“What is right is not always popular, and what is popular is not always right.” This famous adage, often attributed to Albert Einstein, rings true in a world where many people equate popularity with wisdom. Time and again, we see instances of widely admired figures being treated as arbiters of truth or taste, even in areas far outside their expertise. I have encountered this in my own life: I once wrote about my love for wearing suits, only to have a friend counter my thoughts by invoking the gospel of a celebrity. According to my friend, TV host Steve Harvey had decreed that a man needs only a certain set of suits – “You can make 75 suits with five combinations,” Harvey proclaimed. My friend proceeded to rattle off the specific colors Mr. Harvey recommended, as if these were commandments. The implication was clear: Steve Harvey’s popularity and dapper public persona crowned him the chief authority on men’s fashion. But who made Mr. Harvey the ultimate suits advisor? Was it his television fame, his habit of wearing sharp suits on camera, the sheer force of his popularity? And more importantly, does being popular in the media automatically confer wisdom or expertise? This anecdote, though light-hearted, hints at a broader human tendency to treat the most popular voices as the most wise – a tendency this essay will challenge by examining real-world cases and exploring why we conflate fame with sagacity. We will also consider how to better discern wisdom from mere popularity moving forward.

To start, let’s reflect on the suit story. My friend’s deference to Steve Harvey’s wardrobe rule reveals how easily popularity can be mistaken for credibility. Harvey is a comedian and talk-show host, not a professional stylist or tailor, yet his pronouncement about owning five suits in specific colors was taken as gospel simply because he said it. His status as a beloved celebrity gave his words extra weight. In truth, Harvey’s advice is fairly generic – many fashion experts might agree a versatile wardrobe can be built with a few classic suits. The intriguing part is not the content of the advice, but the source: my friend trusted it unquestioningly because it came from a famous person. Harvey’s shows, charisma, and ubiquity on TV elevated him to an almost guru-like position on a subject outside his core career. Popularity created an aura of wisdom around him. This is a harmless example – no one’s life will be ruined by owning the “wrong” number of suits – but it demonstrates how the benchmark for what “should” be normal (in this case, how a man should dress) gets set by whatever a popular figure says or does. It was fashionable because Steve Harvey, a popular figure, did it. This casual conflation of fame with expertise is surprisingly common.

When we pivot to more consequential realms like politics, the stakes heighten and the folly of equating popularity with wisdom becomes even clearer. Consider the case of Nigerian President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan during the Boko Haram insurgency. At the height of Boko Haram’s rampage – when the Islamist militant group was terrorizing the northeast and even holding territory – President Jonathan remained publicly upbeat. He boasted that his government was doing well against the terrorists, even claiming that U.S. President Barack Obama had acknowledged his administration’s success. In February 2015, as Nigerian forces (aided by neighboring countries) launched offensives, Jonathan confidently declared that the “tide has now definitely turned against Boko Haram”. His office released statements assuring citizens that the days of Boko Haram were numbered. This optimistic messaging may have been aimed at bolstering public morale and, by extension, Jonathan’s popularity ahead of an election. After all, if Obama (a widely respected global figure) thought Jonathan was doing well, then it must be true – right?

The reality on the ground told a different story. At that very moment, Boko Haram still controlled vast swathes of territory – by some accounts, in 2014–2015 the militants held an area “the size of Belgium” in Nigeria’s northeast. They had displaced millions and were committing atrocities regularly. To most observers, Nigeria under Jonathan was not “doing well” in quelling the insurgency. Jonathan’s rosy pronouncements, buttressed by a supposed nod from Obama, did little to change the facts. In hindsight, his insistence on a positive narrative seemed out of touch, if not willfully self-deluding. It appeared that Jonathan believed his position and international connections (in other words, his political stature and popularity) could redefine reality. Many of his supporters echoed his claims, perhaps because they trusted the man they elected. Here, popularity – in the form of political authority and a hint of Obama’s star-power – was used in an attempt to confer wisdom and competence on a failing policy. The Nigerian case demonstrates how a leader’s fame or approval ratings can create an echo chamber, where claims are accepted as truth largely because of who says them rather than what’s actually happening. But as Boko Haram’s enduring threat proved, popularity could not substitute for wise strategy or honest assessment.

An even more flamboyant illustration of perceived popularity-as-wisdom is found in the United States under President Donald Trump. Trump built a political brand on the idea that he possessed a kind of genius intuition, superior to the expertise of any specialist. Over and over he boasted of knowing more than the generals, more than the scientists, more than the career officials. “I know more about ISIS than the generals do,” he said confidently – a remarkable claim for someone with no military service or strategic training. On another occasion, he asserted, “I think nobody knows more about taxes than I do, maybe in the history of the world”. From foreign policy to public health to technology, Trump touted himself as an all-purpose expert. To many listeners, these claims were ludicrous or blatantly false – the emperor with no clothes. Yet to millions of his admirers, Trump’s braggadocio was convincing. Why? He was popular, and he projected absolute confidence. His supporters often argued that, as a successful businessman and the very popular winner of the 2016 election, Trump clearly knew something the establishment didn’t. In their eyes, his outsider status and celebrity proved his wisdom: if the academics and “elites” disagreed with him, well, that just showed how special Trump’s knowledge was. This near-cult of personality led many to take whatever Trump said as the benchmark, the norm – even above the consensus of experts.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, for example, Trump floated unscientific ideas for treatments (at one point infamously suggesting disinfectant injections). Public health experts were horrified, but some of his loyal followers actually considered these ideas, precisely because the popular leader had voiced them. Popularity became a kind of credential in itself – a phenomenon not unique to Trump but very stark in his case. It illustrates a bizarre inversion: instead of wisdom leading to popularity, here popularity was presumed to indicate wisdom, even when evidence was contrary. Trump’s case shows how a public figure can leverage their fame and charisma to create an illusion of competence. By confidently proclaiming “I alone can fix it” and deriding expert critics, he invited people to trust his gut over others’ brains. This is the crux of why conflating popularity with wisdom is so dangerous: it empowers those who sound sure over those who actually know.

This issue isn’t confined to Nigeria or America; it’s a global and historical phenomenon. Humans have long tended to lionize popular figures and assume their greatness is universally applicable. In modern culture, think of the many celebrities who are treated as lifestyle or moral authorities simply because they’re famous. A movie star or singer might have legions of fans, but does that make their advice on love, diet, or politics inherently insightful? Often, popularity itself creates a self-fulfilling perception of wisdom. For instance, when a famous actress touts a new wellness regimen, thousands may follow suit, trusting that “she must know what she’s doing – look how successful and gorgeous she is.” In reality, the actress’s expertise in, say, nutrition might be zero, but her celebrity status gives her words a sheen of legitimacy. Consider the example of actress Gwyneth Paltrow: her lifestyle brand promoting wellness trends (some of which are medically unproven) gained a huge following largely due to her star power. Many consumers treated her recommendations as sage counsel, essentially because a famous person endorsed them. Here again, popularity (celebrity influence) was mistaken for wisdom (sound health advice), sometimes with problematic results for people’s health decisions.

Social media has supercharged this dynamic. On platforms like Instagram, TikTok, or Twitter, the most followed and liked individuals are often seen as trend-setters in knowledge as well. An influencer who amasses millions of followers doing makeup tutorials or comedy skits might suddenly start opining on climate change or mental health, and a significant portion of their audience will take it to heart. The norm is set by numbers – if a post is viral, it must be important; if a person is popular, their viewpoint must be valid. We’ve witnessed how misinformation can spread when endorsed by a charismatic, well-followed source. Celebrity and influencer culture shows that many people unconsciously believe, “If many others are listening to X, then X’s ideas are worth listening to.” It’s essentially peer pressure combined with the allure of fame. In fact, a recent study on civic engagement found that celebrity voices are “incredibly powerful” in shaping public behavior, capable of boosting things like voter registration simply through their popular platforms. This power can be used for good – like encouraging youth to vote – but it also means a popular figure can sway public opinion on complex issues regardless of their actual understanding. The messenger’s fame becomes the message’s credential.

Why do we fall for this? Why do so many of us regard the most popular individuals and whatever they do or say as the benchmark for what should be normal or correct? The answers lie in social psychology and cognitive biases. One key reason is the “bandwagon effect” – the tendency to believe or do things because many others do. Psychologically, if a large number of people hold an opinion, we subconsciously lean toward thinking there’s truth in it. This is related to the fallacy known as argumentum ad populum, an appeal to popularity. In simple terms, this fallacy says that if most people believe X or if a famous person believes X, then X must be true. It’s easy to slip into this mode of thinking because it relieves us from the hard work of critical analysis. As one analysis of this fallacy bluntly puts it: *“Accepting another person’s belief, or many people’s beliefs, without demanding evidence as to why… is lazy thinking and a dangerous way to accept information”*. In other words, we often take shortcuts in reasoning – popularity is a kind of shortcut. If Steve Harvey’s suit rule is everywhere, why bother questioning it? If a politician was elected by millions, why doubt his claims? Going with the crowd feels both convenient and safe.

Another reason is the halo effect, a cognitive bias where our overall impression of a person (often based on a single trait like attractiveness or charisma) spills over into how we judge their other qualities. If someone is popular and likable, we tend to assume they’re also knowledgeable, or kind, or competent – even without evidence. Popular figures usually have a halo of success around them. For example, my friend likely thought: Steve Harvey is successful and well-dressed; therefore, his fashion advice must be sound. The halo effect smooths over contradictions – we gloss over the fact that success in comedy doesn’t equal knowledge of tailoring, or that winning an election doesn’t make one a military expert. Our brains like consistency, and attributing wisdom to the already popular creates a consistent narrative (“they’re just an all-around winner”). This bias is deeply ingrained and often subconscious.

Social influence and norms also play a significant role. Humans are social creatures who learn by imitation and feel pressure to conform to group standards. When a behavior or idea becomes popular, it feels implicitly validated. If “everyone” on my social media feed is doing a new dance challenge, I might feel like I should do it too – it’s the thing to do. If a majority in my community expresses a belief, I may be reluctant to dissent, even internally. This is why popular figures can effectively set norms: people see many others following them and infer that it must be the correct or at least acceptable thing to do. Psychologically, there’s also a fear of missing out or being left behind if one doesn’t follow what’s popular. It’s easier to align with the celebrated figure or idea; it grants a sense of belonging. By contrast, questioning the popular narrative can isolate someone from the group. Thus, popularity becomes a measuring stick for normalcy – it’s the default choice if you want to fit in.

Confidence is another seductive element intertwined with popularity. Popular people tend to exude confidence – it’s part of why they attract followers. Charismatic leaders and influencers speak in strong, absolute terms. That confidence can be contagious; it can inspire trust. Many people conflate speaking confidently with speaking truthfully. Donald Trump’s supporters, for instance, often cited how strong and plain-spoken he was – he “tells it like it is.” The certainty in his tone could be mistaken for certainty in fact. Similarly, a confident-sounding celebrity endorsement (“I swear by this diet, it changed my life!”) can feel more convincing than a measured, nuanced statement from an actual expert. The irony is that true wisdom often involves acknowledging complexity and uncertainty – but those don’t make for rousing soundbites. The loud, confident voice often wins the popularity contest, but not necessarily the accuracy contest.

Historically, philosophers and thinkers have warned about the perils of popularity-driven thinking. The ancient Greek philosopher Plato was deeply skeptical of the idea that the majority’s opinion equates to wisdom. In The Republic, Plato uses the “ship of state” metaphor to illustrate how misguided it can be when popularity trumps expertise in governance. He asks us to imagine a ship at sea crewed by sailors who know nothing of navigation. These sailors, however, all vie to captain the ship by sweet-talking the owner and even drugging the true captain. They boastfully claim they know how to steer, while dismissing the one person who genuinely does know navigation as a useless stargazer. The sailors are essentially demagogues – they become “popular” with the ship’s owner through charisma and tricks, gaining control despite their incompetence. The skilled navigator (the philosopher, in Plato’s analogy) is unpopular and ignored because he speaks of things (stars, winds, technique) the others don’t understand or care for. Plato’s point was that democratic masses can be like that ship owner: easily swayed by those who appeal to their desires, and prone to spurn the truly wise voice that doesn’t pander to them. It’s a powerful illustration of popularity vs. wisdom. The lesson from Plato is that wise leadership and ideas might not initially be popular, and conversely, popular appeal can be achieved without wisdom. This lesson echoes through history: many profound scientists, artists, or visionaries were unpopular or ignored in their time, while many demagogues and foolish ideas gained enormous followings. The crowd is not infallible – in fact, it can be quite fickle and fallible.

One need not look far to find examples where “everyone says so” turned out to be wrong. For centuries, it was common belief that the Earth was flat or that the sun revolved around Earth – those ideas were popular, but not wise or true. Majorities have been wrong on scientific facts, on moral issues (like various prejudices in society), and on political choices. It often takes the wisdom of a few brave souls to correct the course, and they frequently face ridicule or hostility for challenging the popular view. The correlation between popularity and wisdom is tenuous at best. Sometimes a wise idea catches on and becomes popular (which is great when it happens), but plenty of popular notions are later revealed as folly. As the saying goes, you shouldn’t jump off a bridge just because everyone else is doing it.

Understanding this, how can we address the phenomenon? How do we ensure that we, as individuals and societies, don’t simply default to treating the most popular person’s word as the truth or the norm? One solution is education and critical thinking. By learning about cognitive biases and logical fallacies, people can become more mindful of this trap. For instance, just being aware of the argumentum ad populum fallacy – that popularity doesn’t prove correctness – can make one pause when confronted with the “everyone thinks” argument. Education can encourage individuals to ask for evidence: Why does Steve Harvey say a man needs those suits? On what basis is a politician claiming success, besides their own boast? If the answer is “because lots of people agree” or “because I said so,” that should raise a red flag. Cultivating a habit of asking “How do we know that?” can cut through blindly following popular sentiment.

Media literacy is also vital in this age. We are bombarded with trending topics, influencer opinions, and charismatic claims. Learning to verify information – checking if the popular claim is backed by reliable sources or expert consensus – can prevent the spread of false “wisdom.” For example, if a celebrity chef on YouTube says a certain ingredient cures disease, a media-literate viewer would check scientific sources or ask a doctor, rather than assume it’s true because the video has millions of likes. Essentially, we can train ourselves to separate the volume of a message from its value. A loud or ubiquitous message isn’t necessarily a correct one.

Another key step is to elevate true expertise and wise voices, even if they aren’t glamorous. Society as a whole can benefit from remembering to value people for their knowledge and integrity, not just their visibility. This might mean giving scientists, teachers, and experienced practitioners a louder microphone in public discussions, rather than always defaulting to celebrities. It might also mean we as consumers of information intentionally seek out diverse and credible perspectives. If you only ever listen to the most popular pundit, try occasionally reading analyses from subject matter experts who might not be household names. If the most followed social media personalities are your primary influencers, consider balancing that by following some qualified professionals or thoughtful commentators in fields you care about. Diversity of input guards against the echo chamber of one uber-popular opinion.

On an individual level, practicing intellectual humility can counteract the lure of popular wisdom. This means acknowledging that just because an idea is popular doesn’t make it right, and conversely, being open to the possibility that a less popular idea might have merit. It takes a bit of courage to say, “I know everyone loves X’s advice, but I’m not entirely convinced,” or to go against the grain of a trending belief. Yet, this humility and willingness to think for oneself is exactly what has driven progress throughout history. Those who proffer solutions often had to buck popular opinion before being proven correct. Encouraging people – especially young people – to value truth over trendiness can create a culture less vulnerable to the false equivalence of fame and wisdom.

We should also be aware of the emotional aspect: popular figures often connect with us emotionally, which is part of their appeal. We feel we know them; we trust them like friends. There’s nothing wrong with admiring public figures or enjoying popular trends, of course. The key is not letting that emotional affinity override rational judgment. It’s possible to think, “I like this person, but they might be wrong about this topic.” In fact, that’s a mature way to view our heroes – with nuance. Solutions here include fostering dialogues that question ideas without attacking personalities, so that people don’t feel they must defend a popular figure’s every word. It’s easier to accept that your favorite celebrity might be wrong about something if doing so isn’t seen as betraying them, but rather as thinking independently.

In the end, popularity is at best a misleading indicator of wisdom, and at worst, it’s completely unrelated. Equating the two can lead to poor decisions and misplaced priorities. As we’ve seen, a talk show host’s viral fashion tip can eclipse actual sartorial know-how, a political leader’s propaganda can mask policy failures, and a confident loudmouth can drown out reasoned voices – all because we often let popularity serve as a shortcut for credibility. The correlation between being popular and being wise is largely coincidental; many wise people toil in obscurity, and many popular ones are anything but wise. The challenge is for us to recognize this discrepancy.

We should remember that wisdom often entails seeking truth, exercising critical judgment, and sometimes challenging the crowd. It isn’t determined by the size of one’s audience. As that opening quote so poignantly reminds us, what’s popular isn’t always right – and what’s right isn’t always popular. To use popularity as the benchmark for norms or truth is to risk embracing comfortable falsehoods over uncomfortable truths. The better path is to evaluate ideas on their merits, listen to those with real knowledge and experience, and maintain a healthy skepticism towards claims that ride solely on the wave of popularity. By doing so, we uphold wisdom and truth as benchmarks in their own right, rather than merely following the loudest voice in the room.

References:

Ahimah, A. O., & Shotts, D. K. (2019). Gathering up the Fragments after Boko Haram: Helping Baptist Churches in Northeastern Nigeria Recover, Conserve, and Digitize their History. Atla Summary of Proceedings, 72(1), 261–269. (Fact about Boko Haram controlling an area the size of Belgium).

Bennett, B. (n.d.). Appeal to Common Belief. In Logically Fallacious. Retrieved from logicallyfallacious.com. (Discussion of the argumentum ad populum fallacy and its dangers).

Britzky, H. (2019, January 5). Everything Trump says he knows “more about than anybody”. Axios. (Compilation of Donald Trump’s claims of knowing more than experts in various fields).

Chang, E. (2024, August 14). Celebrities do have an impact on elections, Harvard study finds. ABC News. (Report on a study showing the powerful influence of celebrity voices on public engagement).

Osom, G. (2024, February 18). The Five Indispensable Suits Every Man Should Have. The Sharp Gentleman. (Article referencing Steve Harvey’s statement about five suits yielding 75 combinations).

Plato. (2007). The Republic (B. Jowett, Trans.). In Plato: Complete Works (D. Hutchinson, Ed.). Hackett. (Original work ~380 B.C.E.). (Philosophical text containing the “ship of state” analogy critiquing the assumption that popular appeal equates to knowledge in governance).

Tamil Guardian. (2015, February 24). Tide has turned against Boko Haram – Goodluck Jonathan. TamilGuardian.com. (News report quoting President Jonathan’s statement that the tide had “definitely turned” against Boko Haram).