Wanting

01The Hidden Puppeteer Controlling Your Choices

Human beings are incredibly adept at understanding their basic needs, yet we are remarkably blind when it comes to understanding our desires. If you are thirsty, your body sends a clear, biological signal demanding water. If you are freezing, your nervous system urges you to find warmth and shelter. These are fundamental needs, hardwired into our biology, and they require no external input to manifest. However, once our basic physiological requirements are met, a profound shift occurs in how we navigate the world. We step out of the realm of simple needs and enter the complex, confusing, and often chaotic universe of desire. You do not just want a pair of shoes to protect your feet from the harsh pavement; you want a specific brand of highly coveted sneakers. You do not just want a vehicle to transport you from point A to point B; you want a sleek, electric luxury car with a specific badge on the hood. Where do these specific, highly tailored desires come from? For centuries, the prevailing cultural narrative has been what philosopher René Girard famously called the "Romantic Lie." This is the deeply ingrained, flattering belief that our desires are completely spontaneous and entirely our own. We love to view ourselves as the sole authors of our life stories, picking and choosing our goals based on our unique, independent, and rational preferences. We believe that desire is a straight line drawn directly from the subject—that is you—to the object you want. If you decide to pursue a law degree, you assume it is because you have an inherent passion for justice or a personal fascination with the legal system. If you buy a specific artisan coffee, you believe it is simply because you possess a refined palate. Luke Burgis, drawing heavily on Girard’s revolutionary mimetic theory, argues that this straight line is a complete illusion. Desire is never a straight line; it is always a triangle. The third point of this hidden triangle is the model. The model is the person, group, or societal standard that shows us what is worth wanting. We do not desire things intrinsically; we desire things because someone else desires them, or because someone else has signaled that those things are valuable. This is the essence of mimetic desire, derived from the Greek word mimesis, meaning imitation. Mimetic desire acts like gravity in our psychological universe—an invisible, omnipresent force that pulls us in specific directions without us ever noticing its influence. Just as gravity dictates the orbit of planets, mimetic desire dictates the trajectory of our careers, our relationships, and our lifestyles. Think about the last time you were in a completely unfamiliar situation, perhaps starting a new job in a corporate office or attending a social event where you knew no one. What was your immediate instinct? You likely scanned the room, observing how others were dressed, how they spoke, what topics they discussed, and who commanded the most respect. You were unconsciously looking for models to show you how to act and what to value in this new environment. This process is entirely natural and, in many ways, essential for human survival and cultural transmission. It is how babies learn to speak, how children learn to share, and how societies build shared norms. However, when this imitative instinct bleeds into our deepest life choices, it can lead us wildly astray. We are incredibly reluctant to admit that we are imitators. Our modern culture worships originality, constantly bombarding us with slogans urging us to "be yourself," "forge your own path," and "follow your own heart." To admit that we want something simply because our neighbor, our colleague, or our favorite celebrity wants it feels like a personal defeat. It feels like a surrender of our individuality. Therefore, our ego works overtime to construct elaborate rationalizations for our mimetic desires. We convince ourselves that we bought the expensive luxury watch because of its exceptional Swiss craftsmanship, conveniently ignoring the fact that our wealthy boss wears the exact same brand. We tell ourselves we are moving to a trendy new city because of the climate, ignoring the fact that three of our most successful college friends just relocated there. Burgis points out that this lack of self-awareness is exactly what makes mimetic desire so powerful and potentially dangerous. When you do not know you are being influenced by a model, you cannot question the validity of the desire. You simply accept it as your own and begin chasing it with all your energy. This blind pursuit often leads people to wake up years later, having achieved their goals, only to feel empty and unfulfilled. They climbed the ladder of success, only to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall—a wall chosen by someone else. To break free from this hidden puppeteer, the very first step is relentless, uncomfortable honesty. We must strip away the romantic lie of pure originality and accept that we are deeply social, highly imitative creatures. We must start looking for the invisible strings attached to our ambitions. When you feel a sudden, burning urge to acquire something, achieve something, or change your life, you must pause and ask yourself a daring question. Is this desire truly springing from my core values, or am I simply catching this desire from someone else, much like catching a cold? Acknowledging the existence of mimetic desire does not make you weak; it makes you aware. It is the crucial awakening required to stop living a life scripted by others and begin taking conscious control of the things you choose to pursue.