Bullshit is not always a lie.

More often it is the mask needed to deliver a neat and polished performance.

For those who aspire for positions of power and status, bullshit is not an exception, but rather an expectation.

It is something that is taught to, and rehearsed by, those who are identified and anointed as future leaders, with the successful acquisition being rewarded with an upward, and often meteoric, trajectory.

It is the language of confidence without substance, of charm without truth.

It is the quiet art of appearing exceptional, when you are merely privileged.

For corporate leaders and politicians, bullshit is a way of being. It is a tool for self-promotion, a strategy for signalling competence. It is a method for concealing how much of their success is bestowed rather than earned.

Indeed, the centrality of bullshit in modern society highlights that image matters more than honesty, performance more than principle.

Increasingly, those who find themselves in positions of influence and power, express discomfort about the privilege of their economic and social background.

They speak of guilt and shame surrounding their unearned advantages, while also expressing a disconnection from any entitlement they might have once embodied.

They say all the right things about being “good” people, about the need to reflect, distancing themselves from the worst of what they came from, such as wealth, entitlement, whiteness and privilege.

But expressing discomfort is not the same as transformation.

These performances of sincerity are often bullshit.

They are not lies, but they have the appearance of being planned and curated.

They allow the speaker to appear critical, humble, even radical, while keeping hold of everything that their privilege has, and continues, to provide.

This is not always conscious or calculated, but it is useful.

It is about rejecting culture, without rejecting its rewards.

It is about critiquing elitism, without critiquing the benefits and influence it provides.

It is about saying “I am not like them” without changing what “them” continues to be.

What emerges is not accountability, just a more tolerable version of current arrangements that permits moral distancing without the genuine discomfort of real change.

In this form, bullshit becomes a type of camouflage, concealing complicity beneath the language of awareness and understanding.

As this suggests, the most dangerous kind of bullshit is not the boast or the exaggeration, but rather the performance of sincerity that leaves power intact.

If we are serious about justice, we must see through this mask, asking ourselves not only what has been said, but what comforts have been preserved.

Bullshit is not always the loudest voice in the room. Sometimes, it is the softest.