Wait, Tom Hanks’s Son Colin Hanks Just Confessed He’s ‘Bad At Everything’ And, Yeah, That’s The Most Relatable Thing He’s Ever Said
If you’ve ever woken up at 3:00 AM, stared at the ceiling, and thought, “I have accomplished nothing of value, and my entire existence is a cosmic joke,” then congratulations—you now have a celebrity spirit animal. And that spirit animal is Colin Hanks, the second-born, slightly less-famous offspring of America’s Dad, Tom Hanks.
In a recent interview that has since been dissected more thoroughly than a true-crime podcast, Colin dropped a truth bomb so raw, so devoid of Hollywood polish, that it actually made me put down my iced coffee and pay attention. In a conversation on the *How to Be a Good Person* podcast with Jon M. Fishman—yes, that’s a real title, stop laughing—Colin looked the interviewer dead in the eye and said, with the quiet resignation of a man who has accepted his fate: “I think I’m bad at everything.”
Let that sink in. This is a man who has had a perfectly fine, if unremarkable, acting career. He was in *Fargo* (the TV show, not the movie, so he gets partial credit). He was in *Orange County* (the movie, not the actual county, which is a much darker place). He played a Muppet in *The Muppets* (objectively the best thing on his resume). But no, he looks around at his life—a life that includes, you know, the genetic lottery of being Tom Hanks’s son—and says, “Nah, fam, I’m trash.”
And honestly? I kind of respect the hustle.
Colin isn’t just casually self-deprecating, like when you say you’re “bad at math” while holding a degree in astrophysics. No, he went full AITA post about his own existence. He elaborated, “I see people who are really good at their jobs, and I’m like, ‘I wish I was that good at my job.’” He then confessed that he’s not a good singer, not a good writer, not a good director, and that his only real skill is “being a decent dad” and “making good spaghetti.” He literally rated himself a C-minus in life.
This is the kind of raw, unfiltered honesty you usually only get from a Reddit user who’s about to delete their account. It’s the energy of someone who just got ghosted by their Tinder match and is now eating a family-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in their car at a Walmart parking lot. It’s beautiful. It’s tragic. It’s a viral goldmine.
Now, let’s be real for a second. Colin Hanks is not “bad at everything.” That’s an insane take. He’s a working actor in Hollywood, which is like being a professional athlete in the “Dodging Bullets” Olympics. He’s been in stuff. He’s married to a hot publicist. He has kids. He’s clearly not living in a van down by the river. But the fact that he *feels* like he’s bad at everything is the most relatable thing a celebrity has said since Keanu Reeves admitted he thinks about the Roman Empire every day. (Wait, did he say that? I don’t know, but it feels true.)
The internet, as you might expect, immediately did what the internet does best: it turned a moment of vulnerability into a meme war. Twitter/X exploded with takes faster than you can say “Nepotism baby.” Some people were like, “Bro, you have a famous dad and you’re STILL complaining? Touch grass.” Others were like, “Finally, a rich person who understands the existential dread of being a mediocre white guy in his 40s.”
One viral tweet read: “Colin Hanks saying he’s ‘bad at everything’ is like me saying I’m bad at having a trust fund. It’s technically true, but the baseline is already skewed in your favor.” Ouch. But also, fair.
The discourse quickly split into two camps: Camp A, the “Boo Hoo, Rich Kid” faction, who pointed out that Colin was literally handed a golden ticket the moment he came out of Rita Wilson’s womb. They argue that his “struggle” is a luxury. That he wouldn’t be on any podcast at all if his last name wasn’t Hanks. They say he’s trying to be relatable, but it comes off as tone-deaf when most Americans are worried about rent and healthcare, not whether they’re “good enough” at acting.
Then there’s Camp B, the “Hey, Anxiety Doesn’t Care About Your Bank Account” faction. These people argue that imposter syndrome is real, and that being the son of a living legend probably comes with its own unique brand of emotional baggage. Imagine going to Thanksgiving dinner and having to explain to Uncle Phil that no, you didn’t get the lead in a Christopher Nolan movie, and yes, you’re still just doing a guest spot on *The Mindy Project*. The pressure to be “the next Tom Hanks” must be suffocating. It’s like being the guy who follows Jesus. Nobody remembers the second act.
Personally, I’m with Camp B, but only because I love a good underdog story, and Colin Hanks is the underdog of the nepotism world. He’s the one who didn’t get to be the cool guy. He’s not Chet Hanks, who went full unhinged and became a meme lord. He’s not the guy who turned his dad’s legacy into a billion-dollar franchise. He’s the guy who shows up, does his job, makes a solid plate of spaghetti, and then goes home to wonder if he should have been a dentist.
So what’s the takeaway here? Is Colin Hanks a victim of his own genetics? Or is he just a regular
Final Thoughts
Colin Hanks has quietly built one of the more underrated careers in Hollywood, proving that legacy can be a launching pad rather than a cage by consistently choosing character-driven work over the spotlight. His trajectory—from the broad comedy of *Orange County* to the nuanced, tragic weight of *Band of Brothers* and the sharp ensemble of *Fargo*—suggests a performer who understands that longevity comes from versatility, not fame. Ultimately, Hanks stands as a testament to the idea that the best second-generation actors don’t just inherit a name; they earn the right to be judged on their own terms.