Control is a funny thing. People crave it, fight for it, build identities around it. They put themselves at the center, convinced they’re the one calling the shots, pulling the strings, running the show. But sometimes the more loudly someone claims authority, the more obvious it is they’re faking it.

“I heard you think you run the show.” That line cuts through the noise. It’s not confrontation. It’s observation. It’s the recognition that someone is playing the role of a leader without doing the work of one. They want the title, the spotlight, the credit — but they don’t understand what it means to really lead.

Leadership isn’t volume. It’s not ego. It’s not positioning yourself above others. It’s being the one who shows up when it’s inconvenient. The one who listens more than they speak. The one who earns respect, not demands it. And if someone’s walking around acting like the director of a life they can’t even manage, then yes — it becomes a running joke.

The laughter isn’t always out loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet disbelief. Sometimes it’s shaking your head when they talk like they’ve built something they’ve only inherited or stumbled into. Real influence doesn’t need to declare itself. It’s felt. It’s proven. It lasts.

A running joke gets funnier every time it repeats. That’s the trap for those who perform power instead of embodying it. The more they posture, the more obvious the gap between their words and reality becomes. What they think is confidence comes off as comedy.

There’s no shame in not running the show. Not everyone’s meant to. But pretending you do while the cracks are showing — that’s what turns it all into irony. Into entertainment. Into a lesson for anyone watching.

So if you’re going to lead, lead. If not, step back. Because no one remembers the one who shouted the loudest. They remember the one who quietly built something real while the rest were too busy trying to look important.