I go by the name Vector.
Sure, he’s a cartoon. A pixel-based man-baby archetype.
But with our elite racing to space and attempting to terraform Mars with nuclear weapons…
How far off are we?
He is obsessed with branding.
He’s using his money for all the wrong reasons. He’s a nerd who forgot that’s actually a dope stereotype — and now he’s hellbent on proving he’s an alpha male.
Look, I’m not saying these folks have ray guns.
I’m saying these clowns are exactly like Vector.
A Jungian lens on billionaire man-babies
What exactly creates this parasitic and desperately needy archetype?
Like anything worth understanding, we must attack the root.
We must find the origin point of the behavior.
An archetype is a universal character pattern — a shadow we repeatedly see across culture that reflects something deeper.
It gives shape to the abstract, helping us understand not just what people do, but why they do it.
The Archetype: American oligarch man-baby
The root system: fragile masculinity and a deep feeling of inadequacy.
That’s the precipice.
It could stem from being tragically misunderstood by peers, pressured or neglected by parents, or just a lurking notion in their soul that they’re meant to rule the people who don’t understand them.
Self-development and evolution?
Directly tied to proving people wrong.
Their entire persona has one objective: “I told you so.”
The motivation is juvenile.
Like a toddler at KinderCare standing over a mountain of toys while the other children hang their heads low, screaming:
“MINE!”
When might is always right
Here’s the thing: in their hearts — they believe they’re right.
That chasing fame, adornment, insane wealth — and dopamine salads layered with caviar and gold flakes — is what destiny chose for them.
Our culture celebrates people who act like children who’ve snuck into an ice cream store at night — gorging themselves, making a mess for workers to clean up, and leaving every flavor contaminated for the public.
And then we, the store owner, reward them with the salaries of the people who had to clean up the mess.
They believe that their intellect and ability to gather wealth gives them power over people, despite never truly understanding human emotion or motivation.
In their minds, they’re simply obeying The 48 Laws of Power, borrowing a playbook and calling it their own — just like their hero, Machiavelli.
But they’re not kings.
They’re Vector in his super suit — orchestrating alterations to existence in ways that harm rather than help.
But didn’t they think and grow rich?
Napoleon Hill’s magnum opus, Think and Grow Rich, is a testament to acquiring wealth and what it (used) to take to achieve it.
He spent 25 years, on the bequest of Andrew Carnegie himself, analyzing the most successful men of his time and how they got rich.
Now — his work?
Largely based around old dudes cornering markets and lacking any real insight into the unique challenges of anyone not born a white man.
But one thing he determined is paramount: of the 500 mega-successes he studied — and over 10,000 mid-to-low performers — the one trait that defined the truly wealthy was: purpose.
How they conducted themselves mattered. There was a level of class, duty, and a connection to something greater in all their stories.
They weren’t necessarily nice men
Not even good men.
But they stood for something.
They believed legacy mattered.
They wanted to be respected, not adored.
Yes, they reached with both hands — but they had the balls to look you in the eye as they did it.
The American oligarch should raise the bar
Here is the truth: American oligarchs are 21st century kings.
King John, sure. But modern-day equivalents, without doubt.
In the eyes of the law, their companies are people.
Trillion-dollar empires in charge of the livelihood of millions…
Their decisions ripple through the economy.
Their henchmen (products) listen to us gossip about them — and report back.
And here’s what they’ll never admit in public…
They think you’re dumb as shit.
Like you’ve been playing checkers this whole time and they forgot to tell you it was a chess tournament.
They burned all the flyers and won the competition when no one else showed up.
Then they still jump up and down in celebration.
But what does Despicable Me actually teach us?
Does it show us Vector as the end-all villain? Does it crown him King Man-Baby?
Nope.
That title belongs to Gru.
The one who worked through his mommy issues.
The guy who still wants to blow up the world but let a unicorn-loving toddler tell him not to because it’s not nice.
The one who dropped his ego just enough to discover the missing piece: he didn’t need to rule the world.
He just needed to be loved.
The Vector man-baby redemption arc
We don’t just tolerate American oligarch man-babies — we build them.
Every time we reward bravado and punish vulnerability, every time we mock the weird kid instead of mentoring him, every time we send the message that dominance deserves respect, we plant the seed.
That seed grows into a story: If I can’t be loved, I’ll be feared.
That’s how you get a Vector. Not born evil — scripted that way. Pain becomes proof. The mask becomes armor.
And soon, the only way to feel powerful is to conquer the world that once made you feel small.
It’s the origin story of every person who gave up on love because it made them feel weak. Every child who built a persona instead of healing the wound. Every adult who decided compassion was a liability.
They didn’t count on the unicorn
Here’s the twist Despicable Me hands us on a silver platter: Vector isn’t the end of the story.
Gru wanted to blow up the moon. He had the scars, the ambition, the edge.
But he dropped the ego just enough to let love in.
He didn’t become soft.
He became integrated.
He didn’t stop being dangerous — he just started using that danger to protect instead of punish.
That’s the redemption arc we’re waiting for. The bit of the story we haven’t seen.
Because there are a lot of Vectors in the world right now, secretly hoping someone tells them it’s okay to stop pretending.
That it’s okay to be Gru.