Jargogled Impressions.

So I rewatched The Prestige recently.

The first time I saw it was in college—probably surrounded by popcorn, existential dread, and an urgent sense of needing to do something else with my life. Back then, it felt like a cool, twisty movie about magicians and clones and “Are you watching closely?” vibes. But this time—this time it hit different.

This time, I saw the thing. The quiet, menacing, deeply unsettling through-line beneath the top hats and Tesla coils.

Obsession.

Not the candle-scented, rom-com variety. I’m talking about the capital-O Obsession. The kind that takes over your mind like a parasite and won’t let go until it has turned everything you care about into fuel for the mission.

Borden vs. Angier ≈ Tesla vs. Edison ≈ You vs. Yourself

At the surface, The Prestige is about two rival magicians—Alfred Borden and Robert Angier—caught in a life-consuming game of one-upmanship. Underneath that? A meditation on what it means to give your entire self to something. And underneath that? A horrifying little question:

What’s the difference between competition and obsession? And where’s the line between greatness and madness?

Borden is clearly obsessed. He lives his life half a time, because the other half is literally lived by his twin, both of whom pretend to be the same person to protect the secret of their act. They take turns being “Alfred,” sacrificing relationships, fatherhood, love, everything, to stay true to the illusion.

Angier is also obsessed. But his obsession is different. It’s not just about being great—it’s about being seen as great. He craves the admiration, the applause, the win. He wants to be Number One. And when he can’t figure out Borden’s trick, it eats him alive.

Which brings us to…

The Edison-Tesla Parallel

Christopher Nolan throws in a little historical spice by giving us a cameo of Nikola Tesla, played with ghostly elegance by David Bowie. He’s the silent force behind one of the most powerful themes in the film: the price of genius.

Tesla was the original Borden. Brilliant. Weird. Misunderstood. He didn’t care much for fame. He wanted to solve things. Edison? More Angier. Charismatic. Showy. Brilliant, too, but playing the game to win it on the stage, not in the lab.

Their rivalry isn’t just a tech history footnote—it’s a mirror for the Borden-Angier dynamic. A metaphor. A thought experiment.

Do you want to win the game? Or do you want to change the game entirely and vanish into your workshop while people misunderstand you for the next 80 years?

           COMPETITION
     I want to beat others.  
     I want the #1 spot.  
     I want applause.
        ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
          DOING

           OBSESSION
     I want to *know* more.
     I want to make it *better*.
     I want to *solve* the problem.
        ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓
         BEING

Obsession vs. Competition: What’s the Fuel?

Here’s a simple framing:

Competition is external. It’s about the leaderboard.
Obsession is internal. It’s about the thing itself.

The scary part? They can look exactly the same from the outside. But only one of them survives when the lights go off and no one’s watching.

The Tragic Genius Paradox

We love stories about obsessive geniuses.

Steve Jobs freaking out over the shape of screws inside a Macintosh that nobody would ever see? Yep. That’s legend. Or calling his ad agency at 2 a.m. to debate a single word in a tagline? Absolutely true.

James Dyson? Spent 15 years obsessing over vacuum cleaners—vacuum cleaners! And went through 5,127 prototypes before one finally worked.

But here’s the dark side: We only revere these people after they win. We call them geniuses once the IPO happens. Once the product becomes iconic. Before that? They’re often seen as difficult, delusional, or just plain annoying.

So the question becomes:

If you don’t win, is it worth it?

If you’re Borden—dying a hundred little deaths in silence, sacrificing everything—can you still find meaning without the applause?

If you’re Tesla—broke, alone, misunderstood—was it enough to just have the mission?

The Power (and Pain) of a Mission

Having a mission—a singular, clear, all-consuming focus—can turn you into a creative supernova. It generates non-linear results. It’s how Newton gave us calculus during a plague. How Da Vinci filled notebooks with flying machines. How Jobs built a cult from a garage.

But it also comes with… let’s call them “side effects.”

• Social isolation
• A decimated work-life balance
• Waking up at 3 a.m. to scribble ideas

Some people can wear multiple hats. But many become the hat.

So What Do We Do With This?

Somewhere on the left is Tesla, consumed in brilliance. Somewhere to the right is your friend who bakes cookies and doesn’t obsess over quantum computing.

Most of us are somewhere in between.

         Genius Output
             ▲
             │            🔥
             │         🔥🔥🔥
             │      🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
             │   🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
             │🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
             └─────────────────►
          Work-Life-Sanity Score

The key is figuring out: What obsession would make it okay to skip the party, forget the vacation, and quietly build the thing no one understands yet?

And if you do feel that spark—that weird pull toward a project, a problem, a craft—then maybe it’s okay to lean in.

Go Borden. Just a little.

The Final Act

The Prestige ends on a grim note. Everyone pays a price. The secrets are revealed, but the cost is everything. It’s not a happy ending.

But it is a powerful metaphor for this truth:

To dedicate your life to something—truly dedicate it—is to make a trade.

You trade certainty for risk. Comfort for edge. Applause for solitude.

You might win. You might lose.

But either way, you’re in the arena.

And sometimes, just being there, with the mission burning inside you, is the real prestige!