Two men, one wound, opposite directions#
Kevin Hart is five foot two — or five four, or five five, depending which profile you read, until he eventually settles it himself at “five foot two and a half.” He was mocked for it his entire early career.
There’s a young man online, a foot taller than Hart, who went the other way: testosterone at fourteen, a hundred thousand dollars of planned surgery, and a corner of the internet that had already rated him at the bottom of its scale. Including “bone smashing” — deliberately microfracturing your own face on the theory that bone grows back stronger, which is a misreading of how that actually works.
One of them owned it. One of them tried to solve it. The one who solved it is still visibly uncomfortable.
The persona is a real shield, and it does cap you#
Early on, Hart performed as a character called Lil Kev the Bastard. Sensible, in a way — if the joke bombed, the character bombed. It bought him courage and cost him everything else, because an audience can’t warm to someone they haven’t met. He puts it plainly: he didn’t get really funny until he stopped being a character.
We all run milder versions:
- The funny one, because laughing is safer than looking nervous.
- The one who doesn’t need anybody, because rejection can’t land if you never reach.
- The one who’s always fine.
Same function every time. Managing what people see, in case what’s underneath isn’t enough.
The tax nobody counts#
Insecurity bills you quietly. Thirty minutes at the mirror before a date. Six attempts at one photo. The hat you can’t leave the house without.
Nobody else spends a second on it. You spend hours.
Going first#
The move that actually works is to name the thing before anyone else can.
- On a first date: honestly, I always find the first few minutes of these excruciating. She laughs, because she felt it too and you were the one brave enough to say it.
- In a meeting: I haven’t done this before, can someone walk me through it? Six months later you’re the person others ask.
There’s a catch, and it’s the whole thing: people can tell the difference between someone at peace with something and someone getting ahead of it. The first relaxes a room. The second announces there’s something being guarded, and now everyone’s looking for it. You can’t fake this one into existence — which is annoying, because it means the technique only works after the work.
Why it went differently for the two of them#
Hart had people around him who told him hard things out of affection. One asked him what his actual name was and told him to bin the character. Another told him he was better than the people he was performing with and needed to leave that circle and find his own voice. Before that, an influential booker had sat him down and told him comedy wasn’t for him. He ended up selling out Madison Square Garden as himself.
The other had two or three years of lockdown, fourteen-hour days on forums that rank people by number, and an internet that rewards the most extreme version of whatever you’re saying. He now rates women to a decimal place — a four point seven five out of ten — which is what happens when a thing done to you becomes the way you see everyone.
That’s the difference. Not character, and not discipline. One had somebody. One had a feed.
The thing that was never the problem#
Hart’s height was never what held him back. Believing it was something to be ashamed of was.
There’s a line from Tyrion Lannister the whole idea sits on: never forget what you are, because the world won’t — wear it like armour and it can never be used to hurt you.
A few small things to try:
- Name one insecurity you’ve been quietly managing. The tell is time spent hiding it.
- Say it out loud, alone, right now. It’s smaller out loud.
- Tell one person you trust.
- Notice the next time “once I’ve fixed X, then I’ll be fine” shows up. Ask what happens after X.
