forget cool

i attended the finnish game jam 2025 — a two-day hacking event where the goal was simple: build a working game prototype from scratch.

on the first day, sometime after we settled in, came the introductions. each person had to share what they could do — programmer, designer, artist, audio, writer — to find teammates with complementary skills.

i was nervous. not because i lacked skills, but because i wasn’t sure what version of myself to present.

should i list my skills? should i talk about past projects? should i try to sound impressive?

i watched as people introduced themselves one after the other. most were confident. a few bragged about being at previous game jams and winning. everyone, in their own way, seemed to be signaling:

i deserve to be here.

i could have gone first. i love to. i even wrote about it in a piece on being first or last. but this time, i hesitated.

maybe i was measuring the room. maybe i was comparing. maybe i was looking for a gap to fill — or just figuring out how not to sound like everyone else.

eventually, it got to me.

as soon as i stood up, i chose a different direction. i wasn’t going to play the “i am cool” game.

so i said,

i can be anything you want, as long as i’ve got chatgpt.

for a second, silence. then a few chuckles. a short uproar. side comments. you could feel the tension lift.

for the first time, the room could breathe.

the energy shifted. no more stiff resumes. people began to smile, relax, lean in. a few even referenced the joke in their intros.

what i didn’t say out loud — but strongly believed — was this: i was a jack of all trades, master of many. i could’ve flexed that. but in a room full of strangers trying to impress each other, i didn’t want to add to the pressure. i wanted to diffuse it.

self-deprecating humor did the trick. it didn’t make me seem smaller. instead, it reminded everyone that none of us had to perform.

we weren’t there to outshine each other. we were there to build.

and for that, vulnerability works better than bravado.

we talk a lot about collaboration, but rarely about the emotional environment it requires. teams form faster in rooms that feel safe. ideas flow better when egos are low. humor, especially the kind that pokes fun at yourself, signals that it’s okay to put your guard down.

that’s what broke the ice that day. not my skills. not my background. just a cheeky line that let people exhale.

so here’s the takeaway:

if you ever find yourself in a room full of strangers, and everyone’s rattling off their accomplishments like they’re auditioning — pause. read the room. if it feels tense, it probably is.

you don’t have to match the energy. you can shift it.

crack a joke. show some humility. give others permission to do the same.

because the real flex? it isn’t in being cool. it’s in making people feel like they belong.

cheers.