The Good Old Days Are Gone

I was watching a spy series the other night — The Day of the Jackal — when the supposed "hero" fabricated a charge to manipulate a civilian. What struck me wasn’t her misuse of power; it was that the behavior didn’t surprise me.

And that's what worries me.

Once upon a time, integrity wore a sword. It rode with Arthur’s knights, swore oaths before God, rode a white horse, and believed doing the right thing was worth dying for. Honor was the code. And the code was everything.

Integrity isn’t about perfection or moral superiority. It isn’t about optics — it’s about you.

It’s about holding yourself to your values, especially when it’s inconvenient. It’s about looking in the mirror and seeing someone whose word means something. Someone who owns their failures and their successes equally.

Most of the time, no one will know what it costs you to do the right thing. Not the way you will.

Integrity doesn’t trend. But it’s the foundation of a life you can live with pride — and sleep through the night.

But these days? Integrity is called extra. Cringe. Outdated. In a world obsessed with aesthetics, honor isn’t a buzzword; it gets side-eyed. But some of us still believe in walking the old roads, even if they’re overgrown. Not because we think we’re perfect, but because we want to be the best version of ourselves.

Even when no one’s watching. Especially then.

Life is messy. People are flawed. But pretending morality doesn’t matter doesn’t make you wise. It makes you cynical — or worse, a coward hiding behind excuses.

Doing the right thing isn’t a choice for the naïve or the weak. It's often a difficult call to make, but it’s necessary if we want our society to be more than just a chorus of complaints with no spine to back them.

And I don't know about you, but I want that.

The world being broken isn’t a reason for us to stop trying. It’s the reason to care more and try harder. Otherwise we have no one to blame for the state of things except ourselves.

When Our Heroes Changed, So Did We

Modern media often treats honesty and honor like punchlines. Once, our heroes wore white hats. They followed the rules and did what was right, even when it was hard. Even when it might kill them.

Today’s protagonists (read: "heroes") lie, manipulate, and bend the rules to win. And we cheer them, maybe because they claim it’s for the greater good. Or maybe just because they’re clever, they kick ass, or they’re the least shitty option.

Reality television, talk shows, and social media didn’t just change what we watch. They changed what we value. We shifted from “doing what’s right” to “getting noticed” or “standing out.” Or maybe getting rich. From The Lone Ranger to The Punisher. From Aragorn to Batman. From Lancelot to Constantine.

From those examples, you can see many of our characters rarely show true integrity anymore. But when our stories stop rewarding and encouraging integrity — when we can't even expect truth and responsibility from our fictional heroes — why would we ever expect it from one another?

The slow death of integrity in our stories reflects — and accelerates — its disappearance from our society.

That shift might not have mattered quite so much if we hadn’t started considering our anti-heroes "heroes." For example, Iron Man is fascinating, and a ton of fun to watch. But if a real-world billionaire playboy built a war machine and declared himself judge and jury, would we still cheer?
I hope not...

Contrast that with Captain America — especially in Civil War. Steve Rogers isn’t perfect, but he has a moral compass and refuses to hand it over. He chooses conscience over convenience, loyalty over legality, and pays dearly for it. And the story respects him for it. That’s rare these days.

The old storytellers knew the truth. The strongest characters were the ones who faced impossible odds and still did the right thing — not because it was easy, but because it mattered.

This kind of trade has a cost. If we decide integrity doesn’t matter in our stories, how will we ever recognize it in ourselves? How will we ever know we should be striving for better?

The Branding of Integrity

And it's not just our heroes we've redefined. It's integrity itself.

Stories have always shaped what we expect from our leaders, teachers, parents, friends. What we expect from ourselves. But in our entertainment, we’ve replaced ethics with vibes. “Do I feel right doing this?” means more today than “Is it the right thing to do?” Truth itself has splintered. We don’t say, “That’s the truth.” We say, “That’s my truth.”

Even our real world leaders — the politicians we give power over us — lie, pivot, and spin. And we roll our eyes like it's just part of the job. Once, integrity meant resigning after a scandal. Now it means doubling down and calling the truth a witch hunt or lies. It’s been replaced by performance even in public office, where ethics should be non-negotiable.

We’ve turned integrity into branding. And we’re drowning in it with the rise of influencer culture, performative trauma, reality television, and celebrity nonsense. Accountability has been rebranded as trauma. Criticism is a threat or an attack instead of an opportunity for dialogue. And suffering is now seen as a free pass to be an asshat.

I call bullshit.

People have always suffered. But we didn’t always excuse cruelty or bad behavior just because someone had it rough. Now, we evaluate behavior based on the performance of pain &mdash how hurt do they look? — not actions or principles. And too many people can’t even name the principles they believe in.

If we don't do what's right unless someone is watching — if we expect to be rewarded every time we make the right choice — then our systems begin to break down.

If you doubt it, just look around...

Integrity is personal, not performative. It's about doing what's right because it's right. Not because someone is watching or will like you for it.

It’s how you survive a broken world without becoming part of the rot. And maybe how we start to heal it.

The Quiet Cost

Living with integrity isn't free. Typically, integrity is quiet. Lonely. It's often invisible to others, but not always.

When you choose to be honorable, people may call you rigid, intense, or even judgmental. I get that one sometimes. And they're not wrong. Sometimes we judge others. But if we’re holding them to the same standards we have for ourselves, maybe that’s not always bad.

Honor can cost comfort, ease, and belonging. It won’t make you popular; hell, it might do the opposite. But what it does do is buy you peace of mind, clarity, and self-respect when everything else is shades of gray.

Integrity doesn’t equal perfection, but it does require awareness.

It means owning your screw ups, accepting responsibility, and making it right when you can. Apologizing when you can’t. The goal is to learn from it and try to do better next time.

The people with the most integrity are usually the ones who feel the worst about their mistakes, even when no one else notices. And then they get up and try again. I try to be one of those people.

A Quiet Revolution

We need stories where doing the right thing still matters. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it is. We need that reminder that we can be better.

Decency isn’t weakness, and honor still matters. Integrity doesn’t have to die just because it’s gone out of fashion.

Maybe it’s time to challenge creators — ourselves included: Give us characters like Captain America again! Not because he’s perfect, but because he holds the line when no one else will. Because he does the right thing, even when it costs him everything. He's willing to sacrifice for what's right. For the greater good.

Personal decency won’t go viral. And maybe that’s the point. But you’ll sleep better. You’ll live cleaner. And you might like yourself more. And maybe our politicians will take the hint, too.

In a world addicted to optics, that might be the most radical thing you can do.

Because being someone you can respect? That’s a goddamn revolution all on its own.

What would change if we all started demanding more — from them, and from ourselves?