A Letter from an Imaginary Associate of Jeffrey Epstein
With Pals like me, who needs imaginary friends?
Student created art image with the word “neutral” missing
To the Public, the Perpetually Outraged, and the Morally Certain,
I’ve been advised — by lawyers, PR consultants, and one very tired cousin — to keep this brief. But brevity has never been my strong suit. Neither, apparently, has judgment.
You’ve seen the emails. You’ve drawn your conclusions. And now you want to know why I stayed close to Jeffrey Epstein, a man whose name now functions as both a noun and a cautionary tale.
The answer, I’m afraid, is not flattering.
1. I mistook proximity for enlightenment.
Jeffrey had a way of making you feel like you were participating in the secret architecture of the world. He’d talk about “systems” and “leverage” and “global networks,” and you’d nod along, pretending you understood. It was intoxicating — the intellectual equivalent of being handed a backstage pass to the universe.
Only later did I realize I’d been standing backstage at a puppet show, admiring the strings.
2. I was seduced by the culture of elite self‑delusion.
You must understand: in certain circles, self‑importance is the air we breathe. We convince ourselves that our conversations over catered lunches are shaping the future. We mistake our own reflections for insight. We believe that being invited means being worthy.
Jeffrey understood this ecosystem perfectly. He fed it. He curated it. He weaponized it.
And I — like so many others — mistook the glow of his attention for the light of my own brilliance.
3. I ignored the rot because the architecture was beautiful.
This is the part that keeps me up at night. Not the emails — though they are mortifying — but the memory of how easily I looked away. How eagerly I accepted the curated version of events. How quickly I dismissed the whispers as envy, exaggeration, or the price of genius.
It’s astonishing what a person can fail to see when seeing would require a reckoning.
4. I stayed because leaving would have required a moral vocabulary I didn’t yet possess.
I had ethics, of course — the kind you list on fellowship applications. But the real thing, the kind that demands sacrifice, clarity, and courage? That was still under construction.
Jeffrey offered a shortcut: significance without substance, influence without responsibility, brilliance without scrutiny. I took it. I took all of it.
5. And now the bill has arrived.
My reputation is dissolving. My inbox is a museum of outrage. My name is trending for all the wrong reasons. And yet — and this is the humiliating part — I can’t help feeling that this collapse is the first honest thing that has happened to me in years.
6. If there is a lesson here, it is not about Jeffrey. It is about us.
About the way we elevate charisma over character.
About the way we confuse access with achievement.
About the way we let powerful men define the terms of our ambition.
About the way we outsource our moral agency to anyone who promises us a seat at the table (Lookin’ at you Trump.)
Jeffrey was not an aberration. He was a mirror. And I didn’t like what I saw in it, so I looked away.
Now the mirror is public, and I no longer have that luxury.
7. So here is my belated, insufficient, but necessary confession:
I stayed close to a man I should have fled because he made me feel exceptional. And I wanted to feel exceptional more than I wanted to be good.
If you’re looking for a moral, take this one:
Beware the people who offer you the world. They rarely mention the cost.
Sincerely,
The Formerly Significant Person in Those Emails