We all know that one person. The golden child. The one who seems to catch every break, while the rest of us dig our nails into the dirt, clawing for an inch of ground. But here's the thing—it's not just about luck. It's about gravity, a force that drags success towards those who already have it and keeps the rest stranded in the shallows. This is the Matthew Effect, a cosmic joke that doubles down on the winners and leaves the losers empty-handed, and it's as old as creativity itself.
Take Vincent van Gogh. The man who painted with the fury of a thousand suns, who saw the world in swirls of color so intense they’d scorch your soul if you stared too long. He was brilliant—one of the greats—but during his lifetime, he was little more than a ghost, haunting the edges of a world that refused to see him. Van Gogh wasn't playing the game; he was rewriting the rules, but no one bothered to read them.
Fast forward to today, and his paintings sell for millions, his name etched into the pantheon of art gods. But where was this adoration when he was alive? When he was slashing at canvases in the dead of night, fueled by absinthe and madness, his heart a tangle of desperation and genius? The Matthew Effect, that’s where. The world wasn’t ready for him until the world decided it was. And by then, it was too late.
Now, let’s be clear—this isn’t some cosmic conspiracy. It’s human nature. We love a sure thing, a safe bet. We’re attracted to success like moths to flame, oblivious to the bodies piling up in the dark, the ones who never caught that break. And for creatives, this reality is a double-edged sword, slicing through ambition and leaving behind either scars or trophies.
In this twisted game of Monopoly, the rich-get-richer, and the unknowns are left pushing their boot tokens around Baltic Avenue, while the famous are building hotels on Park Place.