Greetings from the Moat of Low Status!
This essay first appeared in the July 30, 2025 edition of Wonder Work. For a complete list of annotated sources, please visit the original post. Subscribe to Wonder Work here and get the next issue directly in your inbox.
Photo by Colin Watts via Unsplash
The other day, I was listening to a podcast and the guest mentioned that he played ice hockey competitively until he was 16. The hosts were impressed, but the guest went on to explain that ice hockey is an expensive sport to play. He understands now that he was “good” because he was good relative to the other kids whose parents could afford to put them in ice hockey. If his natural talent and skills were compared to all Canadian kids in his age group, he suspects that his ranking would be average at best. Money frequently acts as a moat in this way: protecting people with financial resources from the potential competition of those without.
Today, I want to explore what Cate Hall calls “the Moat of Low Status,” an expression she attributes to her husband. “Fear of being temporarily low in social status stops human beings from living richer lives to an unbelievable degree,” writes Cate Hall. The fear of being perceived as “low status” can be just as effective as the lack of resources when it comes to preventing you from getting where you're trying to go.
And, just like any good moat, this trepidation keeps people on the inside (who are already good at something) safe from competition from of people on the outside (those who could be as good or even better, but would need to spend some time looking like a complete idiot first.)
“Fear of being temporarily low in social status stops human beings from living richer lives to an unbelievable degree.”
Universal Frustration: Ira Glass's Talent-Skill Gap
This phenomenon isn't unique to status anxiety — it's a fundamental mismatch that every creative person faces. Ira Glass, host of This American Life, described it perfectly in what's become known as "the talent-skill gap":
"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, and I really wish somebody had told this to me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But it's like there is this gap. For the first couple years that you're making stuff, what you're making isn't so good... But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you're making is kind of a disappointment to you. A lot of people never get past that phase. They quit."
There is always a gap between being an apprentice and being a craftsman. The apprentice may have the taste, but not the skill. The craftsman has the taste and the skill. We're drawn to creative pursuits because we recognize excellence when we see it. But when we try to create that excellence ourselves, we fall short — sometimes spectacularly, loudly, publicly so. And that gap between our refined taste and our rudimentary skills? That’s the Moat of Low Status, friend.
I still remember the frustration of being a kid in elementary school art class. I couldn’t get the drawing I was working on to look like the vision in my head. It was maddening and exhausting. I told myself I just wasn’t “good at art,” and I believed it. It didn’t inspire me to try harder. Like most “gifted” kids, if something didn’t come easily to me, I just gave up.
Despite reassurance from Ira Glass, it took me thirty years to reprogram this thinking. Glass understands that the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Do a huge volume of work. But doing a lot of work means spending a lot of time being bad at something while other people watch. It didn’t take thirty years to realize that it takes practice to develop skills; it took thirty years to embrace incompetence as a necessary step toward growth.
“It didn’t take thirty years to realize that it takes practice to develop skills; it took thirty years to embrace incompetence as a necessary step toward growth.”
Three Strategies for Crossing the Moat
Hall discovered that learning to thrive in the Moat isn't just about tolerating discomfort; it's about developing specific practices that transform temporary incompetence into lasting advantage.
Here are three key strategies from her arsenal:
Court Rejection Deliberately
“Ask for things. Ask for things that feel unreasonable, to make sure your intuitions about what's reasonable are accurate,” Hall advises. “If you're only asking for things you get, you're not aiming high enough.” The goal is to decouple the experience of rejection from your sense of self-worth and identity.
Hall shares her own example: "I sent an email recently that I wouldn't have dared try a few years ago, something along the lines of 'I'm planning to start an organization similar to yours; would you consider letting me run yours instead?' The response? Crickets. Maybe that person thinks I overstepped. But it doesn't matter, because a similar pitch delivered to someone else put us on a path to start a new organization together."
The beauty of courting rejection is that it reveals how much of our self-imposed limitation is imaginary. When you systematically test the boundaries of what's possible, you discover that many barriers exist only in your mind.
Photo by Jonas Denil via Unsplash
Seek Genuine Feedback
Hall writes, “If you aren't trying to get real feedback from people who know you, you're cooking without tasting.” I am so guilty of this. But here's the catch: getting honest feedback requires making it comfortable for people to give it. Before I request feedback, I do a little pre-work to mitigate a defensive response on my part. I might decide that I’m going to take 24 - 48 hours to respond to any feedback. I may take some time to write down what I really like about what I’ve created, so that my initial excitement doesn’t get drowned out by the response. My friends Lexi and KJ have taught me by example: if I ask them for feedback, they’ll often respond with questions about what, specifically, I want input on.
Hall takes this in a different direction, working to reduce “friction” from “social dynamics” by courting anonymous feedback. She shares a link to an anonymous feedback form in all of her social media bios.
Maybe one of those ideas will work for you. Or, gently remind yourself that when you're splashing around in the Moat, genuine feedback is essential because you can't see your own hidden weaknesses. The very incompetence that feels embarrassing is often where the most actionable insights live.
Assume Everything is Learnable
Hall believes that, “Most subject matter is learnable, even stuff that seems really hard.” This includes elusive, innate qualities like confidence, charisma, warmth, and even agency itself. Ira Glass talks about the “Talent-Skill Gap,” but I have my own “Talent-Skill Corollary.” We have all seen natural, innate talent. Some people believe talent is a God-given gift, while others may consider it the luck of the DNA lottery. Talent is a great precursor to skill, but it’s not essential. Talent cannot be taught, but skills absolutely can. Without a little divine luck, you’ll never be Mozart, but you can learn to play the piano. You have to decide for yourself that playing the piano is a worthy goal, even if you’ll never be invited to perform your early works at the Imperial Court at Schoenbrunn.
The "everything is learnable" mindset transforms the Moat from a place of shame into a laboratory. Instead of thinking "I'm just not good at this," you start asking "What's the systematic way to get better at this?"
Sometimes, you gotta take the L Train …
The Experiment: Dwell in Strategic Incompetence
Here are two small experiments to try:
Rejection Collection: This week, deliberately ask for something that feels unreasonable: a job you're sure you won't get, a meeting with someone way above you in the org structure, or an opportunity that seems like a stretch. If you're nervous about the ask, that's probably a good sign you're aiming appropriately high. Document each "no" as evidence that you're pushing boundaries. The goal isn't to get an acceptance; it's to practice decoupling rejection from personal worth and to calibrate your sense of what's possible.
Show Up as a Beginner: Choose something you know nothing about, then systematically increase your exposure to people in that field. Cast a wide net by meeting as many people doing related work as you can, even if there's no obvious benefit to doing so. Book three conversations this month with people whose expertise makes you feel ignorant. Embrace your beginner status and ask beginner questions. Your incompetence becomes an asset when it leads to insights that expertise might miss.
The Wonder of Splashing Around in the Moat
What makes loving the Moat so powerful is how it reframes temporary incompetence from liability to asset. Sure, it's possible to cross the moat quietly and privately. You might save face, but you won’t get the most out of the experience. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to learn that the anticipation of embarrassment is almost always worse than the reality.
The paradox is that the willingness to look foolish builds the confidence that prevents you from looking foolish in the future. Each time you survive the Moat, you prove to yourself that temporary incompetence is survivable and often productive.
The Moat of Low Status isn't a barrier to overcome once; it's a place to return to again and again. Every new skill, every creative project, every meaningful challenge will require another journey through incompetence. Learning to love the Moat isn't about enjoying your ignorance; it's about recognizing that temporary incompetence is the price of admission to everything interesting.
The Question
What's one thing you've been avoiding because you'd have to look incompetent while learning it? What would change if you could reframe that temporary embarrassment as a competitive advantage rather than a character flaw?
