I AM A GOD
Trouble In Paradise
Some levity is needed while the storm clouds of war encircle the globe lately, and for me (and many others) it has come in the unlikely form of clickbait grifter Andrew Tate, determined to sell the dream of Dubai at any cost, even while Iranian missiles and drones are being routinely intercepted over the UAE (including Dubai) and travel warnings increase.
The House of Al Maktoum, with their desert City of Oz, this mirage of a place that is all turkey teeth and celebrity gym bros sucking on shisha pipes whilst dating Eastern European women and posting every day on their phones to remind everyone they’re having an amazing time, seem desperate to present a “nothing to see here” front, just like that classic Frank Drebin meme. But it’s honestly hard to tell what’s going on right now. The fog of war is even foggier in these AI and digitally manipulated times.
It hasn’t helped that authorities in the UAE have warned residents that posting unverified information about security incidents or the conflict could lead to heavy fines or prison under the country’s cybercrime laws. At the same time, various Gulf-based influencers continue uploading update videos insisting that everything is perfectly normal. Yet there’s an unmistakable sense of hostage-video energy to many of these pronouncements (see Brian Rose), particularly when footage circulates of missile interceptions over their heads.
As for Tate, it appears he has a lot of money tied up in Dubai himself. Why else would this steroid bunny be so hellbent on returning there during a time of war, and so obstinately determined to defy the internet trolls who mock and deride the people ('tax dodgers') stuck there during the current volatility?
The unreality of the online/offline duality makes so many things these days appear like something out of a fever dream, and the apocalypse-bait video of Tate dancing alone in a sterile-looking beachfront house in Dubai on March 1st, 2026, with the caption “me dancing when the bombs fall,” as if he were nihilistically embracing the possibility of being blown to smithereens by a stray Iranian missile, was a perfect example of this modern phenomenon.
Dismissing evacuation fears and calling the war “theatre,” Tate loves to ratchet up his bravado-laden rhetoric, even if reality paints a different picture. Of course, in Tate’s universe, anyone hiding is a “pussy,” and the only way to deal with the chaos is to embrace it like some sort of internet Superman or God of War. It’s all about the clicks for these influencers, so the more he appears to embrace the possibility of something apocalyptically spectacular happening to him, the closer he gets, in his mind, to becoming a kind of immortal “I am become death” social-media martyr.
It most probably would, as they say, “break the internet.”
However, most people are already doctoring the video with the Armageddon Tate apparently so desires, so in this sense the collective imagination of the Tate haters has already been sated. Even if he were to be blown to pieces now, the actualisation via simulation has already occurred, so it’s basically a moot point. The joy lies in the laughter at this comic-tragic figure dancing alone like a Chicken Little in reverse, a kind of paper-tiger macho man who was recently emasculated before the world in a boxing match with reality-TV influencer Chase DeMoor.
Perhaps his recent burst of online cringe bravado has something to do with Tate desperately trying to prove his masculinity once more in the eyes of those who believe all the air went out of his ego balloon after his humiliating defeat in the boxing ring. But watching him and his posse attempt to re-enter Dubai via Saudi Arabia, looking like the campiest version of the Sharks and Jets this side of an am-dram production of West Side Story, is actually more hilarious than brave, the flash of white socks at the end of his tight trousers the chef's kiss.
Current Situation
I’m a little hazy about Tate's geographical timeline since war broke out in the Middle East, but it seems he was forced to leave Dubai briefly after March 1st and has been actively attempting to return ever since. On March 4th he announced, “I’M COMING TO DUBAI ASAP,” promising to return with his “War Room soldiers,” including his brother Tristan, all the while mocking those fleeing in the opposite direction.
Flying to Saudi and crossing the desert to Dubai, I had a vision of him appearing out of the shimmering horizon like a Temu Omar Sharif in David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia, with a dash of Red Bull-fuelled Mad Max energy.
Hilariously, Tate’s hyping up of his return journey, including getting on a ropey, Romancing the Stone-looking bus, to the “City of Gold,” has been temporarily thwarted, as his “mission to Dubai” has resulted in him being detained in a detention centre.
I can see it now: a 21st-century version of Midnight Express starring Andrew Tate and his War Room warriors.
And if Mel Brooks had a hand in a musical version, he could do a tribute to the old Bing Crosby/Bob Hope travel comedies.
Road to Dubai has a certain ring to it.