The Illusion of Importance: Why We Started Valuing the Chair More Than the Person

There was a time when a person’s value came from who they were. Today, it often comes from where they sit. Not the individual, but the position. Not the person, but the chair. And what is most interesting is that this shift did not happen through a conscious decision. It happened quietly, through small behavioral changes that slowly redefined what “importance” looks like in our minds.

We grew up learning that punctuality reflects respect, that clarity reflects confidence, and that consistency reflects character. But somewhere along the way, these values began to get reinterpreted. Coming on time started being seen as a sign of having too much time. Being easily available started being seen as a lack of demand. Speaking clearly began to be mistaken for simplicity, while vagueness started being confused with depth. Without realizing it, we began rewarding not substance, but perception.

This is where the idea of artificial scarcity quietly entered our lives. When someone makes us wait, we assume they must be important. When someone delays responding, we assume they must be in demand. When someone is difficult to access, we begin to assign them higher value. Over time, people did not just observe this pattern, they started using it. Punctuality was no longer a value to uphold, but a behaviour to manipulate. Time, which once reflected respect, slowly became a tool to signal status.

A similar distortion happened with the idea of mystery. What ancient wisdom described as inner stillness and restraint got translated into external vagueness and distance. In the Bhagavad Gita, speech is meant to be truthful, composed, and beneficial. The Upanishads describe wisdom as calm clarity, not confusing silence. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali speak of mastery as control over one’s own impulses, not control over how others perceive you. Yet today, silence is often used to create psychological distance, vagueness is used to avoid clarity, and unavailability is used to create perceived importance. Mystery has become a performance, not a byproduct of depth.

What emerges from this is a subtle but powerful shift. When people begin to control access, delay interaction, and manage availability, others start assigning value to them. Not because of who they are, but because of how difficult they are to reach. This is the moment where value moves away from the person and attaches itself to the position. The chair begins to carry weight, even when the individual sitting on it may not.

This is also where the popular argument begins to surface, that respect does not matter, only success does. At first glance, it appears practical. After all, results are visible and measurable. But this thinking only captures the surface. It ignores what sustains success over time. People may accept outcomes from someone they do not respect, but they rarely build lasting trust with them. They do not stay loyal, they do not commit deeply, and they do not create something enduring together. What looks like success often becomes fragile, dependent on constant performance and perception management.

If we look at individuals who created meaningful and lasting impact, a very different pattern emerges. J. R. D. Tata was known for his punctuality, humility, and accessibility, qualities that today might be considered signs of being “too available.” Yet these very traits built institutions that continue to command trust decades later. Narayana Murthy built Infosys on transparency and discipline, not perception and distance, creating not just financial success but credibility in corporate culture.

None of these individuals relied on being late, inaccessible, or vague to establish their importance. Their presence carried weight because it was grounded in substance. Their lives quietly challenge the idea that perception alone can create meaningful success.

The real concern is not just that we are valuing the chair more than the person, but that in doing so, we are slowly disconnecting from our own sense of self. When identity becomes tied to position, and value becomes tied to perception, it becomes difficult to answer a simple but powerful question. If the chair is taken away, what remains? Will people still listen, still trust, still value what you bring? If the answer feels uncertain, then the importance was never yours to begin with. It belonged to the chair.