, but one must also embrace it:

“As a man trauma and difficulty are extremely important because they’re the building blocks for mental fortitude and physical fortitude.”

I fully agree with the need to foster the development of grit and determination in a young spirit: we learn much about ourselves when the going gets tough. But trauma? Is there really a need for “severe and lasting emotional shock and pain caused by an extremely upsetting experience”? In the course of ‘becoming a man’?

Oh right, it is important for the “high value man”, of whose essence I have but naught.

Andrew Tate eventually lost. That is not the word he would use, of course, for he was ‘cancelled’. He was banned from all of the major social media platforms: YouTube, Twitter, TikTok, Facebook and Instagram.

So… he lost.

Like so many other case studies I have unpacked in my classroom over the years, the ironies unearthed by my self-induced delays finally struck me as having been somewhat serendipitous. Given the maddeningly insubstantial nature of this ‘post-truth’ world in which we now squat, much of what I have reported about Tate’s escapades has been coloured by developments which required my enduring patience: the sudden fall from grace of the world’s biggest internet star (self-proclaimed); followed by his miraculous rebirth during his “Final Message” as the latest victim of cancel culture in the guise of a much wiser multi-millionaire, fully clothed, sans dark glasses and cigar, ready to donate millions to charity; and lately his more subdued appearances on talk shows such as “Piers Morgan Uncensored”.

However, it is here that I simply must linger, if you will indulge me.

For it is in this Final Message, in which he is accompanied by not one but TWO shirts, and not a single scantily clad female companion, that Tate complains about being censored.

And persecuted.

I kid you not.

Yes, it is true: horrible sound bites proliferated; they were all over the internet… But it was out of his control – surely he could not be held responsible for the things HE had said? The nuances found in longer conversations were no longer possible, for he had had LONG conversations and then… then people cut them up and used HIS words AGAINST him! In short little videos. On, like, TikTok and YouTube – you know, those places that HE was using to become the most famous person on the internet! SHOCKING! Those horrible, vindictive ‘Internet People’ took his words OUT OF CONTEXT and USED them AGAINST him!

The sheer audacity of the man is incredible. It is part of his ‘charm’, to be sure. He has to make certain that everyone is aware that he still has an “iron mind”, despite his cancellation, and he sets about rewriting the narrative in the Final Message. Because he is Cobra Tate, and that is his brand. Any other admission would simply not be Top G. He is just so proud of having cracked the code and become the most popular man on the internet, even for such a short period of time. Yet he glibly ignores this palpable – and delicious – irony:

He was deplatformed by the platforms that he was using to build his empire.

Andrew Tate chose the weapons he took to war. The countless short video clips circulated by his followers formed part of the business model of Hustler’s University, which was either “the future of learning” or a multi-level marketing scheme or a pyramid scheme – it depends who was buying and who was making the YouTube video criticizing Tate. Anyway, that is when Tate’s popularity soared: those short videos exploded on platforms such as YouTube, where the algorithms are designed to keep viewers hooked by feeding them more of what they want to see.

And, boy, did Tate’s followers want to see him. That is how Tate became The Most Famous Man on the Planet™. The Most Googled Man in the World™.

So for him to then play the victim because he was cancelled is disingenuous.

It does not befit a Top G.

And it is really unbecoming of a High Value Man™.

Let us take a moment to consider the broader implications of this enfant terrible’s meteoric rise. As much as I was triggered by him, the impact of such a ‘role model’ on young people is obviously far more devastating when they have unfettered access to the internet at such an impressionable age. Naturally, I thus concur with folks around the world who have expressed concern about Tate’s philosophies and the associated impact on young boys and girls.

However, it is easy to point fingers at others. At ‘toxic’ public figures who wield such enormous influence. And there has been much pointing of late.

To be blunt, there are other questions that need to be posed:

Why are young children able to gain access so easily to potentially damaging media?

What are the effects of unsupervised and unfiltered exposure to such content on a child’s self-development, as well as his/her ability to engage in meaningful relationships?

I could go on. There are far too many young children who will have been confronted with Tate’s utterances on their social platforms. Suffice it to say, I think it is clear that everyone needs to take the time to think about what I would consider to be an important question, if we are all to move forward:

Is it only the Andrew Tates of the world who can be held responsible for deeds of this nature?

To take it a step further, I wonder if Tate’s most vociferous critics are now resting on their laurels. Or if they have taken it upon themselves to confront – and engage with – the complex issues associated with modern masculinity which will continue to abound now that Tate and his biceps are not dominating the social media landscape as they did but a few months ago.

The reality is that Andrew Tate is a symptom of a society that appears to be doing a poor job on a number of fronts.

This is NOT to say that the grown-ups have not been doing their jobs (he types lickety-split)! We have all been at the coalface already, having been forced to navigate the treacherous and traditionally strained parent-child relationships which are now fraught with unfamiliar, digitally-induced growing pains which did not affect our own generation.

Rather, it is simply worth noting that we live in an era when children still need to be guided through ever more perilous waters.

Whether we like it or not, the answer will not lie in handing an iPad to little Steven and telling him to go and watch a video while we watch the big match on TV, because that is unlikely to end well.

I do not have the answers. There are no simple answers to such complex questions. Clearly I do not believe that Andrew Tate has the answers either. Rather, I would encourage teenagers to keep looking for answers, and I would urge parents to talk to their children about what they are watching on YouTube and Instagram. The next Cobra Tate is probably flexing on TikTok already, for all that we know, but there are also many positive male role models out there and a sensible conversation with a child is probably the healthiest way forward.

To wrap this up (eventually, I know), we must return to Mr Tate, who has repeatedly refused to accept responsibility for exposing young minds to dangerously inappropriate content that originated from his platforms. He faced severe consequences for his actions but he has used this to deflect attention from his own culpability. To be clear, I do not believe in censorship and Tate’s banning is just the latest in a series which appear to be underpinned by political machinations.

While there is a debate to be had about the suppression of free speech, and it is glaringly obvious that social media companies have brandished an uneven rod in the course of dispensing justice, that is a topic for another day – and another letter…

For one cannot allow Andrew Tate to use this issue as a crutch.

Ultimately, we must conclude with a question for The Top G.

After all, it was with much glee that he enquired, “What colour is your Bugatti?”

Alas, I could not answer.

However, it did get me thinking, and I think I have boiled it down to one very simple question.

I believe this is all about being a High Value Man™… And, seeing as a man of such grand stature is expected to assume responsibility for all of his worldly possessions, including his Bugatti and his woman…

Surely a man of such high value should be able to take responsibility for his own words?

Yours truly,

Inigo