SPOILERS BELOW !
I watched Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim’s You Can See Everything yesterday, and while much of the discussion has focused on whether Elizabeth Holmes and Billy Evans are narcissists, compulsive liars, or genuinely delusional, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of their behavior might reflect the environments that shaped them.
I don’t think it’s entirely coincidental that Holmes attended Stanford and Evans graduated from MIT. I am saying this as someone who attended a private K–12 school that regularly sent students to elite universities and recently graduated from a top-20 university myself (also applied and was admitted into Holmes’ alma mater, Stanford, but turned it down). I’ve spent much of my life surrounded by people who were raised to believe they were exceptional, or at least that becoming exceptional should be the entire point of their existence.
I think there’s something deeply unhealthy about that, particularly when combined with inherited wealth and social prestige. Children born into extraordinary advantages are often taught to interpret those advantages as evidence of their own extraordinary abilities. Privilege becomes merit. Access becomes talent. Institutional validation becomes proof of personal worth.
And from an increasingly young age, you’re taught that your life needs to tell a compelling story. Your hobbies become extracurriculars that can be sorted into rankings of 1-5, your interests become application essays, your identity becomes a personal brand. You learn that being exceptional and convincingly performing exceptionalism can actually produce many of the same institutional rewards.
Holmes seems like an extreme manifestation of this. Her public identity was essentially a perfectly constructed college application narrative taken to its logical conclusion: the visionary Stanford dropout, the revolutionary entrepreneur, the young woman destined to transform medicine. She wasn’t simply selling a medical device. She was selling an entire mythology about herself, and Silicon Valley rewarded her for it.
What struck me most was her insistence, even when directly questioned by Fielder, that she had never lied. Despite her conviction, she remains remarkably committed to her understanding of herself as someone whose intentions were fundamentally good. I kept wondering whether she was consciously manipulating him or had become so invested in her own mythology that acknowledging reality would mean dismantling her entire identity.
Billy, to me, represents a different manifestation of the same culture.
Throughout the documentary, he seems almost compulsively invested in controlling how he and Elizabeth are perceived. The egg-whisking scene, his attempts to negotiate a share of the documentary’s profits, and his management of Elizabeth’s social media and AI likeness all struck me as variations of the same impulse: the need to be in control of the narrative, even when doing so actively undermines the image he’s trying to construct.
What’s particularly fascinating is that the documentary itself becomes caught in this contradiction. Holmes and Billy ostensibly want to demonstrate their authenticity, yet their efforts to control how that authenticity is presented repeatedly call it into question.
I think there’s a continuity between the teenager who learns to package themselves as a uniquely compelling admissions candidate and the entrepreneur who learns to package themselves as a uniquely visionary founder. Both compete for opportunities from institutions that reward persuasive narratives about future potential, sometimes before that potential has been demonstrated.
And the film left me wondering whether, for some people, spending a lifetime being rewarded for appearing exceptional eventually makes it difficult to distinguish between the identity they’ve constructed and who they actually are.
There’s also a particular moral exceptionalism that can develop in these pressure cooker environments. You’re encouraged to see yourself as someone who recognizes what others cannot, someone destined to disrupt established institutions, someone whose vision is so extraordinary that conventional rules might not apply. At its healthiest, that produces innovation and at its worst, it produces people who interpret skepticism as ignorance and accountability as something reserved for less exceptional individuals.
But here’s what genuinely frightens me — Holmes and Billy came of age in an elite admissions culture that was, by many measures, less competitive than the one students face today.
I graduated from college this spring, and even compared with my own experience, the performance of exceptionalism seems to be growing more elaborate. There are entire industries dedicated to helping children construct competitive personal narratives. Students are encouraged to start nonprofits, build businesses, demonstrate leadership, and cultivate extraordinary identities before they’re even old enough to vote — I know multiple people who “started” nonprofits, blatantly lied about those accomplishments, and once they were accepted into their desired college, completely abandoned that project. With tech like AI, it makes the language, aesthetics, and strategies of exceptionalism more accessible than ever.
There’s something almost too fitting about Billy’s use of an AI-generated Elizabeth here. The distinction between a person and their carefully managed representation becomes increasingly difficult to locate. I don’t think AI will necessarily create more Elizabeth Holmeses. But I worry it will accelerate a culture in which everyone can manufacture the appearance of intellectual sophistication, visionary ambition, and personal exceptionalism without necessarily possessing the underlying experience, judgment, or substance.
The performance of exceptionalism is becoming easier to produce precisely as the competition to be perceived as exceptional intensifies.
What happens when an entire generation grows up in that contradiction? What happens to intellectual humility? To pursuing something because it’s genuinely interesting rather than because it demonstrates your potential/your superiority? To seeing your peers as people you can learn from rather than competitors you need to outperform?
I’m obviously not suggesting elite universities produce fraudsters, nor am I equating ambitious students with someone convicted of fraud. Personal responsibility matters, and most people who pass through these institutions do not behave like Holmes.
But I think we do ourselves a disservice by treating people like her as entirely inexplicable outliers without questioning the qualities our institutions reward.
Maybe Holmes and Billy aren’t complete departures from the values of elite achievement culture, but distorted reflections of them… Having grown up inside this culture, I increasingly question how much of what we call ambition is actually curiosity, passion, or a desire to contribute something meaningful, and how much is simply the fear of being ordinary.
Are we teaching young people to become exceptional, or are we teaching them that being perceived as exceptional is the most important thing they can accomplish?