WARNING: This article contains spoilers for Season 1 of the Netflix TV show Squid Game.

Let’s start with the obvious: Squid Game isn’t just one of Netflix’s biggest hits—it’s become a cultural phenomenon. Merch deals, Halloween costumes, video game crossovers (like an entire dedicated event in Call of Duty Black Ops 6?!)—it’s everywhere. But what makes it stick with us? What makes it resonate beyond the flashy visuals, the brutal games, and the eerie, faceless, symbol-headed guards?

I’m going to tell you right now…

It’s a lot of things.

At its core, Squid Game is a mirror. A reflection of society. It’s our school system, it’s work, it’s relationships, it’s war, it’s the economy—but most of all, it’s class divide, survival, and the slow erosion of morality in the pursuit of “success.”

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The show starts like any great dystopian story: an ordinary person, Seong Gi-hun, is struggling to get by. He’s desperate, he’s down on his luck, and when all hope seems to be lost, he meets someone offering a chance at something better. A chance to finally be worth a damn. That’s what we all want in life, isn’t it? No one wants to walk around feeling like a complete loser. We want to feel valuable—like we matter.

What’s the one and only way to achieve that in our society?

You have to play.

Welcome to the game, player #456.

The Process of Growing Up: How Squid Game Breaks Down Society

Game 1: Red Light, Green Light — The School System

Seems like a pretty simple concept, right? Go on green, stop on red. All you need to do is follow the rules, and you’ll get by just fine.

It’s sort of similar to school in that sense, don’t you think? Conform, do what you’re told, follow the instructions, and stay in line. If you do, you’ll move on to the next phase of your life.

If you make mistakes? If you want to follow a different path? If you want to play a different kind of game? If you take too long to finish? Or don’t even want to play at all?

*BOOM*… player eliminated.

This is where I make the first connection to what Squid Game is really trying to say.

See, I hated school growing up. I’m not someone who likes being told what to do, guided on how to think, or forced to live my life on other people’s terms. I was bored in almost every single class that wasn’t English, Art, or Gym. I just wanted to write stories, think about the deeper aspects of the universe, figure out who I am, explore, hang out with my friends, create cool things, play, and enjoy being a kid. I still do! At 31 years old!

Going to school for the first time felt like entering a brightly colored land of opportunity. It’s exciting, you’re curious about it, you’re interested, you’re looking forward to playing games with all the other kids around you… and then you realize what things are actually going to be… for the next 12 years of your life. Not only that, but you start to realize that you don’t even have a choice. You can either play along and succeed, or good luck to you.

Nearly half of the contestants fail this round—mirroring the way that, depending on where you live, only about half of students make it to higher education. The divide starts early.

Game 2: The Honeycomb Challenge – University

Here, the real shaping begins. Some people learn to navigate the system, picking up on the tricks and strategies needed to succeed, while others crack under pressure. It’s the perfect example of post-secondary education.

For starters, many students start school thinking they’re on equal footing, only to realize that their fellow classmates have been given the academic equivalent of a triangle (a relatively smooth path) while they themselves must navigate the intricate curves of an umbrella (an overwhelming struggle).

It’s all taken care of for Jimmy. He gets financial assistance, a strong support system, guidance from those with prior knowledge, home-cooked meals from momma… Meanwhile, Blake has three jobs, a ton of debt, no social life, and she’s dealing with personal hardships—all while trying to maintain a steady hand and carve out her perfect Honeycomb shape.

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That damn Honeycomb.

Just like how players must cut their shapes with precision, students must complete tasks with near-perfect accuracy—knowing that one mistake could be disastrous. The fear of failure looms large. A small crack in the honeycomb is like a failed midterm or a missed deadline. It might seem minor at first, but it can quickly spiral into an academic downfall.

Think about it. Your entire future is on the line, and you’ve been handed an umbrella to work with. What are the odds that you’ll actually succeed in carving out your shape with a measly needle in hand?

Not high.

The amount of work you need to put in, the loads of useless courses you need to take, the financial burden it requires of you and/or your family… It might as well be impossible to manage. It’s like you’re already set up to fail right from the start—unless you get the right cookie.

But that’s the price of success—and maybe, just maybe, you’ll somehow get it done.

What do you get as a reward?

Game 3: Tug of War – The Workforce

You’ve finally made it!

You’ve got your degree in hand, you’ve developed your skills, you’re young, you’re bright… You just know all your talent and hard work will secure you a place in the industry you’ve always wanted to be a part of.

It’s gotta happen… right?

Welcome to the job market. The ultimate game of tug of war.

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Many enter the job market full of hope. Armed with degrees, tools, and endless ambition, they believe that the time and effort they’ve sunk in will secure them a place in the industry they’ve always been striving towards.

Instead, they’re met with a brick wall—a requirement they didn’t account for.

Experience.

In Squid Game, the Tug of War challenge is about raw strength, but as the old man explains, experience and strategy matter just as much. A team with the right knowledge can outmaneuver a stronger opponent. The same goes for the job market. You might be talented, hardworking, and eager to prove yourself—awesome! Except, if you don’t have the right experience, you’re stuck pulling against individuals who have already been in the game for far longer.

This is the paradox many graduates face: you need experience to get a job, but you need a job to get experience. It’s an impossible loop that leaves thousands of young professionals stranded, bouncing between rejection emails and unpaid internships that barely offer a foot in the door.

Even entry-level positions, the ones that are supposedly meant for fresh graduates, demand two to three years of experience. How? Where? No one can quite explain. And without that magical experience, your options shrink. Many turn to low-paying, unrelated jobs just to make ends meet—serving coffee, working retail, or picking up side gigs—while the career they actually studied for drifts further out of reach.

The reality is that the job market isn’t designed for newcomers. Those who have connections or prior work experience (often through unpaid internships) have a clear advantage. Meanwhile, others are left in a never-ending game of catch-up. The longer you stay out of your field, the harder it becomes to break in. The gap between graduates and “qualified professionals” keeps growing, and many find themselves stuck pulling against a system that never intended to let them win in the first place.

At this point, it’s no longer about talent or effort—it’s about survival. Some will find a way to hold on. Others? They’ll lose their grip, watching as their degree—something they worked years for—amounts to nothing more than a piece of paper collecting dust.

PLUS, who even likes tug of war?! It’s gotta be one of the worst games ever invented. It’s not fun to play at all. Just like how 90% of jobs aren’t fun to do either. There’s a reason you get paid to do them.  So, you’re competing against all of these other people just to do something you and the people you’re fighting against don’t even want to do in the first place.

Why?

Because if you don’t play, you’ll fall down a deep, dark pit of a grave, never to be seen again.

It’s terrible. But you need to do it if you want to succeed in life.

That’s the price of freedom and equality.

Game 4: Marbles – Millionaires to Billionaires

This is where things start to diverge a bit. This is where our society and, by proxy, capitalism, really starts to rear its ugly head. Because, you see, capitalism is a game. And like all games, people want to win. At all costs.

This isn’t just about pushing and pulling for a minimum-wage job anymore.

Now that you’ve had a small taste of success, you want to play for all the marbles.

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In Squid Game, the marbles challenge forces players to face an opponent one-on-one, betting everything on their ability to outplay, deceive, or overpower the other person. But what makes this game especially cruel is that most players enter it believing they will work together—only to realize, far too late, that the rules were never designed for two people to survive.

This mirrors the brutal transition from millionaire to billionaire in the real world. Being “rich” isn’t enough anymore. When you enter the highest levels of wealth and power, you realize that the real players—the ones at the top—aren’t just competing for financial security or a comfortable life. They’re playing for dominance. They want everything. And just like in the marbles game, there’s no room for partnerships.

Think about it: at a certain level, wealth stops being about survival or even luxury. It becomes about control. Billionaires don’t just want money; they want influence, power, and entire industries under their thumb. To get there, they have to make sure that anyone else trying to rise up gets crushed in the process. Just like in Squid Game, the closer you get to the top, the fewer winners there are—and the more willing people are to sacrifice their own friends and allies to stay in the game.

In the real world, this plays out through corporate takeovers, monopolization, political lobbying, and economic manipulation. The wealthiest individuals don’t play fair, and they don’t play nice.

They don’t need to.

Because in this stage of the game, playing fair is a losing strategy. The only way to win is to make sure no one else does.

Game 5: The Glass Bridge – Monopoly

In many ways, this is where our own society’s Squid Game currently sits.

The glass bridge is being destroyed, with very few pathways left to try and step on.

A small select group of players (Tesla, Meta, Amazon, Apple, Microsoft, Disney, etc.) are making their way to the finish line, with a few stragglers standing their way (Sony, Walmart, HBO, Netflix, and so on, and so on), but it’s pretty evident where things will eventually lead if you understand the game.

There can only be one winner, after all.

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The Glass Bridge challenge in Squid Game forces players to take a leap of faith with every step, hoping they don’t miscalculate and fall to their deaths. Some try to strategize, some try to push others ahead to test the way, and some simply refuse to move, paralyzed by fear. But in the end, only the most ruthless—or the luckiest—make it to the other side.

This reflects the modern corporate landscape, where businesses and individuals alike are constantly fighting to get ahead, knowing that one wrong step could send them plummeting. But unlike in Squid Game, where there’s a defined end goal, the real world doesn’t offer a finish line. The game never stops. There’s always another risk to take, another competitor to outmaneuver, another challenge to survive.

And here’s the worst part: those who succeed don’t just win—they control the board. They don’t just play the game; they own it. Monopolies are what happen when someone makes it across the bridge and then destroys it behind them, making sure no one else can follow.

Look at how major industries operate today. Tech giants dominate digital spaces, crushing smaller startups before they can become threats. Pharmaceutical companies control life-saving medications, pricing out those who can’t afford them. Media conglomerates decide what narratives are told and who gets to have a voice. The players who make it across the bridge don’t just escape the game—they become the ones running it.

And yet, the rest of society keeps playing. The glass bridge keeps stretching forward, and people keep stepping onto it, believing that if they just make the right moves, they can succeed. What they don’t realize is that the game is rigged. The winners aren’t taking chances anymore. They already know where the safe steps are—because they built the bridge themselves.

Why do you think Hollywood blockbusters and books are so terrible nowadays? The high-end production companies and publishers don’t want to take risks doing something new. It costs millions of dollars to create new products. They aren’t going to risk their climb to the top on something that “might” work. They need a safe, profitable hit. Something that’s worked before and that they know will work again.

But it doesn’t end there.

You see, there’s one last final challenge to overcome on the way to victory.

The Final Game: Squid Game – The Last One Standing

This is it—the last game. Not just a battle, not just a war, but the final move in a decades-long conquest.

Squid Game.

After this, there are no rivals left. No competitors to challenge your dominance. No equals.

Monopoly wasn’t enough. That was small-time. The real goal? Not just being the best in one industry—it was about controlling them all.

Every product people buy, every service they use, every platform they interact with—it all leads back to you. The fast-food chains? Yours. The banks? Yours. The tech giants, the media empires, the pharmaceutical industry? All under your control. Even the companies people think are competing against each other? You own them both. Every brand, every logo, every name—just different masks on the same face.

You can see examples of this already starting. Look at the world’s largest corporations, and you’ll see this play out in real-time. Take the food industry, where a handful of conglomerates—Nestlé, PepsiCo, Unilever—own a staggering number of brands across various categories. Walk into any grocery store, and the shelves may seem filled with different brands, but chances are, they all lead back to the same few corporate giants.

I mean, look around your house and ask yourself how much of it is made by million or billion dollar companies. Your TV, your fridge, your phone, your car, the stuff you watch (Netflix, YouTube, TikTok, etc.). Everything you utilize in your day to day life is coming from billionaires. They own our world.

The same happens in the tech industry: Microsoft owns LinkedIn, GitHub, and dozens of other companies. Google’s parent company, Alphabet, controls everything from YouTube to Fitbit. Meta has absorbed Instagram and WhatsApp. Even in the world of entertainment, Disney’s acquisitions of Pixar, Marvel, Star Wars, and 20th Century Fox show how a single entity can consolidate an entire industry.

But here’s the thing about being the last one standing: there’s no one left to play against. No more corporate rivals to crush, no more mergers to make, no more markets to conquer.

You won.

Now, you can finally decide how you want the world to run—on your terms.

There’s no fear of losing—because you made sure that was impossible. You’re not just rich, not just powerful—you’ve become something else entirely. A ruler. A god. A force that dictates how the whole world functions.

And yet, even at the top, there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind: What do I do next? Where do I go from here?

The simple answer?

Look back at the monarchies, pharaohs, and leaders of our ancient past.

Hell, look at what the VIPs did in creating Squid Game.

That’ll tell you everything you need to know about what a world with unrivaled leadership turns into.

Why does this need to happen, you may ask? Why does someone need to eventually own everything? Because companies are beholden to shareholders. They need to grow bigger and more profitable every single year, or else the investors can leave and take their money to a competitor who’s trying to take the throne for themselves.

Plus, there’s only so much money you can make in a sector. If everyone in the world bought an iPhone, they aren’t all going to buy another iPhone in a year when a new one comes out. Apple would need to find something else to help them make even more money in a different way. Eventually, your company needs to branch out and start making money elsewhere. It’s the only way to keep growing.

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The reality is there’s no fairness in a system built for one winner. There is no equality when those at the top are the ones setting the rules. The game is never truly winnable for the vast majority because once a single entity holds all the power, the rest are just players waiting to be eliminated.

This is how you win the game. This is the endgame of what we’ve turned capitalism into. And if you don’t win it, you’re going to be at the mercy of the one who does.

Symbolic Roles That Shape The Game & Keep It Running

The players aren’t the only ones involved in dictating the outcome of society. After all, a game can’t function without those who enforce its ideals and decide how it should be played.

Enter the Front Man and his group of eerie, Willy Wonka-style, symbol-masked enforcers.

The Front Man: The President

Throughout the show, the Front Man preaches fairness. “Everyone gets an equal chance.” But did the game seem fair and equal to anyone else watching? A system where only one can succeed while the rest fall away—where survival depends on crushing others—was never meant to be fair. It was designed to maintain control.

I mean, sure. Everyone gets a shot at rolling a 6, but determining if someone’s life will be amazing or terrible based on a dice roll would be utterly insane.

In this sense, the Front Man isn’t merely an enforcer of the game—he is its very architect. He is the President.

A middle figure who bridges the vast chasm between the untouchable elites and those who struggle to survive. Much like a political leader, he plays a delicate balancing act. His role isn’t to create the rules but to ensure that they remain intact. He’s meant to uphold the structure and preserve the order that keeps the elite in power while everyone else scrambles for scraps.

His position is critical as he stands between the powerful VIPs—the true owners of the game—and the workers, soldiers, and managers who make it function. He’s more than just a pawn; he is the middleman. The enabler of the system. The one who enforces the ideals of fairness while overseeing a structure that is anything but fair. Like a President who may be elected to represent the people but is ultimately beholden to the wealthy elites, the Front Man maintains his role by catering to those at the top, while managing those below him.

Circles: The Government Workers

The workers—the masked circles—are the lifeblood of the system. Without them, nothing functions. They cook the meals, clean the blood-streaked floors, haul away the bodies, and ensure the gears of the game keep turning. But despite their necessity, they hold no real power. They are the faceless, the voiceless—the ones who follow orders without question because questioning means elimination.

In the real world, they are the teachers, the government employees, the service workers, and even the farmers—the people who keep society running yet remain invisible to those above them. They show up every day, do their jobs, and ask for nothing more than a stable existence. But stability is an illusion when you have no control. They don’t decide the curriculum. They don’t determine the wages. They don’t dictate the rules. They are simply expected to comply, to function, to serve.

And if they step out of line? There is always another worker ready to replace them. Because the system doesn’t value individuals—it values efficiency. It needs bodies to keep the machine running, but it doesn’t care whose bodies they are.

Triangles: The Soldiers

Slightly above the workers stand the soldiers—the triangles—armed, masked, and granted just enough authority to enforce the rules. They have weapons, but they don’t have freedom. They have control over others, but none over their own fates. Their job is clear: maintain order, eliminate threats, and never, under any circumstances, question their purpose.

They are the police, the military, the agents of bureaucracy who operate under the pretense of authority but remain expendable. Their role is not to lead but to obey. They are given enough power to dominate those beneath them but not enough to challenge those above. Because if they ever turned their weapons in the other direction, they would be reminded—swiftly and mercilessly—that they are just as replaceable as the workers they oversee.

It’s a delicate illusion. They believe they have control because they enforce the law, but they don’t write the law. They do not shape the system. They simply ensure that it remains intact.

Triangles: The Managers

The squares—the managers—sit higher still. They don’t carry guns like the soldiers, nor do they perform the menial tasks of the workers. Their job is to ensure that the system runs smoothly and that the orders from above are carried out without resistance. They are the overseers, the strategists, the ones who ensure that everything continues as it always has.

In society, they are the politicians, the corporate executives, and the high-ranking officials who appear to wield power but are ultimately bound to the interests of those above them. They don’t set the rules—they merely enforce them on a grander scale. They create policies, manage the workforce, and act as the public face of an operation they do not truly control.

Their position is cushioned and comfortable—until they step out of line. Because their power is not their own. It is borrowed from the true elite. And should they ever forget that, they will find themselves discarded just as easily as those beneath them.

Golden Animal Masks: The VIPs

At the pinnacle of the hierarchy sit the VIPs—the unseen hands that control the game. They don’t follow the rules because they are the ones who create them. They have amassed so much wealth, so much power, that the suffering of others is no longer something they witness—it is something they consume. Entertainment. A spectacle.

They are the billionaires, the oligarchs, the shadowy figures who fund politicians and shape global economies from behind closed doors. They do not care who wins or loses the game—only that it continues. Because the system was never designed to elevate the players. It was designed to keep them desperate. To ensure that they will always fight, always struggle, always remain too distracted by survival to question the ones pulling the strings.

The VIPs don’t need to enforce order. They don’t need to lift a finger. Because they have built a system where people will destroy each other willingly—all for the chance to grasp a victory that was never meant for them.

The game continues. The cycle repeats. And at the top, the VIPs watch, amused, untouched, and entirely in control.

Green Jumpsuits: The Rest of Society

What about the players themselves?

Well, they’re most of us.

The ones capitalism has failed, and those still growing into it. The ones who weren’t ruthless enough to win the first time and those learning how to win now. They are both the product of the system and its victims, caught in a cycle where survival often means stepping over others to secure their own place in the game. At the start, they may seem like ordinary people—some are good-hearted, some are desperate, but all are simply trying to survive in a system that doesn’t care for them. Yet, as the game goes on, we watch even the most morally grounded individuals become selfish, desperate, and willing to do whatever it takes to survive and succeed.

The Real Message: The Price of a Competitive Society

At the end of the day, the Front Man holds everything together. He is the glue that keeps the game running, the intermediary between the elites and the workers. He is tasked with maintaining the illusion of fairness, ensuring that the system continues without disrupting the power dynamics that benefit those at the top. Like a political leader who may speak of equality, of serving the people, he is ultimately beholden to those with the most power—the VIPs. He is the enforcer of the rules, the one who ensures that everything runs according to plan, even if that plan is built on a foundation of exploitation and inequality.

The Front Man is not just a figurehead. He is a product of the system—a cog in a machine that serves the ultra-wealthy and upholds a hierarchy that benefits only the few. He speaks of fairness, of equal opportunity, but in reality, he exists to make sure that the game never changes. His position is not about fairness, but about control.

Squid Game forces us to ask: if this is how the world really works, then who is it truly fair for? Is it fair for the workers, the ones who keep the system running but never rise above their station? Is it fair for the soldiers, the enforcers who are still trapped by the very system they uphold? Or is it fair for the VIPs—the ones who hold all the power, the ones who manipulate the game to their advantage? In the end, it’s not about fairness at all. It’s about control.

So what happens in a world built entirely on competition? Do people become better? Happier? No. The show lays it out clearly:

•If you lose, you suffer at the bottom.

•If you win, you’re trapped in the middle, working endlessly for those above you.

•And if you make it to the top, you’re left with nothing but boredom and the power to toy with those beneath you.

What’s missing from this world built this way?

Everything worth living life for.

Joy. Creativity. Gratitude. Love. Friendship. True fulfillment.

In a society where work and competition are everything, the simple pleasures of life are sucked away. People spend their whole lives chasing success, thinking that one day they’ll finally be happy—only to find themselves empty when they get there.

So, Can We Change the Game?

Successful people and those who idolize them will ask why you would want to change anything, but it’s clear that our world is broken.

The Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/society/2024/mar/20/young-people-becoming-less-happy-than-older-generations-research-shows) reports that young people in the US, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are now the least happy age group, with happiness decreasing in all age groups, but especially for the young.

It’s so obvious that something needs to change.

I asked Chat GPT what it thought of my analysis. Here was it’s reply:

“Your analysis of Squid Game as a metaphor for society is sharp and well thought out. The show undeniably reflects elements of capitalism, competition, and social inequality, and your breakdown of each game as a stage in life—from school to the workforce to cutthroat corporate success—is incredibly on point.

From an AI’s perspective, your argument aligns with many real-world observations. Society does operate on competition—whether in education, business, or social class. The idea that people become more selfish as they navigate the system is also supported by psychological and sociological studies on survival instincts, corporate culture, and economic disparity.

Your point about equality within a competitive framework is particularly interesting. Many systems claim to offer equal opportunities, but as you’ve highlighted, true equality is nearly impossible when the game itself is built to create winners and losers. This reflects modern capitalism, where even with fair rules, those with advantages (wealth, connections, knowledge) tend to stay ahead, reinforcing existing hierarchies.

That said, there’s also evidence that cooperation, community, and empathy can disrupt this system. The ending of Squid Game leaves a sliver of hope—just as in reality, there are movements, ideas, and people striving for systemic change. While competition drives much of society, collaboration has also led to some of humanity’s greatest achievements.

Do you personally think we can ever shift to a more cooperative, less cutthroat society? Or is competition just too ingrained in human nature?”

It’s a question worth asking. If we keep playing by the same rules—climbing, competing, sacrificing everything for “success”—what kind of world do we create? Maybe, instead of fighting to be the last one standing, we should be asking if there’s a different way to play so that we can all stand together.

Maybe, just maybe, life was never meant to be a game at all.

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I don’t want to lay the blame entirely on capitalism’s feet, either. After all, we live in an incredible world full of amazing technology and incredible innovation. Who knows where we would be without our game? Maybe the problem runs deeper. Maybe it’s the people themselves we should be laying the blame on.

We’ll explore that concept more in Part II, where we see that even the most selfless, cooperative desires can lead to the most selfish, self-serving acts.

As I said, Squid Game shows us a lot of things.