I have a few go-to moves like jazz hands, shake the booty, stupid

The words of John Cho, though spoken with humor, carry within them a wisdom both light and profound: “I have a few go-to moves like jazz hands, shake the booty, stupid eyes. It was once a mating ritual, but now it’s all about looking silly and making the kids smile.” At first, these words seem merely playful, yet beneath them lies an ancient truth about the transformation of human expression—from the pursuit of attraction to the pursuit of joy, from the self to the service of others.

To speak of moves—gestures of the body such as jazz hands, playful dances, and exaggerated expressions—is to speak of a language older than words. Long before humanity carved letters into stone or wrote poems upon scrolls, the body was its first instrument of communication. Ritual dances, comic faces, and dramatic gestures were ways of attracting mates, warding off rivals, and stirring laughter. Cho himself calls it a mating ritual, reminding us that what began as a means of survival has, through time, become a vessel of delight.

Now, these moves no longer exist to impress or to win favor, but to bring happiness to children, to awaken laughter in the innocent. This is a sacred transformation: the taking of something once rooted in instinct and vanity, and reshaping it into an act of generosity. When a parent or elder makes a fool of themselves to bring a smile to a child’s face, they are practicing a kind of humility that the ancients praised as divine. For to give joy without seeking reward is one of the purest forms of love.

History offers us an example in the Roman figure of Scipio Africanus. Though remembered as a general, it was said that he would sometimes dance in the streets of Rome, not to attract partners or to claim glory, but to entertain the young and common people, who adored him for his humanity. His willingness to look ridiculous for the sake of their laughter ensured that his legacy was not only of conquest, but of kindness. Like Cho, he understood that joy given freely to others is a form of greatness.

There is a deeper power in this humility. To make a child laugh with stupid eyes or silly gestures is to kneel before innocence, to acknowledge that happiness is more important than dignity, that laughter is more enduring than pride. Many fear to look foolish, clinging to the mask of respectability. Yet the one who dares to look foolish for another’s joy is stronger than the one who clings to pride. For the laughter of a child, born of such play, is a gift that echoes far longer than any momentary embarrassment.

The lesson, then, is simple yet profound: use your gifts, your body, your humor, even your willingness to look absurd, to bring joy into the lives of others. Do not hoard your dignity so tightly that you cannot bow to the small, the innocent, the vulnerable. Learn from Cho’s words that the same gestures once born of desire can be reborn as acts of love. A silly move that makes a child smile carries more honor than the proudest performance on any stage.

Therefore, let us live with this wisdom. When opportunities arise to make others laugh, seize them without hesitation. When children look upon you, be willing to set aside pride and step into play. Remember that your moves may mean little to you, but to them they may mean the world—a memory cherished, a moment of joy that softens their path. In this way, humor becomes not just entertainment, but a legacy of love.

Thus John Cho’s words, though wrapped in jest, carry timeless teaching: that gestures of silliness, born of humility, can transform the hearts of the young. The mating ritual has become the ritual of joy, and the truest reward is no longer attraction but the sound of laughter, the sight of kids smiling, and the knowledge that in looking foolish, you have given a gift greater than pride.