Why successful people often have bad opinions online

When you look at tweets by Elon Musk, Marc Andreessen, Chamath, etc. that are factually wrong (about things that can be easily verified online) or show a lack of self or situational awareness, it makes you wonder how it’s possible for people who are so successful to be so consistently wrong all the time.

For example Marc Andreessen tweeted:

The reaction was overwhelmingly negative. Commenters cited counterexamples, such as Marcus Aurelius or Leo Tolstoy, whose works dealt with those very themes or who were afflicted by anxiety and self-doubt. Other cited examples included Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin. Rather than simply conceding the point, he doubled down in a subsequent series of tweets, pivoting to the topic of introspection, or in his case, his total absence of it. It couldn’t have gone worse, not only being factually wrong, but revealing its author as something of a dilettante who wears his ignorance with pride.

Marc positions himself as a contrarian, but this only works if you’re also factually correct or it’s hard to definitively make a case either way. Examples include parenting methods, such as homeschooling, or anything health or nutrition related, where there is no clear or obvious consensus (aside from obvious examples such as ‘smoking is bad’). Otherwise, you come off as an ignoramus who confuses disagreement for being misunderstood, when in reality you’re just wrong and people are trying to tell you that.

Another example is Elon Musk, who committed the faux pas of admitting he watches YouTube, citing Rudyard Lynch as an example of a “true 21st century philosopher,” which many took as an admission of being uneducated on a platform that increasingly equates intellect with self-worth:

For reference, Rudyard William Lynch, known as Whatifalthist, is an American-Canadian YouTuber who produces videos on history and geopolitics. I don’t think his answer is that unreasonable given that philosophy has produced far fewer popular contemporary figures compared to science or technology. It’s closer to classical music in that it has a dedicated audience, but there are no obvious modern equivalents of Bach, just as there is no clear contemporary analogue to Kant or Nietzsche.

Others have remarked that for someone who is accomplished and presumably smart, his opinions range from shallow to misinformed (getting easily verifiable facts wrong):

This comes off as pedantic or nitpicking. Elon Musk tweeting misinformation (that he knowingly posts or is too lazy to factcheck) is a small price to pay for the value he has produced economically through his companies, or the sense of awe his technologies inspire. But it’s an interesting observation though: Why is there such a large disconnect between being so successful in one domain (e.g. creating companies) and the ability to produce good, well-informed opinions online?

On the opposite end, the best commentators almost never have bad “takes.” On Twitter/X, they rarely get ratioed. They always seem to know exactly what to say in any situation–“on the nose,” as people put it. I’ve noticed a handful of individuals like this. It’s remarkable how consistently good they are, from issues as diverse as the culture wars, AI, foreign policy, or economics. There’s clearly some method or skill to having good opinions, even if it’s hard to pin down exactly what that is.

An example of someone who consistently has good opinions is Jeremiah Johnson (@JeremiahDJohnson), who blends center-left politics with acerbic social commentary that skewers both sides of the aisle. His tweets regularly pull in thousands of “likes” despite having only around 56,000 followers, indicative of high engagement and a positive reception. His takes are almost never bad, even when navigating the minefield of politics, where sentiment can abruptly shift. It requires something of a supranatural ability to read the room, or an instinct for having opinions that are broadly appealing but without being too obvious.

On the Right as well, accounts such as “PoliMath” (@politicalmath) also seem to avoid bad takes. His opinions are also consistently good, with no “ratios”. For example, on issues like Iran, the framing has to be precise–phrased in a way that can resonate with both pro- and anti-war audiences. Another is “𝔐𝔽𝓩” @mean_field_zane, an economics graduate student who is popular for mixing economics and math, whose account has blown up having just registered it a year ago.

A pattern emerges. Many of these ‘business people’ despite being so outwardly successful “IRL” are otherwise quite intellectually unassuming or mediocre especially online, or just plain “bad”. Conversely, the aforenoted individuals despite being so impressive and incisive online, are often fairly average offline. Jeremiah Johnson is a basically freelance journalist and the founder of the Progressive Policy Institute, an impressive-sounding title that obscures the fact that he is also its sole employee, opposite of the richest man in the world who employs thousands of people.

Beyond Twitter, even Warren Buffett and Charlie Munger have no published books between them despite collectively living nearly 200 years (I’m excluding compilations of shareholder letters). They are regarded by the media and by their followers as being super-smart, but there isn’t much evidence of either of them possessing truly otherworldly intelligence. Or Peter Thiel, whose intellectual output is somewhat underwhelming or threadbare, with only a handful of co-authored articles to his name. His most noteworthy observations are that “democracy is overrated” and that “competition is for losers” are seemingly obvious. Criticism of democracy is as old as democracy, and what business doesn’t seek market dominance?

An obvious explanation is they are too busy focusing on their businesses than trying to win an online popularity contest. This is true of Warren Buffett, to his credit, whose social media presence is nonexistent. But Elon, for example, averages between 20-50 tweets/day. Or for Chamath, hours recording podcasts in the hope of persuading strangers of a brilliance he takes as self-evident. If time were truly the main constraint, they would simply log off. Instead they try to win over an audience that, more often than not, find them pretty lame.

In trying to answer why there is such a stark disconnect between domain-specific success and having good opinions, the “fox vs hedgehog” concept is possibly instructive. The origins of it are unclear–possibly attributed to Philip E. Tetlock or Isaiah Berlin–but it describes two contrasting modes of thinking: The fox is a generalist, drawing upon a large repertoire of knowledge, compared to the hedgehog, who has a big/central theme or idea (e.g. an industry specialist).

Foxes and hedgehogs are presumed to be equal intellectually, but I’d argue that foxes are smarter, because they know more. “Knowing lots of things” is predictive of high crystallized IQ and high verbal IQ (in order to parse texts efficiently), which are two components or sub-tests of full-scale IQ. Writers tend to know lots of things, and their profession entails a strong verbal IQ, such as vocabulary. There are also “math-centric foxes” who know lots of math or other STEM topics, which are strongly correlated pattern recognition and spatial intelligence. But there is no obvious mapping of “knowing the big picture” to IQ. It is correlated to some degree, but not as strongly as general knowledge or verbal fluency.

It bears repeating writing is hard for a lot of people and doesn’t come naturally to most, unlike, say, talking. Writing requires precision, organization, syntax, and grammar, which are distinct from the “idea generation” process. This is why there can be a disconnect between having a “big idea” and being directionally right, but not being able to articulate it well in written form, as we see with the likes of Elon Musk and other’s cringe or uninformed takes.

For @politicalmath, having consistently well-received “takes” does signal intellect and aligns with the personal information he’s disclosed, such as skipping grades and working in a STEM profession. Or for @mean_field_zane, being well-versed in complicated math and economics concepts. So again, we see a link between high IQ and “consistently well-received opinions for a large audience,” which goes against the popular notion that wrongly equates popularity of belief with average/low intelligence of whoever espouses it.

Propagandist Joseph Goebbels–although his IQ was never formally tested–likely had above-average intelligence, as suggested by his doctorate, and is generally regarded by historians as being among the more intellectually capable members of the Nazi leadership. Advertising executives are generally quite smart. Same for speech writers or copywriters. Crafting a message that resonates with a lot of people is arguably as hard as composing something technical intended for a smaller audience, but in different ways.

Hedgehogs only need a “big idea”–in Buffett’s case, taking large stakes in undervalued companies in which he understood the businesses well–and then honing in on that. Warren Buffet is quoted, “Investing is not a game where the guy with the 160 IQ beats the guy with 130 IQ.” You don’t need to know a lot to be successful; only that you know what’s important. This framing is analogous to the VC business model, which Marc Andreessen himself used to become wealthy: lots of duds, and the occasional Uber or Facebook. This is contrasted to foxes, who derive enjoyment from the unpredictability of novelty, getting bored easily and moving on to something new. Openness to experience and novelty-seeking are again tied with high IQ.

Consequently, the fox is often right about many small-stakes things or trivia, compared to the hedgehog, who is possibly wrong or misinformed about a lot of things, but is right about the “thing” that leads to wealth. Elon Musk, when straying outside of his specialty of cars or rockets, often comes off as ham-fisted. On the opposite end are foxes such as Noah Smith or Matthew Yglesias, who despite the sub-billionaire status of either, produce lots of viral, well-received and (mostly) well-informed takes across a wide range of topics. Another example is the popular economics blogger Tyler Cowen, whose reading habits are legendary, and who is correspondingly well-informed, on topics as diverse as music, travel, and even food.

For this reason, foxes tend to be more impressive in social circles. They know a lot and this is impressive to outsiders and confers social status in its own right, without the need for much self-promotion or wealth. Hence, their success is organic, without having to leverage a billion-dollar brand to try to win over an audience (or in the case of Elon, buy the platform outright). On the other hand, it can lead to some resentment among generalist-types, who may have impressive credentials to their name or large online presences, but cannot turn this social clout into actual dollars. They know a lot, but not what is necessary to get rich.

So which is better? The economy tends to reward big-picture specialists, who can monetize a big idea, more so than generalists, who cannot lock in on something long enough to see it to commercial fruition, or are just not that interested in wealth. But in exchange, generalists, online, have more social status and approval in the aggregate, but offline tend to have fewer big or noteworthy accomplishments. Generalists are deft with words and avoid those foot-in-mouth moments, tone deafness, or getting easily-verifiable facts wrong. Specialists are the opposite–cringe or bad opinions online–and impressive accomplishments offline.

One would assume they are equal or that because there are benefits and drawbacks to both, that they cancel out. One way to answer this is to look at revealed vs stated preferences. Many people aspire to become rich. Not as many aspire to journalism , punditry, or “having lots of twitter clout” unless it’s seen as a stepping stone to wealth (e.g. becoming a millionaire by livestreaming as a career). So that settles it?

Revealed preferences show otherwise. I can’t recall ever seeing a successful fox (e.g., David Brooks or Thomas Friedman, who embody this archetype) pivot to a more lucrative business career, where specialization is rewarded. The only way they stop is when they retire or die. But conversely, there are no shortage of wealthy specialists who try to trade that success for being seen as erudite or broad generalists who can extemporaneously converse about economics, philosophy or politics for the approval of total strangers. As it turns out, attention is possibly much scarcer than wealth. The Nasdaq has increased a staggering 14x since the 2009 lows of the Great Recession, yet the U.S. population has only increased 13% in that same period.

Again, it usually doesn’t come off well–getting facts wrong, misreading the audience, or coming across as tone-deaf and out of touch. And not in an ironic or instructive way (e.g., like Andrew Tate, who can drop a parable, for example, to make a point and reveal his humanity, however flawed that may be), but by being impervious to the fact that any conversation has to meet the needs of its audience in return for their attention. And maybe that’s a good thing in the end–people should lean into their strengths, even if it occasionally leads to putting their foot in their mouth.