Review of The Unfakeable Code®
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Clifford Nyagosia
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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®* felt like being asked, over and over, what exactly I’ve been serving in the command seat of my life. Tony Jeton Selimi’s fifth principle—“choose love as your commander”—is where the book steps into its most spiritually charged territory, but also, in my opinion, its most grounded. Because Selimi doesn’t talk about love the way most self-help books do. It’s not just a warm, fuzzy feeling or a vague attitude of kindness. He frames it as a force—one that recalibrates every decision, reaction, and thought pattern when you let it lead. The idea that love can be operational, even strategic, was something I hadn’t really considered before, at least not like this.
I think what made it land for me is how he contrasts love with fear—not just conceptually, but in the way it shapes our daily behavior. He writes about how people often default to control, comparison, or withdrawal without realizing those habits are actually rooted in a rejection of love. There’s a part where he describes a client who built a whole life around proving himself—wealth, titles, the works—only to feel completely empty inside. It wasn’t until he understood that his drive was fueled by fear of rejection rather than love for his values that things began to shift. That stuck with me. Especially because I’ve been there, chasing something I thought I wanted, only to feel more disconnected with every step.
What I admire about this principle, and the book as a whole, is the relentless emphasis on self-responsibility. Selimi doesn’t coddle the reader, and at times, it feels like he’s speaking directly to the parts of us that like to blame circumstances for where we are. He urges us to take ownership—not just of what we do, but why we do it. And I found that motivating. There’s something freeing about realizing that you’re not stuck being who you’ve been. That you can choose differently. Still, I do think some of the phrasing—like “take full control of your outcomes”—might oversimplify things for people navigating real trauma or systemic barriers. I didn’t take offense to it personally, but I can imagine some readers might feel a bit unseen in those moments.
That said, I don’t think Selimi is writing from a place of privilege-blindness. He’s writing from a place of lived intensity—war, homelessness, burnout—and that perspective gives his message more weight. When he talks about choosing love, it doesn’t feel airy or theoretical. It feels earned. And maybe that’s why this principle hit as hard as it did. Because it asks something quietly radical: what would your life look like if fear stopped making the rules? If your inner dialogue, your boundaries, even your goals were rooted in compassion, not protection? I’m not sure I have the full answer yet. But I can say this book gave me a better place to start asking. For that alone, it’s a 5 out of 5 stars read for me. Not perfect, not always soft—but honest in a way that invites change. And that’s rare.
******
The Unfakeable Code®
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on iTunes
Reading *The Unfakeable Code®* felt like being asked, over and over, what exactly I’ve been serving in the command seat of my life. Tony Jeton Selimi’s fifth principle—“choose love as your commander”—is where the book steps into its most spiritually charged territory, but also, in my opinion, its most grounded. Because Selimi doesn’t talk about love the way most self-help books do. It’s not just a warm, fuzzy feeling or a vague attitude of kindness. He frames it as a force—one that recalibrates every decision, reaction, and thought pattern when you let it lead. The idea that love can be operational, even strategic, was something I hadn’t really considered before, at least not like this.
I think what made it land for me is how he contrasts love with fear—not just conceptually, but in the way it shapes our daily behavior. He writes about how people often default to control, comparison, or withdrawal without realizing those habits are actually rooted in a rejection of love. There’s a part where he describes a client who built a whole life around proving himself—wealth, titles, the works—only to feel completely empty inside. It wasn’t until he understood that his drive was fueled by fear of rejection rather than love for his values that things began to shift. That stuck with me. Especially because I’ve been there, chasing something I thought I wanted, only to feel more disconnected with every step.
What I admire about this principle, and the book as a whole, is the relentless emphasis on self-responsibility. Selimi doesn’t coddle the reader, and at times, it feels like he’s speaking directly to the parts of us that like to blame circumstances for where we are. He urges us to take ownership—not just of what we do, but why we do it. And I found that motivating. There’s something freeing about realizing that you’re not stuck being who you’ve been. That you can choose differently. Still, I do think some of the phrasing—like “take full control of your outcomes”—might oversimplify things for people navigating real trauma or systemic barriers. I didn’t take offense to it personally, but I can imagine some readers might feel a bit unseen in those moments.
That said, I don’t think Selimi is writing from a place of privilege-blindness. He’s writing from a place of lived intensity—war, homelessness, burnout—and that perspective gives his message more weight. When he talks about choosing love, it doesn’t feel airy or theoretical. It feels earned. And maybe that’s why this principle hit as hard as it did. Because it asks something quietly radical: what would your life look like if fear stopped making the rules? If your inner dialogue, your boundaries, even your goals were rooted in compassion, not protection? I’m not sure I have the full answer yet. But I can say this book gave me a better place to start asking. For that alone, it’s a 5 out of 5 stars read for me. Not perfect, not always soft—but honest in a way that invites change. And that’s rare.
******
The Unfakeable Code®
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon | on iTunes
