Ideolot (pronounced EYE-dee-o-lot) is a word I’d like to introduce to describe folks who peddle simplistic ideas while being simultaneously a bit dim themselves. It’s a combination of the words ideologue and idiot. It’s got a nice ring to it and rolls off the tongue.

Ideolots are amusing, entertaining, and very polarizing. I suspect that the invention of the internet has led to a mass proliferation of ideolots worldwide. There is a veritable pandemic of ideolots, especially after the pandemic. You see them every day – from YouTube videos titled “15 Things I Wish I Knew when I was 20” to Twitter posts on “population crisis” to long rambling books that mean nothing. There is no escaping the ideolot. They’re omnipresent. And media savvy.

But they, too, have their space in this little world of ours.

Imagine a young man, aimless and adrift on an ocean of mindless entertainment, finding an Andrew Tate rant. It’s like a shot of manly lightning into his flabby veins! The sunglasses, the intensity, and the bravado. The promises of wealth and power. The disdain for women. A thick cigar hanging on his lips, a Bugatti on his porch. It’s intoxicating! Suddenly, there’s a blueprint, a path out of the haze. Andrew Tate has gifted the young man with a worldview that instantly makes sense—a fairytale. There are enemies, dragons, and maidens (you can beat up) in this brave new world. It puts agency back into the young man’s hands. He can do it. He can be the hero.

The young man has fallen to the allure of the ideolot.

The ideolot operates by espousing some stupid narrative and proceeds to squeeze the entrails out of it with repetitive media bites, tweets, Instagram posts, and blog articles.

People like Tate, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Jordan Peterson can exert an almost magnetic pull on young people searching for answers and identity. They offer themselves as archetypes: the hyper-masculine warrior, the billionaire visionary, the rebellious outsider, the intellectual crusader. And who wouldn’t want to be these things?

In the perpetual struggle to forge one’s identity, young people often latch onto these celebrities who seem to embody certain archetypal ideals. While the initial allure of these icons is understandable, their limitations and mediocrity mean they must serve as provocations for further exploration rather than permanent objects of reverence.

And it’s easy to understand the appeal.

These figures speak directly to powerful urges, promising easy, straightforward solutions to anxieties. Tate taps into male insecurity, Musk into dreams of entrepreneurial glory. Trump works on the distrust of the status quo, and Peterson, with his focus on order and tradition, seems to offer a comforting anchor in a chaotic world.

Each represents an archetypal figure to be admired or emulated on some level.

Yet, the reality behind the facade is far more complicated, even contradictory. Tate’s “alpha male” posturing masks deeply harmful misogyny. There is even something feminine about his constant assertions of his own masculinity – the glistening naked torso, the eagerness to please. Musk says things that often overshadow his genuine accomplishments. He becomes a cartoonish caricature of innovation. Trump’s brand of populism reveals a hollow center, driven by ego rather than any coherent ideology. His lying is almost like an existential stance. Peterson’s intellectual veneer obscures a simplistic approach to complex social problems. He appeals to emotions (rather poorly) than reason.

All these figures present perspectives, which seem potent at first blush, but which are riddled with contradictions and blind spots. Tate is what an adolescent thinks a “real man” should be. Musk is a college graduate’s idea of a successful entrepreneur. Trump is a poor man’s concept of a billionaire, and Peterson is for the intellectual motivation-hunter.

In other words, these are THE ideolots.

But this doesn’t mean that these figures should be entirely dismissed. They are cultural lightning rods, and their ability to ignite controversy reveals much about our desires and anxieties. They are a great place to start. If Peterson becomes a gateway for a curious young person to think deeply about more nutritious philosophical fare, then so be it. If Tate can motivate some basement-dweller to take accountability for his own life, that’s great. If used sparingly, and quickly, these ideolots can become the stepping stones to better things.

They are great starting points. They should never be the destination.

It’s not too bad of a thing if, because of them, someone’s curiosity is sparked, and their attention is drawn toward important themes around gender relations, entrepreneurship, societal structures, or academic discourse. The danger arises when they become the sole lens through which young people view the world. That’s where the hero worship must end, and critical questioning begin.

To keep idolizing them is to remain stunted.

The initial spark provided by these icons can be vital in provoking interest, anger, and inspiration — the raw material for one’s intellectual and personal development. But that spark is inherently limited; the fire must be stoked by looking deeper and thinking bigger. To blindly idolize any one of them is to remain at the level of adolescent ideation since their perspectives are simply too myopic and mediocre to suffice as complete worldviews. They are impulses to be engaged, not movements to be followed.

Ideolots have their utility. They are smart enough to command attention and throw light at things worth looking at. And they are great performers, so there is the entertainment factor, too.