Status Is The Artist's Secret Weapon

There's a 2020 episode of the Smartless podcast where Ricky Gervais says something that quietly reveals the sleight-of-hand behind ultimate creative freedom. It’s around the 26 minute mark. It is ingenious. Gervais describes himself as a court jester, which probably isn't that surprising on its own, until he explains how it's a deliberate, strategic choice that enables him to punch up despite his wealth and fame.

(Everybody with a “don’t sell out” complex needs to hear this.)

Gervais is rich, famous, and powerful, yet he's still selling us on the idea that he's the underdog.

And we buy it. Why? Because he's mastered the status seesaw.

It's not a magic trick, but it's close. And yes, you can steal this. (Which is a way for me to say, I'm stealing this, so if you steal it too, I'll maybe feel better about straight jacking this, OK?)

Every interaction we have operates on this invisible playground equipment. One side goes up, the other goes down. Keith Johnstone unpacks this brilliantly in Impro -the psychological physics of how we position ourselves relative to others. It's why we laugh when the monocled aristocrat slips on a banana peel but wince when it's a frail elder with a cane.

What Gervais intuitively understands - what all great comedians, writers, and artists eventually figure out - is that artistic freedom lives in the deliberate manipulation of this seesaw.

The 90s indie band signing to a major label wasn't just changing their sound, they were shifting their position on the status seesaw. And as my younger self watched from the other end, I felt that bone-jarring thud as my carefully curated cultural capital came crashing down.

"Oh, you like THEM? Just now? I get it, I guess. It's just that their old stuff is so much better."

Translation: "I'm protecting my status position because you rising threatens mine."

Ricky Gervais is a sell-out by that definition, right? Super famous for inventing The Office, stadium standup specials, hosting awards shows. So why doesn't he feel like one? Why can’t I call him out as one? Why don’t I whine about only liking his old stuff?!

The genius move, which I am already stealing but I’ll cop to it so you can cop it too, is that Gervais deliberately lowers his status first. Constantly. By positioning himself as the jester rather than the king, he creates the space to say almost anything. He's granted himself the freedom to critique, to push boundaries, to make us uncomfortable while we laugh.

He's created the ability to sell out stadiums without coming across as a sell-out.

(The Steal, aka how you can start applying this today, tomorrow, or whenever you get around to getting over worrying if you’re a sell out.)

The next time you create something—whether it's a presentation, a piece of writing, or even a social media post—pay attention to where you're sitting on the seesaw. Are you unconsciously positioning yourself above your audience? Are you afraid to lower your status because it feels like vulnerability?

Try this instead: deliberately position yourself slightly lower. Not self-deprecating, not fishing for compliments—just human, fallible, curious. Watch what happens to your creative voice when you're no longer defending your spot at the top of the seesaw.

The status dynamics haven't disappeared in our algorithm-driven world—they've just evolved. We're still playing the same game, but now virality gives a different kind of bump, and "selling out" can actually raise your status rather than diminish it.

The rules changed, but the playground equipment remains the same.

Freedom isn't about escaping the seesaw. It's about understanding it well enough to play on it consciously, to ride it with intention and grace, knowing exactly when to rise, when to fall, and—most importantly—when to jump off entirely and invent your own game.

After all, the court jester is the only one who can tell the king the truth and live to laugh about it.

(That's still true, right?)