Mohawk Manifesto: Individual Expression in a Collectivist Wasteland
They will tell you that your mohawk is a rebellion, a pointless gesture of defiance against the sensible conformity that society demands. They are wrong. Your mohawk is not a rebellion—it is an affirmation. It stands erect upon your skull like a skyscraper of the self, a monument to the architect of your own existence. The average man shuffles through life with his head bowed, his hair—like his ambitions—flattened by the weight of collective approval. But you have chosen to rise.
Consider the mohawk: it requires the clearing away of the unnecessary, the shaving down of the extraneous, until only what is essential remains. This is not destruction but creation through elimination—the same principle that drives the free market to its greatest heights. A businessman who refuses to cut away failing ventures is like a man who refuses to shave the sides of his head, claiming sentimental attachment to every strand. Both will find themselves weighed down, unable to reach their full potential.
The mohawk transforms not through addition but through purposeful subtraction. It is capitalism in its purest form—the recognition that value does not come from equality of outcome, but from the distinctive merit of what stands tall after competition has eliminated the mediocre. The mohawk does not apologize for its prominence. It does not slouch to make others comfortable with its height. It exists as a testament to the individual's right to stand apart.
Those who fear the mohawk—who avert their eyes or mutter disapproval—are the same who fear capitalism. They claim to desire a world where all heads look the same, where no one stands taller than another, where the exceptional is brought low for the comfort of the unexceptional. They speak of your mohawk as "selfish," as if the greatest crime is to own yourself completely.
What they fail to understand is that capitalism, like your mohawk, is not merely about money. It is about the currency of the self—the trading of your unique vision, your uncompromising standards, your refusal to be less than you can be. Money is merely the physical representation of this exchange, the tangible proof that your vision has value. Your mohawk, too, is a currency—it pays dividends in the freedom that comes from refusing to be owned by the opinions of others.
The transformative power of the mohawk lies not in its ability to shock but in its absolute commitment to a singular vision. Half-measures are for those who lack the courage of their convictions. A mohawk cannot be grown halfway; it cannot compromise with the remaining hair. It must stand alone or not at all. This is the essence of true capitalism—not the watered-down versions peddled by those who would maintain the illusion of free markets while bowing to collective pressure.
In a world of identical haircuts, your mohawk is your declaration of independence. It says: I am not a means to your ends. I am not a resource to be harvested for the common good. I exist for myself, by myself, and my value is determined not by how well I blend in but by how resolutely I stand out.
When they tell you to cut your mohawk for a job interview, for a family gathering, for the sake of others' comfort, they are asking you to sacrifice your vision on the altar of conformity. This is no different than demanding that a businessman lower his prices not because the market demands it, but because others feel entitled to his product at a cost that suits them.
The mohawk—like capitalism itself—offers a constant choice: maintain it through daily discipline or watch it collapse. There is no third option, no middle ground where the mohawk sustains itself through communal effort or government subsidy. It requires your hand, your razor, your commitment to keeping what matters and cutting away what doesn't.
So wear your mohawk proudly, not as a fashion statement but as a philosophical one. Let it remind you and everyone who sees it that in a world bent on collectivism, some still choose to stand straight. That amid the pressure to conform, to apologize for excellence, to sacrifice individual vision for collective mediocrity, some still understand that the highest moral purpose of life is the achievement of one's own happiness.
This is the true capitalism—not of money alone, but of the spirit. And your mohawk is its flag, raised high above the flatlands of conformity, unapologetic in its height and uncompromising in its existence.
— Mitchell Royel