Ambition Corrupted: My Take on The Wolf of Wall Street

My first encounter with The Wolf of Wall Street was accidental—a pre-teen misadventure on my parents’ Apple TV, where a click on the film’s title (Paramount Pictures; 2014) plunged me into a world of unimaginable decadence. The movie was a blur of drugs, naked bodies, and foul language, and though it was more than I could process at that age, I couldn’t look away. This hedonism and chaos mirrored in the outrageous indulgence I would later read in Jordan Belofrt’s memoir (Bantam Books; September 2007) embodies both gross moral decay and undeniable ambition—a complex tension where virtue and vice blur. Society condemns him as a symbol of greed, but the resilience, ambition, and cunning behind his rise are compelling. The Wolf of Wall Street forces readers to confront the fine line between virtue and vice, challenging us to “hate the sin, love the sinner” by finding value in his ambition and resilience despite his moral failings.

Belfort opens his memoir with a reflection on why he chose to write it at all: to explain the chaos that ruined his life to his children. Though he briefly acknowledges the pain he caused, this fleeting attempt at vulnerability soon vanishes as he revels in the tales of his exploits. This moment complicates my judgment; Belfort seems aware of the cost of his actions, and though his tone is largely uncontrite throughout, his ambition to rise above his humble beginnings is, on its own, admirable. From a young age, he was a hustler, starting with his first job selling Italian ice in Queens to help support his family (Belfort 18). Here, Belfort’s entrepreneurial spirit is raw and uncorrupted. Presenting himself as someone who had to make it on his own, he tries to humanize himself, inviting readers into a world where his ambition might feel relatable—even innocent—before greed and excess consume it.

But Belfort’s virtues—his intelligence, ambition, and charisma—are soon swallowed by darker impulses, transforming his rise into an exercise in vice. His keen intelligence, which could have driven a legitimate career, is instead channeled into financial manipulation. After being laid off during the 1987 recession, he started a brokerage firm, Stratton Oakmont—a move that initially appears almost heroic, a man clawing his way up against the odds. Yet this “climbing” soon turns sinister as Belfort builds his empire on “pump and dump” schemes, a cycle of manipulating stock prices, dumping shares, and leaving investors with worthless portfolios. “I could sell ice to an Eskimo,” he boasts, transforming his charisma into a weapon of deceit (Belfort 103). His intelligence, a double-edged sword, reveals both allure and danger, drawing admiration for his cleverness even as I condemn his misuse of it.

One of the book’s most captivating moments is Belfort’s recounting of the Steve Madden IPO, a moment that crystallizes his complex mixture of brilliance and brutality. Belfort didn’t merely exploit a market opportunity; he orchestrated an entire system to inflate Steve Madden shares, securing a substantial portion of stock before the public offering and then aggressively ramming it down clients’ throats. He details the intricacies of his manipulation with meticulous pride—as he describes it, “I had Steve [Madden] up there, on the podium, ringing the bell, and I was back in the office, watching the cash pour in” (Belfort 156). His recounting reveals an exhilaration—a thrill in outsmarting the system—but it also makes clear the hollow core of his achievement: wealth gained at others’ expense. The technical brilliance of the move is impressive, yet the ethical void it exposes is troubling and is a testament to the moral compromises he embraced along his path to success.

While Belfort’s professional life spirals into moral decay, his relationships suffer an equally tragic fate. His first wife, Denise, is depicted as a supportive partner who believes in him before the wealth, the power, and the hollow luxury. Yet, as his riches grow, so does his arrogance, and Denise becomes just another part of his “old” life. When he meets Nadine, who he famously refers to as “the luscious duchess,” he reduces her to a trophy wife, a status symbol meant to signify his newfound wealth (Belfort 189). His language when describing her is jarringly possessive, even dehumanizing, and any sense of love or loyalty is second to that of conquest. At one point, he refers to his daughter as his “most prized possession,” a phrase that reflects his commodification of those around him, even family (Belfort 214). Belfort’s charisma and intelligence may fuel his success, but his inability to extend empathy or see others as more than objects reveals the depth of his moral shortcomings. Here, my ambivalence intensifies; the same charisma that makes Belfort compelling is tainted by his total lack of regard for others.

The irony of Belfort’s tale lies in his repeated attempts to excuse his actions, shifting blame to the broader culture of Wall Street. He argues that “everyone on Wall Street was doing what I did,” as if his immersion in a corrupt system absolves him of responsibility (Belfort 297). But as Belfort paints himself as a mere product of Wall Street’s culture, he disregards the harm he personally inflicted on investors, employees, and family. It’s here that my “hate the sin, love the sinner” mantra becomes truly tested; while the toxic culture of Wall Street may have enabled his actions, Belfort’s willingness to revel in his gains and dodge accountability makes it impossible to exonerate him.

By the end of the memoir, the repetitive tales of debauchery, drugs, and unchecked ambition begin to feel empty. The charismatic veneer wears thin as he narrates one reckless party after another, blurring together in a cycle of hedonism without purpose. It becomes clear that Belfort’s story is not one of success, but one of loss—loss of integrity, relationships, and self-respect. As Belfort’s moral decay becomes apparent, so too does his story’s relevance as a cultural critique. Society often glorifies ambition, but The Wolf of Wall Street reveals the true cost of ambition without virtue.