Review of The Unfakeable Code®
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Ednah Minyonga
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Review of The Unfakeable Code®
[Following is a volunteer review of "The Unfakeable Code®" by Tony Jeton Selimi.]
Reading *The Unfakeable Code®* by Tony Jeton Selimi is a bit like waking up mid-scroll through your own carefully edited digital self and wondering, “Who’s actually watching, and do they even know me?” This book doesn’t just challenge how we perform in the world—it asks why we perform at all. It’s sharp, layered, and often uncomfortably precise. One theme Tony revisits often is the gnawing sense of disconnection that modern life seems to worsen, even as technology promises to connect us. In my opinion, the way he ties existential loneliness to our digital age feels less like commentary and more like diagnosis. He explores how we curate ourselves into personas online—seeking likes, validation, recognition—only to find that the applause rarely fills the real void. And that loneliness, he suggests, is not a glitch in the system. It is the system.
What I found deeply resonant was how Tony doesn’t romanticize the past or villainize the internet. He just lays it bare. We’ve become fluent in the language of self-promotion but hesitant to speak the language of self-truth. He reflects on his own early years—fleeing war, facing homelessness, clawing through isolation—and how those experiences cracked him open in ways that later allowed true connection. It’s not just vulnerability for the sake of it. It’s vulnerability as blueprint. He makes the case that technology isn’t the enemy, but a mirror. It reflects back our avoidance of real, messy, face-to-face intimacy. That argument stuck with me, especially when he contrasts the emotional numbness of scrolling with the raw aliveness of simply being seen.
Now, here’s where I think it gets tricky. Because Tony’s story—how he went from refugee to global speaker—can feel almost too dramatic, too polished, too hard to relate to at first glance. I wondered, a few times, whether some readers might see his arc as aspirational but also intimidating. Like, “If that’s what success requires, I might just sit this one out.” But to his credit, Tony never positions his success as a one-size-fits-all model. In fact, he dismantles that idea pretty clearly. Success, he argues, isn’t about visibility or status—it’s about congruence. About alignment between what you say, how you live, and what you value when no one is watching.
The strongest parts of the book, in my view, are where he connects that inner congruence to loneliness. He shows how we often isolate not because no one’s around, but because no one knows who we really are. Or worse, because we don’t. His tools for returning to authenticity—especially the reflection exercises that focus on emotional integration—feel less like steps and more like invitations. Invitations to reconnect with yourself so you can reconnect with others. There’s a moment when he asks the reader to track moments in a day when they suppress truth to appear “okay,” and it made me realize how automatic that reflex is.
This isn’t a book that wants to entertain you. It wants to wake you up. And in my opinion, it succeeds because it risks being too real. Even if that means alienating readers who just want a motivational boost. I think we need more books like that. Ones that don’t sell the illusion of quick fixes but instead remind us what it feels like to be honest—even when that honesty makes us uncomfortable.
I’m giving *The Unfakeable Code®* 5 out of 5 stars because it manages to say what few self-help books dare to: that healing isn’t a brand, and connection isn’t found in performance. It’s found in presence. In truth. And in choosing, every day, to show up unfakeably—even if the world still wants a filter.
******
The Unfakeable Code®
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on iTunes
Reading *The Unfakeable Code®* by Tony Jeton Selimi is a bit like waking up mid-scroll through your own carefully edited digital self and wondering, “Who’s actually watching, and do they even know me?” This book doesn’t just challenge how we perform in the world—it asks why we perform at all. It’s sharp, layered, and often uncomfortably precise. One theme Tony revisits often is the gnawing sense of disconnection that modern life seems to worsen, even as technology promises to connect us. In my opinion, the way he ties existential loneliness to our digital age feels less like commentary and more like diagnosis. He explores how we curate ourselves into personas online—seeking likes, validation, recognition—only to find that the applause rarely fills the real void. And that loneliness, he suggests, is not a glitch in the system. It is the system.
What I found deeply resonant was how Tony doesn’t romanticize the past or villainize the internet. He just lays it bare. We’ve become fluent in the language of self-promotion but hesitant to speak the language of self-truth. He reflects on his own early years—fleeing war, facing homelessness, clawing through isolation—and how those experiences cracked him open in ways that later allowed true connection. It’s not just vulnerability for the sake of it. It’s vulnerability as blueprint. He makes the case that technology isn’t the enemy, but a mirror. It reflects back our avoidance of real, messy, face-to-face intimacy. That argument stuck with me, especially when he contrasts the emotional numbness of scrolling with the raw aliveness of simply being seen.
Now, here’s where I think it gets tricky. Because Tony’s story—how he went from refugee to global speaker—can feel almost too dramatic, too polished, too hard to relate to at first glance. I wondered, a few times, whether some readers might see his arc as aspirational but also intimidating. Like, “If that’s what success requires, I might just sit this one out.” But to his credit, Tony never positions his success as a one-size-fits-all model. In fact, he dismantles that idea pretty clearly. Success, he argues, isn’t about visibility or status—it’s about congruence. About alignment between what you say, how you live, and what you value when no one is watching.
The strongest parts of the book, in my view, are where he connects that inner congruence to loneliness. He shows how we often isolate not because no one’s around, but because no one knows who we really are. Or worse, because we don’t. His tools for returning to authenticity—especially the reflection exercises that focus on emotional integration—feel less like steps and more like invitations. Invitations to reconnect with yourself so you can reconnect with others. There’s a moment when he asks the reader to track moments in a day when they suppress truth to appear “okay,” and it made me realize how automatic that reflex is.
This isn’t a book that wants to entertain you. It wants to wake you up. And in my opinion, it succeeds because it risks being too real. Even if that means alienating readers who just want a motivational boost. I think we need more books like that. Ones that don’t sell the illusion of quick fixes but instead remind us what it feels like to be honest—even when that honesty makes us uncomfortable.
I’m giving *The Unfakeable Code®* 5 out of 5 stars because it manages to say what few self-help books dare to: that healing isn’t a brand, and connection isn’t found in performance. It’s found in presence. In truth. And in choosing, every day, to show up unfakeably—even if the world still wants a filter.
******
The Unfakeable Code®
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on iTunes
