The rarest edge in investing is not intelligence, nor access to information, nor even superior analysis. It is temperament—the quiet, almost unnatural ability to sit with a large position through years of silence, ridicule, or stagnation, confident that time itself will do the heavy lifting. In a world wired for instant gratification, quarterly scorecards, and performance pressure, this quality stands out as exceptional. Michael Burry, the investor made famous by *The Big Short*, recently highlighted exactly this trait in Ryan Cohen, the CEO of GameStop ($GME), describing him as possessing “the temperament to be the next Buffett.”
Burry’s observation came in a detailed reflection on his past involvement with GameStop, not as hype or prediction, but as a clinical assessment of character. During a meeting years ago, Burry and Cohen deliberately avoided discussing GameStop to remain compliant with SEC regulations around material non-public information. This restraint alone separated Cohen from the typical activist investor crowd—those prone to leaks, bravado, or premature signaling. Burry noted something deeper: Cohen takes very large positions and waits. He held a significant stake in Wells Fargo through years of regulatory asset caps that suppressed the stock, unbothered by the timeline. Most investors demand validation quickly; Cohen appeared constructed for the long arc, where being right “eventually” outweighs being right “now.”
This distinction matters profoundly. Hedge funds and institutional money often operate under structural handicaps that force short-term thinking. Redemptions loom, limited partners demand returns on fixed cycles, and public scrutiny turns every quarter into a performance review. Personal capital, by contrast, removes these constraints. No one can pull money out when patience is tested. No committee votes on whether to hold another year. Time ceases to be the enemy and becomes the advantage. Burry explicitly credits this freedom as a reason Cohen’s approach resonates: running your own money changes the psychology of holding. It allows compounding edges to emerge slowly, without interruption from external noise.
Cohen’s tenure at GameStop illustrates the point. What began as a meme-stock frenzy in 2020–2021 has quietly evolved into a story of capital allocation and balance-sheet discipline. The company has amassed significant cash reserves, generated free cash flow, reduced physical footprint dependency, and positioned itself with optionality in digital, collectibles, and potentially other areas. Burry has described GameStop in recent years as a much larger version of the “melting ice cube with upside” he analyzed in 2018—only now with far better numbers, lower short interest in relative terms, and Cohen steering the ship. The squeeze was a side effect, not the thesis; survival and repositioning were the real work.
Buffett comparisons are thrown around casually, but Burry’s version is precise and psychological rather than stylistic. It is not about replicating Berkshire Hathaway’s insurance float or conglomerate structure overnight. It is about sharing the same core muscle: the willingness to endure prolonged periods of market indifference while fundamentals quietly improve. Buffett built an empire by buying wonderful businesses (or pieces of them) at fair prices and holding indefinitely. Cohen, still early in his chapter, has shown similar indifference to short-term price action and narrative noise. He buys back shares, strengthens the balance sheet, explores asymmetric opportunities, and waits for the right moment to deploy capital—whether through organic growth, acquisitions, or other moves.
In an era dominated by high-frequency trading, momentum chasing, and viral sentiment, this patience is contrarian by default. Markets reward activity; they rarely celebrate inaction. Yet history shows that the greatest returns often accrue to those who do the least after the initial decision is made correctly. Burry’s endorsement carries weight precisely because he has lived on both sides: the frantic hedge-fund world he left behind, and the solitary conviction required for truly long-duration bets. When he says Cohen “struck me as more patient than most,” it is not flattery. It is recognition of a scarce mental model—one that filters out almost everyone else in the arena.
GameStop remains polarizing. Some see only past volatility or unresolved market-structure questions. Others see a company that refused to die when conventional analysis said it should, now armed with cash, optionality, and leadership built for the long game. Burry’s commentary tilts the lens toward the latter: not as a guaranteed moonshot, but as evidence that temperament can turn a distressed retailer into something far more interesting over time.
In the end, investing success often boils down to who can bear boredom the longest. Ryan Cohen, in Burry’s eyes, belongs to that rare group. Whether he becomes “the next Buffett” remains an open question—one that will be answered not in weeks or months, but over decades of disciplined waiting. For now, the market has a reminder: in a world obsessed with speed, the ability to stand still may be the ultimate edge.
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