Elitism - Hell yeah!

There is a certain kind of whisper in our culture right now that says we should all be exactly the same.

Same access. Same outcomes. Same opinions. Same beige, agreeable, non-threatening middle.

It’s very democratic. Very fair. Very… dull.

And I’m beginning to suspect that in our noble quest to flatten everything, we may have accidentally paved over excellence.

So let me say something wildly unfashionable:

I am, in fact, a bit pro-elitism.

There. I’ve said it. You may clutch your pearls now.

But before you imagine me lounging on a velvet chaise, fanning myself with a copy of something French and expensive, let’s clarify what I mean. Because when people hear “elitism,” they tend to picture exclusion, arrogance, and a gated community guarded by people named Chad.

And yes, that version exists. It’s unpleasant. It smells faintly of inherited wealth and unearned confidence.

That’s not what I’m endorsing.

I’m talking about the kind of elitism that says: some things are better than other things. Some efforts are more disciplined. Some thinking is more rigorous. Some creations are more refined. Some people, through time, effort, failure, and persistence, become very, very good at what they do.

And that… matters.

We seem to be living in a moment where pointing that out feels almost rude.

Where saying, “This is excellent,” implies that something else is not.

And heaven forbid we hurt the feelings of mediocrity.

Now, I understand the impulse behind anti-elitism. Historically, “elites” have not always been kind, fair, or particularly interested in letting others in. Doors were closed. Systems were rigged. Entire groups of people were told, in no uncertain terms, “This is not for you.”

That is not just wrong—it’s shameful.

So yes, burn down exclusion. Kick open the doors. Invite people in who have been kept out.

But—and this is where we get into trouble—opening the door should not mean removing the standards inside.

Because when everything is excellent, nothing is.

We have somehow conflated accessibility with sameness. As if the only way to be fair is to pretend there are no differences in quality, effort, or outcome.

It’s a bit like giving everyone a participation trophy and then wondering why no one practices anymore.

Elitism, in its healthiest form, is not about who you are.

It’s about what you do.

It says: show up, do the work, refine your craft, think deeply, fail often, improve relentlessly—and you will rise.

That’s not exclusionary. That’s aspirational.

It creates something to reach for.

Now, of course, the downside of elitism is that humans are involved.

And humans, given even a whiff of superiority, can become insufferable.

We’ve all encountered them. The gatekeepers. The credential collectors. The people who confuse being better at something with being better than someone.

They are exhausting.

They turn excellence into hierarchy. They use knowledge as a weapon rather than a tool. They build ladders only to pull them up behind them.

That is elitism at its worst.

But notice what the problem is there: not excellence, but ego.

We don’t need less excellence.

We need less ego attached to it.

Because the opposite extreme—the one we seem to be drifting toward—is equally problematic.

When we flatten everything, we don’t create equality. We create confusion.

We stop trusting expertise. We elevate opinions to the same level as informed understanding. We treat effort and outcome as if they are interchangeable.

And then we wonder why nothing feels particularly meaningful.

If everyone is an expert, no one is.

If everything is art, nothing is.

If all ideas are equally valid, we lose the ability to discern which ones are actually useful, thoughtful, or true.

That’s not kindness. That’s intellectual chaos dressed up as compassion.

I don’t want to live in a world where standards disappear in the name of comfort.

I want to live in a world where people are encouraged—gently, persistently, sometimes uncomfortably—to become better.

To stretch. To learn. To refine.

To care about the difference between good and great.

Elitism, when stripped of its snobbery, is simply the recognition that excellence exists—and that it’s worth pursuing.

It gives us something to admire without needing to diminish ourselves.

It allows us to say, “That is extraordinary,” and then quietly ask, “What can I learn from it?”

It invites growth.

Now, will there always be people who misuse that idea to feel superior?

Of course.

There will also always be people who misuse “equality” to avoid effort.

Human nature is remarkably consistent in its ability to take a good idea and twist it into something self-serving.

But that doesn’t mean we abandon the idea.

It means we hold it with a bit more maturity.

So yes, I am for elitism.

Not the velvet-rope, last-name, legacy-admission version.

But the quieter, sturdier kind.

The kind that respects mastery.

That values discipline.

That honors those who have spent years becoming something more than average—not because average is shameful, but because growth is possible.

And desirable.

And deeply human.

We don’t need fewer standards.

We need better ones.

We don’t need to tear down excellence.

We need to make a path toward it.

And maybe—just maybe—we can do that without becoming insufferable about it.

Though I make no promises.

Warmly,

Julie Bolejack, MBA

Thank you for reading. If this stirred something in you—agreement, irritation, or a sudden urge to defend your participation trophies—share it with someone else who might enjoy the conversation. And if you haven’t already, subscribe at julies-journal.ghost.io where we continue to think just a little more deeply than is strictly necessary… and occasionally pay the price for it.

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Bloom Again is a quiet invitation to reclaim the parts of yourself that were never truly lost—only set aside. It reminds us that reinvention isn’t about starting over, but about returning to who we’ve always been, with more wisdom, courage, and choice.

It’s never too late…