Egotism: The Psychology of the Self-Inflated Balloon

In psychological terms, egotism, (not egoism), is defined as the tendency to perceive, interpret, and value the world primarily through the lens of the self. It is closely associated with grandiose self-perception, self-enhancement bias, and low agreeableness in the Big Five personality traits. Unlike narcissism, which often stems from deep insecurity, egotism may not always mask a fragile ego—it can simply be a habitual, unfiltered prioritization of the self. An egotist places their own experiences, opinions, and needs above all others, often unconsciously.

Real-life examples of egotism appear everywhere—from the workplace to romantic relationships. Picture the colleague who hijacks every team meeting to talk about their own projects, even when they aren’t on the agenda. Or the friend who, when you share a personal hardship, responds with, “You think that’s bad? Wait until you hear what happened to me.” These individuals aren’t necessarily malicious. They just seem to have a cognitive blind spot where other people’s inner lives should be.

Dinner with the Adrian

It was one of those cozy autumn evenings, the kind where the clink of wine glasses and the smell of rosemary chicken filled the air. Six friends gathered around a table dressed in candlelight and conversation—laughter skipping between bites of food, old memories, new jokes, soft eyes. And then there was Adrian.

Adrian arrived ten minutes late, as usual, apologizing just loudly enough to interrupt the entire flow of the room. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had,” he said, flopping dramatically into his chair. “I swear, it’s like the universe needs me to solve every problem.” He barely noticed the waiter standing patiently to take his order or that Nora was halfway through a story about her sister’s engagement. “Anyway,” he continued, cutting her off mid-sentence, “did I tell you I got a call from that publisher? Yeah, they’re very interested in my manuscript—again. It’s exhausting being so in-demand.”

The table shifted uncomfortably. Nora smiled politely, her story quietly forgotten. Sam tried to steer things back to a shared topic: “Actually, that reminds me, I’ve been thinking about writing a children’s book—”
“Oh, man, don’t do it,” Adrian interrupted. “Children’s publishing is a nightmare. You know, when I first considered that, I had three agents come after me in the same week. Total madness.”

The dinner went on like this—Adrian talking at people instead of with them. If someone brought up a problem, he one-upped it. If someone shared a win, he had a better one. He laughed loudest at his own jokes, rarely asked a single question, and acted as though everyone had come just to hear him. He finished half his meal, checked his phone a dozen times, and then spent five full minutes explaining why he only eats “intuitively” now. “Food should serve you, not the other way around,” he said, stabbing a roasted carrot like it owed him rent.

By dessert, people had started speaking more quietly, eyes drifting toward each other with weary glances. Conversations splintered into smaller side chats—anything to carve out a space Adrian hadn’t filled. When the check came, he didn’t reach for it, just leaned back, stretched, and said, “Great night, huh? I really needed this—been carrying a lot lately. It’s good to give back sometimes.” No one was quite sure what he meant.

As they said their goodbyes, the group exhaled in silence. No one said it out loud, but they all felt it: a night meant for connection had somehow become a one-man stage. And as Adrian walked away, talking into his phone about how well he “worked the room,” the others stood under the soft halo of a streetlamp, feeling like extras in a story they never meant to join.

How others perceive the egotist

To the outside world, egotists are often seen as exhausting, arrogant, or out-of-touch. Their constant self-referencing can come across as insecurity masquerading as confidence. People might tolerate them in small doses—at parties or in brainstorming sessions where boldness is briefly charming—but over time, the one-note performance becomes grating. Empathy is the social glue that binds us, and egotists often lack enough of it to sustain deep human connections.

Adrian’s View of the Dinner

Adrian arrived ten minutes late—not because he was inconsiderate, but because he’d been putting out fires all day. Two client calls ran over, and then there was the text from that editor he’d been courting for months. Finally, they were taking notice. As he stepped into the restaurant, he smiled to himself. These little gatherings always felt like charity. Still, it was good to show up. People appreciated that.

He walked in, made his presence known—”You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had!”—and immediately felt the room shift. Heads turned. The energy changed. Not in a bad way, just… attentive. It always did that. He took his seat and picked up on Nora talking about something personal. An engagement? Sweet, but small potatoes compared to what he had going on. He waited a breath, then gave the room something worth hearing. “Did I tell you I got a call from that publisher?”

No one responded with the kind of awe he expected. Still, they were probably just shy—or envious. Sam tried to chime in about a kids’ book. Adrian laughed. Cute. “Children’s publishing is a nightmare,” he said, doing Sam the favor of steering him away from failure. That’s the kind of thing people don’t tell you—he was being real.

The food was decent. Not his kind of seasoning, but he wasn’t there for the food. He mentioned intuitive eating—shared a few insights. You’ve got to lead by example, show people how to live intentionally. They don’t read the kind of things he does, not really. Someone asked about his manuscript again. Or maybe they didn’t. Either way, he circled back to it. It was the most interesting thing in the room.

He noticed the conversation splintering after a while. A shame, really. They didn’t seem to know how to hold the focus. Adrian carried it as long as he could, but even the best speakers get tired. He let the others chatter quietly while he finished his glass of wine and thought about the revisions he’d need to make this week.

When the check came, he leaned back. Let someone else handle it—he was the entertainment tonight. They wanted him there. He gave them his presence, his stories, his insight. That stuff’s valuable.

As he walked to his car, phone already buzzing with a message from a podcast producer, he smiled. “Great night,” he texted someone. “Really brought some energy to the table. They needed it.” He didn’t see the glances. He didn’t hear the silence. In his mind, they were still hanging on his words.

How the egotist perceives others

Egotists rarely notice how they alienate others. To them, people exist in supporting roles—audiences, mirrors, or competitors. The egotist may genuinely believe they are helping by sharing their story or dominating a conversation. If others pull away, the egotist may interpret it not as a reaction to their behavior, but as proof of others’ jealousy or lack of understanding. There’s often a deep assumption that their way of thinking is not just right, but universal.

The Christmas Retreat

Adrian was at the Christmas retreat with his work colleagues, which was already a mistake. It was the kind of hotel with fake candles and too much beige. Somewhere between middle-class aspirations and corporate boredom. The kind of place where you’re supposed to unwind while pretending to like people who drain your soul from 9 to 5.

Emma was dancing with Robert. Of course she was. And Laura—Laura said she didn’t want to dance, but ten minutes later she was on his brother’s lap. His brother. The same prick who got all the charm and teeth and clean shoes. Adrian sat at a table in the corner, hunched like a rusted nail, chewing on his thumbnail and watching his self-worth drop like cigarette ash into a beer glass.

Nobody invited him to dance. Nobody asked if he wanted anything to drink. He wasn’t part of the smiling blur. The music was bad and too loud and people pretended they liked each other. Adrian knew—knew—they didn’t want him there. The laughter sounded sharper when it passed by him. It bounced off his plate and stabbed into his chest. Every time Laura glanced at him, her eyes said, you’re a sad little nothing. She didn’t have to speak it. It was all in the way she twisted her hair while laughing at his brother’s joke. She laughed like she was doing a job.

And then the food came. That was the cherry on the crap pie. Everyone got these shiny, polished meals—steaks with sprigs of rosemary, fish that looked like money. And Adrian? They brought him a hamburger. A goddamn hamburger. On a plate the size of a manhole cover. It sat there like a dead rat in the middle of a parking lot. Small, pitiful, embarrassed to be alive. When the waiter set it down, someone snorted. Adrian looked up. Emma was covering her mouth, failing to hold it in. Laura laughed the most—loud, nasal, cruel. His ears burned. He looked at the burger like it was a betrayal, like maybe it had agreed to all this too.

He was sure—absolutely sure—they planned it. That somebody told the kitchen to make his meal smaller. That they whispered about it before he arrived, maybe even passed around some joke in a group chat he wasn’t part of. His brother probably suggested it. Laura probably approved it. Emma probably double-checked to make sure the plate was comically oversized. It was all a goddamn play and he was the punchline.

Adrian sat there chewing on that dry little burger like it was his own heart. He drank his wine too fast and it went nowhere. The band played some soft jazz number that made his teeth itch. He thought about leaving. He thought about flipping the table. He thought about standing up and telling them all to go to hell. But instead, he stayed. He stayed and stared and swallowed it all down. Because that’s what they wanted—him quiet, humiliated, alone in the middle of a crowd.

Nobody asked how he was doing. Nobody noticed he hadn’t smiled once. Not that night. Not ever.

A Typical Egotist

He walked into the room like a bottle crash in a library. Said something loud about winning an argument at the bar. Didn’t notice no one asked. Sat down like he owned the damn chair’s ancestors. Lit a cigarette even though it was a non-smoking joint. You know the type—talks like a trumpet, listens like a dead cat. Thought his hangovers were poetry and his opinions were sacred texts. And when someone else spoke, he was already halfway into his next monologue, like a shark swimming with its own echo.

The women smiled, thin and cracked. The men nodded, hoping he’d shut up soon so they could talk about football or failing marriages. But the egotist kept going, man, like a train without brakes. “I once dated a model,” he said. “She told me I had the mind of a philosopher.” Sure she did. Probably while reaching for the aspirin.

He wasn’t evil. Just empty in that loud kind of way. The kind of emptiness that makes noise to drown out the silence. If he asked how you were doing, it was just a comma before his next story. If you told him your dog died, he’d tell you how he once punched a bear. Real sensitive stuff.

But I’ll tell you the saddest thing. He thought people liked him. Thought the fake laughs were real. Thought the shallow claps meant he was winning. He didn’t know he was the commercial break in everyone else’s movie. That’s the punchline of egotism: the man builds a statue to himself, and then wonders why no one comes to pray.

The Roots of Egotism: Psychological Causes

Egotism doesn’t just appear out of thin air. It is often the product of a tangled web of psychological, developmental, and social factors. One of the most significant early influences is parenting style. Children raised in overly permissive or indulgent homes—where every need is immediately met, and every action is praised without realistic feedback—may develop a distorted sense of self. They begin to internalize the idea that they are uniquely important or more deserving than others. On the other end of the spectrum, children who grow up in neglectful or emotionally cold environments may also develop egotistic tendencies, but for different reasons. In these cases, the ego becomes a fortress—built to protect a vulnerable core. By focusing on themselves, they create the illusion of control and importance in a world where they previously felt invisible or powerless. This version of egotism often hides a deep fear of rejection or abandonment.

Another major contributor is attachment style. Individuals with insecure or avoidant attachment patterns may have trouble forming authentic emotional bonds, leading them to substitute genuine connection with self-centered control. Egotism, in this sense, becomes a coping mechanism—a way to navigate relationships while avoiding vulnerability. People may adopt a self-aggrandizing posture to keep others at a distance or to mask feelings of inadequacy. This is why egotism can sometimes look like confidence on the outside but feel like defensiveness underneath.

Personality traits also play a substantial role. In the Big Five personality model, egotism tends to correlate with low agreeableness, low openness to experience, and low empathy, alongside high extraversion. Such individuals may be more likely to dominate conversations, disregard others’ feelings, and assert their views without considering opposing perspectives. Some may even possess traits overlapping with narcissistic or antisocial tendencies, though egotism itself doesn’t always meet clinical thresholds for personality disorders.

Moreover, cultural and societal forces often reinforce and reward egotism, particularly in Western, individualistic societies. From childhood onward, people are taught to “stand out,” “believe in yourself,” and “hustle harder.” Social media amplifies this dynamic, encouraging constant self-promotion, self-documentation, and comparison. In such an environment, egotistic behaviors are not only normalized—they’re often celebrated. People who talk about themselves, who boast, who dominate the spotlight are more likely to be seen as successful, confident, or driven, even if their inner world is marked by emotional isolation or relational dysfunction.

In some cases, trauma or chronic instability can also feed egotism. A person who has lived in survival mode—constantly defending themselves against chaos, rejection, or violence—may develop a self-first orientation as a protective habit. Their world becomes one where only their needs feel urgent or real, because historically, no one else was looking out for them. Over time, this defensive structure can harden into personality.

Ultimately, egotism is rarely born of simple arrogance. More often, it is a byproduct of misattuned development, unmet emotional needs, or social conditioning gone unchecked. It’s a way of being that can serve a psychological purpose—even if that purpose is invisible to the egotist themselves.