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“Andy Bernard does not lose contests. He wins them. Or he quits them
because they are unfair.”
Privileged and miserably insecure Andy Bernard is The Office's
cautionary tale about the limits of what wealth can
--or rather CAN'T--do for you.
Amazingly, over the seasons, he developed from an irritating,
outburst-prone bro-y brat into a nice guy we could root for,
even if his nonstop singing and excess of privilege
remained a little annoying.
Then, it all changed; in the space of a season,
Andy’s character quickly spiraled back to his
starting position of spoiled, selfish, and totally unrelatable.
“The rudderless trust fund child-slash-middle manager,
whose incompetence is emblematic of a declining American economy.”
Many Office fans found Andy’s arc disappointing,
but look a little closer, and you’ll see that it makes
perfect sense for Andy’s character to regress in Season 9.
He’s the embodiment of the phrase ‘money can’t buy you happiness’--
wealthy and privileged but always empty, as evidenced in
his impulsive decisions, anger outbursts and relationships
that never last because he hasn’t learned how to value
the qualities that are actually important in other people.
While we (and perhaps Andy himself) were encouraged to hope that he really
could be a deeper or better person, his choices eventually proved he wasn’t
--just as so many people who grow up in toxic, status-
and wealth-obsessed environments don’t transcend their learned behaviors.
Here’s our take on what money couldn’t buy Andy Bernard.
“How long are you gonna go on needing my approval?”
“I think if I had parents like that, I’d be trying to convince everyone
all the time how great I was, too.”
“We are so excited to announce that we now have a line of
weird girl merchandise.”
“You can now express it through t-shirts, posters, mugs, a backpack
--wear it on your sleeve.”
“There’s power in owning the weird girl in all of us.”
“Announce that you are the weird girl.”
“Get 10 percent off until December 9th with the promo code “GETWEIRD”
Andy grew up enjoying the considerable wealth and privilege
of someone in the upper echelons of the WASP elite.
“Okay, well, I come from a line of WASPs so long it leads back to Moses.”
His family owned a boat, he has a trust fund,
and in a deleted scene we hear that his family was even wealthy
enough to donate a building to get him into Cornell.
“A lot of people were like, ‘Oh, you just got into Cornell
‘cause your dad donated a building.’ I got into Cornell ‘cause
I’m smart enough to have a dad who donates buildings to things.”
It’s revealed that Andy’s family money comes from slave transportation,
a fact that Andy is shielded from until adulthood.
He’s clearly been so ensconced in his privilege that he’s
never stopped to question its source.
“Does anyone else think it’s possible that I come from slave owners?”
This unquestioning aspect of his nature extends
to other aspects of his life.
In particular, Andy’s firsthand accounts of his childhood
are disturbing, but he presents them as though they’re normal.
Actually, his parents evidence aspects of narcissism and in turn,
Andy meets several criteria of a narcissist’s child,
as outlined by Forbes.
“[He] never feels good or valuable enough.”
One distinctive trait of narcissistic parents is
the way they play favorites, pitting their children against one another.
“I was named Walter Jr. after my father until I was about six or so.
My brother was born, and my parents felt he better
exemplified the Walter Jr. name, so they gave it to him.”
Andy’s parents making him feel Walter Jr. is superior
to him continues into the kids’ adulthood.
“They gave me this old family ring to use on her…
Mom took the main diamond out, she thought that had more
of a my little brother kind of vibe to it.”
As a result, Andy is:
“deeply insecure, and overly-worried about what others think of him”,
especially his family.
“I just thought if I could throw this great garden party
and show you how respected I am that you’d be proud of me.”
He craves connection with other people and becomes
almost aggressively people-pleasing, trying to force bonds that on
some level he believes just won’t happen naturally.
Calling Jim ‘Tuna’ for example,
“Hey, Big Tuna.”
after the sandwich he eats on his first day in the Stamford office,
is Andy’s attempt to ingratiate himself with the new, cool guy,
as is the screensaver he adopts to impress Angela on day one in Scranton.
Andy’s intense people-pleasing also leads to him withholding truths--
like not telling Erin about his previous relationship with Angela
even though they work in the same office,
and this just leads to humiliation for both of them.
“I know about Angela! Who else did you sleep with?
Did you sleep with Phyllis or-or Kelly or Pam?”
“[Andy] can be afraid to speak up confidently or challenge others.”
Andy regularly gets himself into situations where
he knows he’s unhappy, and he allows other people to steamroll him.
This is evident in the nature of his relationship with Angela--
he goes to incredible lengths to try to please her,
while receiving no affection in return.
“I have made non refundable deposits at four totally
different wedding locales.”
“Dangerous, tacky, sharks, haunted. No.”
He pursues Angela, partly because he wants to legitimize his position
in the office by dating a colleague, but also because she embodies a lot
of the attributes he’s been conditioned to want in a partner,
like being withholding and disapproving.
Despite Angela seeming to recoil from physical contact with Andy
(while cheating on him with Dwight) Andy pushes forward in his one-sided
relationship with her--even getting engaged without noticing
(as everyone else seems to) that she clearly doesn’t like him.
Meanwhile, he’s so afraid of rejection he avoids
telling Erin he likes her, instead going to elaborate
and expensive lengths to indirectly express his
feelings without making himself vulnerable.
“I decided to give Erin the Twelve Days of Christmas.
Is it my fault that the first eight days are just basically thirty birds?”
Even though on the surface, he’s always putting being
liked and avoiding conflict first,
Andy suffers from regular angry outbursts.
“I punched a hole in a wall.”
It’s likely that because his family is so toxic,
he’s never learned to regulate his emotions.
Instead, after constantly trying to smooth situations
and appease others, his genuine emotions bubble to the surface
in the shape of unbridled fury.
This characteristic is a window into
the sheer entitlement that resides in Andy.
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center him and develop his passions in a healthy way.
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Another characteristic Andy shares with other narcissists’ children is that:
He’s really competitive.
As a kid, Andy had to fight hard for affection and recognition,
so as an adult, he’s always seeking ways to one-up his colleagues,
even when there’s no room for a winner.
“Scranton branch is closing? In your face!”
“Well, I work here now.”
“Mmmm… suck-ah!”
“He sometimes feels used by work, and can’t understand why
his career feels difficult.”
Also characteristically for a child of narcissists:
“Andy forms relationships, both at work and in his personal life,
that are deeply challenging and unsatisfying”.
“Sorry I annoyed you with my friendship.”
Because he wasn’t given the opportunity to develop strong bonds as a child,
Andy thinks that relationships should be materially beneficial in some way.
He is constantly pouring energy into relationships with people
he thinks can advance him, but because he doesn’t know
how to read people, these interactions can be really awkward.
“Wings. Shots. Drunk. Waitresses, hot. Football…
Then a quick nap at my place and we’ll hit the tiz-own.”
“No. I don’t want to do any of that.”
He hasn’t learned how to form genuine attachments;
rather, he has a formula that he sticks to when trying to bond,
and his resulting relationships are surface deep.
“Name repetition, personality mirroring, and positive reinforcement
through nods and smiles.”
He loves the idea of being part of something, which is why
he’s even happy to be given vaguely offensive nicknames.
​​“I guess you really are the Boner Champ.”
Before we know how complicated Andy’s childhood has been,
these factors all add up to make him seem unlikeable
when he first joins the show.
He’s actually vulnerable, but he masks it with aggression,
and he uses his wealth and social status to cover up his anxieties.
He turns his Ivy League education and preppy upbringing
into a shorthand to claim superiority over others--
appearing like a walking cliché of the entitled Ivy League bro.
“It’s pronounced ‘Corn-ell!’ It’s the highest rank in the Ivy League!”
However, the beginning of his redemption trajectory starts with
the anger management classes he is mandated to take by corporate.
And eventually his time in the office becomes a form of therapy,
gradually transforming this sole lasting Stamford transfer
into a relatable human being.
Michael Scott regularly talks about the office as a family,
but actually, this idea is put into practice for Andy
more than anyone else.
As much as he brags about his university experience,
because he thinks it gives him value,
“I was a freaking rock star in college.
When I joined Here Comes Treble, that’s when I became somebody.”
it’s eventually shown that even Andy’s a capella ‘friends’ from
Cornell are more antagonistic competitors to him than pals.
And if we break down his descriptions of his time there,
a lonely picture emerges.
“Kids would gossip about me… They would say things like
‘Oh, this guy's going to fail this class.’”
Being at Dunder Mifflin Scranton is the first time that a group of
people have welcomed Andy and cared for him relatively unconditionally.
They’re not interested in his achievements or snob credentials,
but they do accept that the bragging is part of him,
and treat him like a brother who’s just sometimes a bit annoying.
“It’s a Nard Dog! That’s my nickety-name! I love it.”
Andy ends up rewarded with friendships and the trust of others.
He strikes up an unlikely relationship with Darryl,
and they form a band with Kevin. Pam starts looking out for him, too.
“It was fun, though, because I got to spend the day with
Andy Bernard. He’s really cool.”
And as these people begin to see the good side of Andy,
he symbiotically seems to become a better person.
One example of this is when he whistle blows on Sabre,
“Look, I didn’t want houses and schools to burn down, and children to die.”
which is a huge departure from his upbringing.
“The Bernards, for generations, have silenced whistleblowers.
It’s how we made all our money.”
As a result of these improvements in his behaviour,
he gets better things, too.
“I wanted to say that I think it was very brave of you to go to the press.”
“Yeah, you know, just seemed like the right thing to do.”
The combination of gradual improvement and more genuine
relationships turned him into a character we could relate to.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was getting better, and what’s more,
we could almost feel that he really wanted to be nice.
But, for a person who has experienced the levels of
emotional neglect and manipulation that Andy has,
smooth sailing into better relationships with others
and oneself is unrealistic…
Even though he does improve throughout Seasons 3-8,
we’re given suggestions that Andy is at risk of returning
to his original character.
He remains obsessed with Cornell, he continues to live in the past,
and he’s still desperate for his dad’s approval.
“You did good. Real good.” “Thanks, Dad--Darryl.”
He has a diminished sense of self; he’s not really sure who he is,
which is why he puts so much value in identity markers.
“If I am not Boner Champ, I don’t know who I am.”
And as a result of his difficult childhood, Andy self-sabotages.
He seeks relationships with the wrong people.
When he does start dating stable, genuine Jessica, he sabotages that.
And while we may at that point be rooting for him because
we’ve invested in his feelings for Erin,
he likewise ends up trashing his relationship with Erin, too.
Even though Andy has waited so long and worked so hard for Erin,
he can’t understand her, partly because they
come from such different backgrounds
(Erin growing up not only poor, but in the foster care system).
“You said she wasn’t relationship material and she wasn’t as good as me.”
He’s been shaped by his parents’ values,
and those are difficult to shake: he prioritizes status and wealth
over genuine connection and hard work.
When he finds out his parents are bankrupt,
briefly “better Andy” takes control, making responsible choices to
take care of his family.
“The weirdest part is Andy. The aftermath got dumped on him,
and the way he’s been handling it is just so. . .”
“Competent.” “Right?”
But then--upon seeing his dad’s boat again,
which he needs to sell-- makes the impulsive decision
to abandon his job and his girlfriend just to sail
to the Caribbean and relive the glory days of being someone who owns a boat.
The boat trip is the point at which Andy’s arc goes into sharp decline.
It’s as if as soon as he steps away from Dunder Mifflin,
where he is cared for, and back into the realm of his toxic family,
symbolized by the boat, he quickly unlearns
the years of improvement he’s made, regressing into the patterns of
his economically rich but emotionally impoverished childhood.
He remains preoccupied with things that don’t really matter,
continuing to invest more into the past than his present
with a girl who loves him.
“The more I hear about all this a capella drama,
the more I think it’s kind of pathetic.
But, when you’re with someone, you put up with the stuff that
makes you lose respect for them, and that is love.”
These words of Erin’s are so revealing because they underline
how Andy’s learned behavior leads to someone who doesn’t invite our respect
--because he doesn’t respect what’s truly valuable in others,
like patient, caring, kind, down-to-earth, and fun Erin.
We also see evidence that, although Andy has benefited
from the friendships he’s formed in the office,
he hasn’t put in any work on top of that to address his privilege.
“I’m not gonna apologize for my family’s wealth.
That wealth could one day benefit society…
if capital gains are ever taxed at the same rate as earned income.”
His failure to reflect honestly on the wider implications of
his wealth and place in the world makes it easy for him to regress;
as with a lot of Andy’s enterprises, his self improvement was surface deep,
and ultimately self-serving.
Because he craves immediate success without much investment,
Andy leaves the office to seek fame and fortune as an actor or singer.
He chooses the reality TV-talent show route,
which is symbolic of this quick fix formula.
Andy’s unrealistic expectation of sudden stardom and inability to
logically plan for the future are symptomatic of his privilege, too.
He’s always had money, and that’s fooled him
into thinking getting results is always as simple as
making the choice to write a check.
“You could just--” “Make a donation.”
“Well, I was gonna say, be a mentor.” “Yes. I am gonna make a donation.”
It’s not required him to learn to understand how he’s truly perceived
(which is… as someone who’s not actually that good
at acting or singing.)
“I have known you for years, I have seen you perform--
dear god, don’t quit your day job.”
His entitlement and delusion lead to a moment of such
grandiose humiliation that it’s a viral sensation.
But then, Andy gets a “happy ending” of sorts--
at least from his point of view.
“I spoke at Cornell during commencement week. I mean,
the seniors invited me as a joke, but it was a huge success…”
In the show’s final episode, Andy’s back at Cornell,
working as an admissions officer-- a job he ironically played around
with back when Dwight wanted to apply to Cornell.
In other words, it’s as if Andy is living in a metaphor for his regression
--now literally getting to evaluate other Ivy League hopefuls and decide
if they get to share in his status and privilege.
Yet despite all his posturing that he wished he could go back to Cornell,
now that he’s back there, he’s longing for his time at Dunder Mifflin.
“I got my dream job at Cornell and I’m still just thinking about my old pals.
Only now they’re the ones I made here.”
On one level his words are just a general warning about the
pitfalls of a nostalgic outlook.
But we can also read this as proving he’s finally realized
what he needed to, all along, but just a little too late--
that fortune and elite pedigrees can’t buy you happiness, and
nothing compares to living in the moment with people you actually like.
“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days
before you’ve actually left them.”
“This is The Take.” “Let’s take the tropes home with us.”
“We are so excited to announce that we now have a line of
weird girl merchandise.”
“It’s not just a question of: am I the weird girl?
You have to ask yourself: which weird girl am I?”
“Are you the dreamy space cadet living on your own planet?”
“Are you the delightfully spiralling basket case?”
“Are you the ferocious goth?” “Are you the awkward misfit?”
“Are you the smart ass?”
“I think there’s power in owning the weird girl in all of us.
You can now express it through posters, mugs, a backpack, t-shirts,
wear it on your sleeve, announce that you are the weird girl.”
“We had so much fun conceptualizing these characters and drawing from
our favorite weird girls of film and TV to create our
vision of the five types.”
“One of our favorite designs is this beautiful line art rendering
of the weird girl.
She’s got the iconic goth visual. It just looks great whether
you’re doing a cute backpack, a hoodie.
You can grab a tote or a poster with all of the weird girls.
Or another approach is to mix and match, so you grab
your space cadet water bottle, your misfit hoodie, and your
basket case poster behind you.”
“I love these shirts.”
“It’s also super soft, like really--”
“It’s very soft.”
“I really feel like I could live in this.”
“This is really quite lovely.”
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“To the weird girl!” “To the weird girls in all of us.”
“Which weird girl are you?”